An amazing week in produce

Last week my mom and her husband were visiting from New Mexico, and I took this opportunity to drag my mom around the house and pepper her with questions about my garden, what curtains to put in the breakfast nook, how to arrange the baby's room. While we were outside deciding where to plant my tomatoes, I pointed out some green stuff that, for the second year in a row, had come sprouting out of some ground cover that runs along the side fence. "Do you know what that stuff is?" I asked her. "I keep thinking I should get rid of it. It doesn't seem to be anything." She reached down and plucked one of the long green stems out of the ground and found A BABY BULB OF GARLIC. I have garlic! In my back yard! There are at least six or seven bulbs brewing back there, and I have no idea how or why. This house is so terribly exciting to me sometimes. Remember when I discovered a secret tiny rosebush? That thing is a good 18 inches tall now that I cleared out some space for it to breathe!

Last week I also picked up my first box of produce from the Community Supported Agriculture program I signed up for with Blue Moon Organics. I am bonkers for this idea: Every week, a box of fresh organic fruits and veggies will be delivered to me at school. What will be inside the box? That's the best part - WHO KNOWS?! It could be anything!

Here's what the first crop contained: a bunch of purple kale; three beets; seven giant carrots; three artichokes; three heads of red cabbage; four - waddayacallem, stalks? bunches? - of baby bok choy; and four cartons of strawberries that were so sweet, you'd swear they had been swirled in sugar. My goal with these boxes is to never let anything to go waste, which is going to be a real challenge. Especially since I'm not sure what to do with half of this stuff.

I already made a pretty good stir-fry with the bok choy and carrots, plus some shitake mushrooms, black bean garlic sauce and udon noodles. Last night I made a braised cabbage recipe that came with the box: cabbage, beer, mustard, bacon, carrots, and bunch of other stuff. I haven't tried it yet because it looks scary. I bet it wouldn't if it weren't so dang purple. But I will give it a go tonight for dinner, spooning it over some polenta or quinoa. The chard is also gone: In less than 20 minutes, my magnificent mother whipped that into the most amazing baked-potato topping using a bit of bacon, the garlic from my back yard, some flour, water and our favorite family seasoning, Maggi.

So all I have left is are the beets and the artichokes (the strawberries took care of themselves.) I found a recipe for beet risotto, but as for the pretty artichokes, I'm not really a steam-and-dip-in-butter kind of person, so I don't know what the heck to do there.

Finally, last week I planted a garden in a patch of the back yard that was previously just more of that viney ground cover. Even though I have no idea what I'm doing and the whole thing could be dead in a week, I feel very proud of this little garden as it took a ton of work, including a battle with a 3-foot tree root that cost me one hour, one screwdriver and a painful knock on my shin. Pictures soon!

Cirque du Bebe

So it turns out there is a baby in my belly!

OK, obviously I've known about this pregnancy for two entire months now, but I never felt this truly and honestly pregnant until yesterday when I went in for a 12-week ultrasound. I mean, last time we took a peek inside at 8 weeks, all I could see was a small white blob, which the doctor referred to as a baby. And I loved this small white blob, and I knew it was MY small white blob, but let's be honest ... how thrilling can a blob really be? 

Well, yesterday, the moment they put the scanner thing on my belly, ta-daaa! There on the screen was a freaking BABY. With fingers! And legs! AND A FACE! And oh my goodness, was it an active little thing. My tiny acrobat! I just felt so damned proud of it as it bounced and stretched and waved its wee arms ... it rolled over and twisted and turned ... one time it even stood on its head! It took my breath away. And then I saw Sal checking the Dodgers score on his BlackBerry, and I got it back again.

Just kidding. Well, I mean, Sal really did check the score. But in his defense, we had to wait quite awhile for the baby to be in the exact right position for this screening, so we had a lot of down time. Also in his defense, he was gleefully watching the Giants get pounded, and that plus hanging out with his on-camera baby is otherwise known as my husband's best day ever. And I'm SO not interfering with that.

Good ol' Dooce!

When I see famous people, even ones I really admire, I am generally reluctant to go up to them. I don't want to bother them and say the same dumb things a hundred million other fans have said, forcing them to fake a smile while secretly thinking, "Jesus, she couldn't have come up with something more original?" So I admire from a distance, staring and smiling and perhaps creeping them out more than if I would have just said hi.

But last night when I had the most ultimate pleasure of meeting Heather Armstrong, aka Dooce, it was all I could do not to wrap my whole body around her face in a gigantic, suffocating bear hug. I LOVE DOOCE, OK. I distinctly remember stumbling across her blog several years ago (before I even knew the WORD blog) and thinking, holy shit. What is this treasure?! What the hell is all this free, awesome, hilariousness?! I have been a constant reader ever since, and in one way or another, reading Dooce has led me to a few other blogs I read rabidly, particularly those of Maggie, Kristy, Jenny and Kate. All such fine, funny women, whose blogs you should really be reading this very minute, because their shit is way better than mine.


Heather is on a book-signing tour for her New York Times bestseller "It sucked and then I cried: How I had a baby, a breakdown and a much-needed margarita." I'm already halfway through it, even though I have owned it all of 16 hours. It's a fantastic read, unless of course you are pregnant, in which case it is a petrifying and gory horror story. Oops.

Last night at Mountain View's Books, Inc., Heather read two passages from the book, and then took questions from the audience. In addition to being a total knockout, she was just as hilarious and honest as she is on her blog. At first she struggled with the volume and was trying to adjust the mic, raise the stand and lean in closer. Then she began to read again, and was interrupted by someone in the back who bellowed "CAN'T! HEEEEEEEAR! YOUUUUUUUU!" She stopped, heaved a patient sigh, and then said politely into the mic, "Well, I'm practically giving this thing a blow job." Awesome.


Up there on the mezzanine is Maggie Mason, aka Mighty Girl. She lives in San Francisco and is good friends with Heather, yet I didn't even think until a couple hours before the program began that she very likely would attend. When she tweeted that she was on her way, I nearly wet my pants.


So when it was my turn to see Heather and get an autograph, of course I immediately broke into a cold sweat and my voice got loud and shaky. I said something like "Thanks for coming. And you kick so much ass." She flashed this dazzling smile and asked me where I lived, and then said something about the weather. To which I blurted out, "I'M PREGNANT, TOO!" So much for not looking like an idiot. But she was cool, congratulating me and asking how I'm feeling and when I'm due. I THINK I answered those, but I was so starstruck I can't be entirely sure. I do know, however, that I stifled the urge to ask if we could rub our pregnant bellies together for luck.

A peek inside

I almost forgot to show you the pictures! I went in for my first doctor's appointment at week 8 and she did an ultrasound to check on the heartbeat. I also had to fill out a whole bunch of paperwork, including one sheet that began with this line:

"Mother: __________________________"

So I dutifully wrote in my mom's name before realizing HOLY SHIT THEY MEANT ME.

Anyway, here's our baby. The doctor also commented that I have the most perfectly round gestational sac she has ever seen. Sal: "Well, you ARE really organized."

It's like holding your breath for five weeks

One thing I have learned about myself is that if I can't speak freely on this blog about what's on my mind, it's hard to speak at all.

So when I found out I was pregnant last month, and we decided to keep a lid on it for awhile, it gave me a crippling case of writer's block. It sucks when all you can talk about, think about, fret about, dream about and beam about is a big, fat secret.

But now it's out, and I hope you'll allow me to finally take a few giant, gasping glugs of air here, while I remember everything I can about the past five weeks:

- I took the test on Valentine's Day, when I was three days late. I knew I was going to test that morning, but didn't tell Sal because I didn't want to get his hopes up for nothing. I tossed and turned all night because I was so anxious for morning to arrive, and as 5:30 a.m. rolled around, I couldn't take it anymore. I went to the bathroom, peed on the stick, and then watched the digital monitor flash a little clock at me for about a minute. Then it blinked, "Pregnant." I did this funny shriek-sob-gasp thing, clasped my hands over my mouth, and then stared at my face in the mirror for awhile. Then I checked the stick again. Still pregnant. I raced into the dark living room, then back to the bathroom to check the stick. Then to the living room, then the kitchen, then back into the bathroom to check the stick. Did a few more laps like this, not sure why, it just seemed like the thing to do. I finally made it into the bedroom to wake up Sal, who stumbled sleepily into the bathroom with me to check the stick. Still pregnant! These new digital tests are the best, because it actually has the word RIGHT THERE. So much cooler than pink lines.

- The first thing we did after this was go out to breakfast, where I triumphantly ordered decaf.

- We were both off that week, me for winter break, and Sal on furlough. So with nothing but time on my hands, I read everything I could get my hands on about being pregnant. Days later, I slid into a truly bitchy funk. I was worried, cranky and very unhappy. (Then I'd feel guilty for being unhappy at being pregnant, which made me feel even worse. It was one hell of a spiral.) Then I realized something kind of important: Most of the stuff written about being pregnant and giving birth is quite alarming. "Your hair will fall out!" "Your marriage will suffer!" "You'll never sleep again!" "Your finances are screwed!" "YOUR VAGINA WILL NEVER BE THE SAME!" I suspected I had just OD'd on the whole topic, so I put myself on reading restriction for a week or so, and that lifted all the clouds.

- Speaking of reading, Sal got a hilarious and very informative book called "Dad's pregnant, too" by Harlan Cohen. It kicks the crap of "What to expect when you're expecting." A sample passage from a section entitled "Tip #27 THE ME-TOO EXPECTANT FATHER: She Doesn't Give A Shi* If You're Tired":

"If your partner is complaining that she has a headache, don't say 'My head hurts, too.' If your partner is tired, don't tell her how tired you are, too. If she says she's nauseous, don't be nauseous, too. When she complains about aches and pains, don't talk about your aches and pains (even if you're a professional football player). If she says she can't sleep at night, don't tell her how you can't sleep, either. If she talks about her big belly and stretch marks, you can talk about your big belly and stretch marks, but only in an attempt to make fun of yourself (weight jokes about her are never never never never never never funny - she might laugh, but she'll kick your ass later)."

- I miss drinking. A lot. Nobody ever seems to write about this, because I guess you're supposed to feel all "Tra-la-laaaa! I'm a perfect and serene mommy-to-be who is thrilled to trade her martini glass for a nice, warm mug of pregnancy tea!" Surprisingly, drinking fruity non-alcoholic cocktails makes me feel tons better. Like I didn't get kicked out of the party. Also, for obvious reasons, one of the first people we told was my favorite bartender at my favorite bar, and he made it his mission to come up with interesting, delicious "cocktails" that he discreetly serves to me before I even have to ask. Awesome.

- Speaking of drinking, my husband is a genius. Early on, I was fretting about how I'd get through parties and dinners without people noticing that I wasn't drinking. Sal had an idea that must have pained him greatly, which was that he'd give up drinking for Lent. This took all the pressure off me, as everyone would stand around aghast at the diet coke in his hand, and they barely even noticed that I wasn't drinking either, to be "supportive."

- Except for the most debilitating exhaustion I have ever felt in my life and some queasiness that seems to have subsided in the past week, I am mostly feeling OK. I have only barfed once, and to be honest, I thought it was kind of cool.

- The first thing I read about week five of pregnancy was how the embryo was no bigger than an appleseed, and that's how we now affectionately refer to the baby. As in, "Uh, Sal? Appleseed's craving a nice cabernet."

Maybe that's all for now - oh, except to answer the big questions: I'm almost at 10 weeks, due Oct. 21, and we aren't going to find out the gender till the baby is born. And no, we do not expect Chickens to be thrilled about this.

This is sort of cheating

Hi there. Sorry I haven't been around, but I was busy getting jacked up by the bloody, gory insanity of the month that was January. In addition to putting the wraps on a couple of life-or-death projects at work and hosting a party of 70 people at my house, I was also writing this (which as you can see required MANY hours of grueling research) and preparing for the next column, which I turned in today. So, that was January.

But anyhow, today my graphic designer couldn't get a hold of me on the phone, so she sends me this e-mail with the subject line "CALL ME OR ELSE..." and on the inside of the e-mail it said "... you'll never see your little dog again!"

With this picture:



Clearly stolen off my blog and sent through the Photoshop machine. Hilarious. But then I was like CRAP! The fricking BLOG! So here I am, and here comes the cheating part, where I post my 25 random things from Facebook. (Actually, this proud MediaNews alum shall refer to it a "content-sharing opportunity.") It was really fun to write, and they're cool to read - I must have devoured dozens of other people's lists. You should totally do one. And since I know how SOME PEOPLE are still being ridiculously stubborn FB holdouts (I'm talkin' to you, you know who you are) technically it might still be new content. For someone. Anyway. Here you are.

25 RANDOM THINGS ABOUT ME

Rules: Once you've been tagged, you are encouraged to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose up to 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you.

To do this, go to Notes under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, type your 25 random things, tag 25 people (in the right hand corner of the app) then click publish.

1. When I was little, I told people I would drive a Jaguar when I grew up, because that’s what Angela Bower drove on "Who's the Boss?"

2. I have twirled a baton in a parade.

3. One of my first favorite songs was "Manic Monday," but I recorded it off the radio and missed the first two lines. So I memorized "blue Italian stream, but I can't be late..." It was so cool when like 10 years later I finally heard the full
intro.

4. I had three hamsters when I was young; Peabody, who lived three years, Socrates, who lived for a month, and Fenwick, who lived two weeks.

5. I always listen to music in the kitchen, and when my very favorite songs come on, I pick up my dog and sing to him while we dance around.

6. I wish my 30s could last forever.

7. I have three distinct memories of living in Phoenix: racing out to the ice cream truck to buy cinnamon toothpicks; watching "The Three Stooges" with my dad after school; and collecting tiny seashells off the playground after it had been irrigated.

8. I know I shouldn't have smoked, but the truth is, some of the most important (and often most difficult) conversations of my life unfolded over a pack of cigarettes.

9. When I'm not feeling well, the only thing I want to eat is spiral macaroni and cheese (spiral, not elbow) and diet 7-up.

10. The first person I ever knew who died was a third-grader named Guillermo Castorena. We called him Memo. His dad came to his house in the middle of the night and shot him and his three siblings, and all the children died but one. He also shot the mom three times. A year later, I was horrified to learn the mom and dad got back together, and she stood at his side in court.

11. I have never had a cavity.

12. When I was in third grade, I organized an act for a school talent show in which my friends and I sang "All Out of Love." (I was kind of a cheeseball.) I had to listen to the song a bunch of times to write down all the lyrics, and I must have listened to the line "tormented and torn apart" a dozen times before I finally knew what the hell he was saying. It was a real "Eureka!" moment.

13. One time I ran away. I packed a bag full of saltine crackers, underwear, and my dad’s glass thermos full of water. I got two blocks before a dog barked and scared me, and I dropped the bag and shattered the glass. That scared me even more, so I went home.

14. I love to read recipes, menus and cookbooks.

15. Starlight mints remind me of two special men in my life: my father-in-law, who once worked in a starlight mint factory; and my father, who would sometimes leave one on my dresser at night and then pretend to have no knowledge of where it came from. This mystery delighted me for months.

16. Five years ago, I was more than $20,000 in credit-card debt. Then a true friend (you know who you are) nudged me toward a very good credit counseling service, and three years later, I had paid it all off.

17. I don't struggle with my weight because I'm bored, depressed, unaware, or lacking in self-control. I struggle because I love to cook, order and devour incredibly delicious food.

18. I can't stand pointless office small talk, i.e. two colleagues passing each other in the hallway with a "Hi, how are you?!" "Good, how are you?!" "Good!" "Good!" Guh.

19. The practice of writing is pure torture for me, but I love having written.

20. I get mad when people say Sarah Jessica Parker is ugly.

21. My lifelong hatred of onions began to crumble when I went out to eat with a restaurant critic and I didn’t want to look like a wuss. The onions I ate were purple, and not so bad.

22. In the fourth grade, there was a fat kid named Garrett who used to chase me and try to kiss me. He always wore a pea-green shirt and had fuzzy brown hair. When I complained to my teacher, he replied, "Well, if you stop running, he won’t chase you!" I was appalled that an adult could be so dumb.

23. I dream of visiting exotic locales, like a rainforest or arctic tundra.

24. I love how my husband still surprises me, all the time.

25. I mentally composed much of this list this morning during spin class.

A real trooper

First off, Chickens would like you to know that this picture? And the pure and inconsolable misery it portrays? THIS ISN'T EVEN THE HALF OF IT.

Yes, while we all survived our road trip to New Mexico this Christmas, I cannot say it was easy. Not on any of us. First off, during our three-day journey to my mom's house in Clovis, N.M., we hit a couple of snowstorms. Honestly, the roads probably weren't even that bad, and visibility was decent. But 10 years of living in California have made me jittery about driving in snowstorms, and I broke a sweat creeping through this stuff, with knots in my stomach and my hands in a death grip on the steering wheel.

Thankfully I had absolutely NO trouble concentrating whatsoever, no, not at all was I distracted by the loudly sobbing dog in the back seat. Yeah, so it turns out the tranquilizers our vet gave us to calm him during travel had virtually no effect. The only difference I could tell is that he didn't hyperventilate quite as much as usual. Which is great, since it leaves a lot more energy for ear-piercing whines. Christ almighty, dog. Do you realize your dad and I would KILL to have someone ease our pain by poking drugs and treats into our box?!

We did eventually learn the trick to calming this dog in the car: Let him carry on in his box for three or four hours until he has exhausted himself, give him a second heaping helping of Xanax, and drag him onto your lap. He'll plop down and sleep like a baby. This gives you one content (if droopy) dog:


Once we arrived at my mother's, we introduced Chickens to his canine cousins: big white Dakota; Bosco and Chico, who were a bit closer to Chickenbone's size; and a little sweetie-pie named Cuddles, who could sit comfortably in the palm of your hand. Everyone gave each other a friendly nose-to-butt "Howdy!" and then Sal and I left to check into the hotel. And by "check into the hotel" I mean "find the nearest bar and enjoy the dog-free peace and quiet." It was bliss, and not just because our small-town scotch and sodas cost less than $10.

After our breather, we rejoined the family for a five-day visit that was, shall we say, chaotic, since Bosco and Chickens became mortal enemies almost immediately. Every couple hours or so, the fur would fly, with these two lunging teeth-first at each other's faces until the nearest human reached down to yank them apart. Also, when my brother's dog Nellie paid a visit, she promptly chomped down on Chickenbone's head, leaving small, bloody fang holes in his forehead and ear. Man, they grow 'em mean in Clovis.

So you'll understand what happened next, since what's a guy to do with a vacation that sucks this bad? My friend, you know it and I know it: When all else fails, make out with a stranger. And thus did Chickenbone, who fell deeply in love with the tiny Cuddles. I am telling you, I never saw anything like it. Chickens can barely stand the sight of most dogs, much less share a lap or blanket with one, as he did many times with this wee speck of a dog. I even taught him "Give Cuddles kiss!" at which point he'd start happily slurping at her mouth. She'd growl a bit, but more importantly, SHE NEVER TURNED AWAY. Hussie. Here's a picture of his beloved, wearing her pink Rocky Balboa bathrobe:


In between the snarls and howls and barks and bites, though, were many good times. My whole family was there, together at Christmas for the first time in probably six years. We played hilarious boardgames, drank many gallons of wine, and ate more good food than any person should be allowed to get away with. In fact, the scale tells me I most definitely did not get away with it. Oh, well. Next up, a post about how my New Year's resolutions will simply melt away the pounds, both quickly and easily!