Miguelina

Some things just don't translate very well...

Most of you know that our family is an international bunch. My husband's from a German-speaking country - that means we have easy access to some of the best chocolate in the world, and it also means that we have quite the collection of German-language kid's books.

Chocolate? Always good.

German children's books? Well...it depends.

Maybe Americans are raising a generation of wimps, I don't know, but I'm pretty sure that I can pick up pretty much any American children's book and it'll be as bland as vanilla and full of positive lessons and happy endings. I don't mind. That is not the case with the books we get in Europe. To be fair, I don't speak German so I don't know if I'm taking the pictures out of context, but some things are just obvious.

For instance, take this book:

At first glance it looks like one of those busy illustrated books that toddlers love. I love them too, because they keep the kids busy - they love finding things in the illustrations and I can easily tell my kids what the things in the picture are. I do it in Spanish, because we like to keep the kids confused.

Anyways, my innocent three year old pointed at the picture of the group of kids in the school yard.

What are those kids doing?

I'm a little bit blind, so I just told him that the kids were playing. You know, like he does at preschool.

Then I took a closer look at the illustration, and I realized that maybe? Telling him that was probably not the best idea.

This illustration is the thing that school phobias and night terrors are made of.

Why are the little kids beating each other up?

Why is the "doggie" so angry?

Why is that lady just watching?

WHY?

I don't like those German story books. You should see the old-fashioned ones.

Thanksgiving morning

Hello! I'm spending the morning at Butterball headquarters - where many of you are calling wondering what to do with that frozen turkey.

(Don't panic! Call them and they'll tell you what to do!)

That's a chocolate turkey cake. It took all day to make.

I'm only here for a few hours, and then I'm headed home to be with my kids and husband. I'll be home before naptime is over, so they've hardly missed me. When I spoke to my three year-old this morning he sang the Banana Phone song and wanted to know if he could have sweets. It was 8 AM. I can't wait to see them, but I have to admit that this Thanksgiving is more exciting than any I can remember. (With one notable exception, of course.)

I don't know about you, but I'm not used to spending Thanksgiving morning with the Today show crew and the rockstar ladies that work here.

I want to take those lights home. They make you look awesome.

It totally beats cooking.

Speaking of rockstars, let me introduce you to Marge:

 

I've been following Marge around all day, because she just did the Conan O'Brien show (watch her in action here) and Hugh Jackman was there that day. THE WOMAN MET HUGH JACKMAN. I'm insanely jealous.

I think I'll have some cake. It'll make me feel better.

Happy Thanksgiving!

The art of not getting anything done

I love making lists. Packing lists, shopping lists, to-do lists...I am a list-making queen. I'm also a world-class procrastinator, and don't think for a second that the two aren't related. Add in my innate laziness and a fancy new toy, and what you have is a recipe for disaster.

(Well, not really, because disaster implies that I managed to do something to screw things up. I guess what you really have is a recipe for...nothing.)

Case in point - my new phone. It's awesome. Great, even. But I soon learned that it doesn't display my to-do list from my iCal and I went into panic mode. How was I supposed to walk around without my to-do list? The one that I spend hours creating and revising and just looking at? It would not do! So I spent hours at the App store looking for a solution.

Did you know there are hundreds, maybe thousands, of to-do lists available for your phone? And that they all do the same thing - you know, list the things you need to do? You'd think it would be an easy thing to do, choose one and move on. But, oh no, I had to spend time signing up for free accounts and testing and reading reviews and comments, and next thing I knew I had spent 3 hours looking for a to-do list application.

It doesn't make any sense. I could have done the same thing with a Post-It note.

(Better put that on the list.)

**********

On another note - are you cooking Thanksgiving dinner this year? Then you need to read this, because today is a VERY important day.

Also, go here to read my Q&A with one of my favorite people at Butterball. She's funny. You'll love her too!

Chat with Chris

So maybe you didn't get a chance to chat with me when I was at Butterball last week? (WHY? Were you too busy for me?) Maybe we didn't get to answer your question during last week's inaugural chat? (Sorry about that!) Or perhaps we're getting really close to Thanksgiving and all the procrastinators out there are starting to worry about next week's dinner.

Well, lucky you.

Chris will be in Chicago tomorrow answering your questions. You can chat with her from 12-2 EST by logging on to Butterball.com. You read her blog, so you know she's funny and witty - now's your chance to chat with her. I have, and I can guarantee you that she's worth it.

Have fun, Chris!

Sunday Night

No matter how long it's been since I've had an office job, Sunday night is always bittersweet. Every day is pretty much the same for me, but I still can't get over that Sunday night feeling where you try to make the weekend last a little longer by trying a little harder. Too bad it never works.

Guess who has an iPhone?

I love it.

The end.

(A real post will come tomorrow. I'm currently working on figuring out how my new phone works.)

(Squee!)

How I met my husband...

My favorite Thanksgiving memory has nothing to do with my childhood. Oh, we had a few wonderful Thanksgivings when I was a child - we celebrated it every once in a while when we were living in a country where November means "beach season" and they were still great in their own way - but I'd be lying if I said that any one of them stood out.

Instead, my most memorable Thanksgiving is the one where I met my husband. Forget Valentine's day - Thanksgiving is the most romantic time of the year for us. It's a little weird, but it works for us.

It wasn't always that way, of course. When I was a carefree young professional, Thanksgiving meant a slow work week where we already had 2.5 days off - so a couple of girlfriends and I started the tradition of taking the entire week off work and when you're young and single and mostly broke, that can only mean one thing: ROAD TRIP!

So that year, that's what we did. We drove on I95 for two days, and when we arrived in Washington DC it was the Saturday before Thanksgiving. The city was abuzz with young people out for one last night out before they headed home to be with their families. And that was the night I met my husband.

We had just met, but he acted horrified by the fact that we didn't have any plans for Thanksgiving dinner. Weren't we Americans? (Yes.) Isn't that against the law? (No.)

So he and two of his friends did what any good American boys would do - they invited us over for Thanksgiving dinner.

Only thing is, my husband is not American. He's European. He'd never cooked Thanksgiving dinner - or really, any dinner - before.

Let's just say you should be thankful I'm alive.

(Oh I kid!)

We had no other plans, and he's kind of cute, so we said yes. And then the guys went into panic mode, ordering a precooked turkey from Giant, buying napkins and candles, and - here's my favorite part - collecting assorted pieces of silverware from their various bachelor friends because they didn't have enough forks and spoons for a dinner for eight.

Isn't that the cutest thing you ever heard?

The best part is that when we arrived everything was perfect - there were candles and wine and they even invited other friends over so that we could meet new people. After a few glasses of wine one of my friends asked how much longer until the turkey was done.

Done?

In all the wining and chatting, they forgot to put the turkey in the oven! (Even "pre-cooked" turkeys need to go in the oven.)

Thankfully, my friend Andrea is a fantastic cook, and she somehow managed to save the day. The turkey was fine, but the best part was after dinner, when the man who would one day be my husband came over with the wishbone and asked me to make a wish.

I did. 

And it came true.

The "momification" of our first lady? Dude, she's already a mom.

Maybe there's something wrong with me, but I read this article on Salon about the "momification" of Michelle Obama and I don't get why the writer's so mad. So she's going to be in charge of the family's transition to Washington. So?

It's Michelle's job because Daddy is going to be the president, and he has to save the country and the world from an economic crisis and war, and so he might be too busy to come check out the new schools and decorate their rooms and help with the dog. But the fact is, he seems to be a pretty good dad, and I bet he will do some of that stuff anyway. What rankles is the smooth and unquestioning assumptions by the media that the fallback position is to assign all those duties to Michelle.

Did I miss something?

Who else is going to do it? Does the writer want her to go back to managing a hospital? I'd rather have her in the White House where she can be a standard-bearer for working women (and yes, many of them are mothers and thus "momified"). Yes, at one point in their married life she was making more money than he was. Yes, she used to be his superior at the law firm where they met. But their lives have changed. They seem to have adapted, even though it wasn't easy. (Barack admits to it himself - there's a lengthy quote in the article.) She decided to support him in his political career. They've both made sacrifices because of that and they both seem to value family life above all. Good for them.

I remember reading somewhere that he was visibly upset when he told an interviewer that he could only spend two hours with the girls after they got their Christmas tree because of the campaign. But then he did the school drop-off on the morning he was to leave to go to the White House as President-elect. He obviously chose to do that - and sent a message that being a dad is important to him. I didn't see anyone complaining about the "dadification" of Barack Obama. 

Does everything have to be offensive?

The fact that she has chosen to call herself Mom-in-Chief makes me love her even more because it's reminiscent of how many of us choose to call ourselves Stay-at-Home-Mothers instead of housewives. She's one of us. Motherhood - parenthood - is a source of pride to our generation, not an offensive label. But you guys know that.

I guess the writer fell into the generation gap. This lame attempt at reigniting the "Mommy-Wars" gets a big shrug from me.

I think I'm getting used to this...

Your eyes are not deceiving you...you are indeed getting two posts today! Woo-hoo!

I'm still going for the posting-every-in-November challenge, but I was so tired last night that I wrote the previous post at 9:30 PM and hit "publish" and went to bed without noticing that the post was sent to "draft" so it didn't publish yesterday as it was supposed to.

That sucks, but the fact that I'm not giving up means something, right? I'm getting used to stopping in here and saying hello. I guess I'm not getting a trophy or anything, but I know in my heart that I'm still doing it. So, hello.

I am not a good traveler

I got up at 4:00 AM this morning - which is never a good way to start the day - to go to Chicago for another work meeting.

My flight was so turbulent I promised myself I wouldn't fly again - like, ever!

I was pretty thrilled to sit in an office with a view of Grant park - my hostess was nice enough to point out Obama's victory rally location. It was pretty cool to see, even from a 62nd floor window.

Then I had my meeting and I got back on another plane by 3:50 PM. This time the turbulence was even worse. I've turned into a chickenshit flyer.

When I got off the plane I wanted to kiss the ground like the Pope used to do. I didn't, of course. Instead I hightailed to the car service. My driver gave me the award for "quickest sprint through Logan airport." I was in the car a mere five minutes after my plane landed.

But you see, I wanted to make it home in time for bedtime. And I did. It was the best part of my day.

Now it's time for me to go to bed. There's no place like home!