tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54149484058335694292011-12-02T19:51:38.419-05:00Working harder to serve you betterPamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.comBlogger2091100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-81538925024550043492011-08-17T23:29:00.003-04:002011-08-17T23:36:27.010-04:00

Toward the end of the school year, Sacha had a particularly bad day at school, during which he accidentally clocked his teacher in the chin hard enough to send her to the doctor midday, after she forcibly brought him to the sink to make him wash his hands.  In my completely unobjective opinion, the bitch had in coming, but that is a story for another day. For now, suffice it to say, it does not

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-28732501606823410252011-08-02T13:50:00.001-04:002011-08-02T21:30:50.810-04:00

Some people have fine-tuned gaydar — which in this day and age, is really not that impressive. I, on the other hand, have exquisitely honed assholedar, and lately I've been attracting them like a magnet. I could tell many stories of encounters I've had lately, and perhaps for the remainder of the summer I will make this a regular feature, but for now, consider the following: We recently got a

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-35369853079849872642011-07-18T10:58:00.002-04:002011-07-18T10:58:41.563-04:00

JUDGEMENT DAY There is a man I see everyday when I drop Sarah and Gabriel off at camp. He has two children in the same classes as them, and we often wind up walking the halls together from one room to the next, chatting pleasantly about nothing. The other day as I was driving away after drop-off, a car began to pull out in front of me, setting us on a slow motion collision course. I

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-33762656926366210242011-07-05T15:43:00.000-04:002011-07-05T15:43:33.028-04:00

Although I hate malls with an abiding passion, this year for Sarah’s birthday, I set her and two friends loose there with some spending money. While I waited for them, I sat in the bar in Ruby Tuesdays. The White Horse Tavern it was not, and I could not even finish a single beer without fear of imperiling my ability to drive home, but I brought my notebook with me anyway. I was still getting

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-87801785048398079272011-05-27T12:15:00.000-04:002011-05-27T12:15:38.261-04:00

Everyone knows that positive behavior modification is the ideal method for motivating people and changing bad habits. The problem with this approach is that where children and annoying behavior are concerned, it’s more expedient, and satisfying to cut to the chase. If I say to Gabriel, “Stop X right now, or you will lose Y,” I have a roughly 50% success rate. In the 50% of the time that

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-62055767345765222932011-05-18T10:43:00.000-04:002011-05-18T10:43:52.036-04:00

MORNING EDITION I like to wake at six o’clock, before my kids are up, so I can have quiet time with a cup of coffee and the news. If I only get halfway through the Daily Wrap before someone awakes, that constitutes a BAD NEWS DAY, which makes me very cross, because that is my only opportunity during the day to see what is going on in the world. And then I feel conflicted, because although

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-24133353822990224192011-05-14T10:25:00.001-04:002011-05-14T10:29:21.302-04:00

Everyone knows that a penis is a boy’s best friend, and Sacha and his have always been extra-special close. Lately he’s discovered the art of self-massage; after a recent bath, I watched him in a trance, with a dollop of cream having a good go at himself. On Friday afternoon I asked Sarah to get Sacha for changed for karate and she came running into the kitchen. “Mama, Mama, come look,

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-81263569343049613562011-05-11T17:25:00.002-04:002011-05-13T16:26:04.918-04:00

I love to clean; I need to clean. Even being in someone else’s messy space makes me edgy. If you are my friend, and you keep a messy home, I do not love you any less, but know that while I am having a lovely time visiting with you, I am also fighting the urge to straighten up. Recently I had a conversation with a woman who described herself as superficially neat. For a few days, that

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-50500529817628287332011-05-09T23:30:00.001-04:002011-05-09T23:31:13.217-04:00

In March, a friend who works in the television industry was contacted by a colleague looking for a third grade class to film a segment on kids and money for the Suze Orman show. My friend’s children attend the same school as mine, and Gabriel’s class was chosen to film the segment. The first thing Gabriel said when he came home from school was, “Mama, Mama, I am going to be on TV!” Because

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-44283576155357792842011-05-06T09:24:00.001-04:002011-05-06T09:38:59.771-04:00

Sacha has always been obsessed with basketball. It began when he was barely walking, and I asked him to put his dirty diaper in the trash. As he threw it in, I said, “He shoots, he scores!”, and unknowingly unleashed an enduring passion. From that day forward, every diaper change became a basketball game. The the height of the hoop continues to progress as he grows; he went from one suitable

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-84450611360847979412011-05-02T22:45:00.000-04:002011-05-02T22:45:14.088-04:00

CHILD’S WORK Saturday afternoon Sarah got together with her two closest friends, whom she has known since birth. While I am not generally nostalgic, the sight of these three — now on the cusp of adolescence — whose diapers I changed, and whose mothers are two of my closest friends, has the power to turn me into a bawling idiot. I control myself, but inside, I am carrying on like a drunk, to

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-71570469925763259792011-04-30T11:04:00.001-04:002011-04-30T11:18:10.849-04:00

I recently became unstuck from something that has been weighing on me for many, many years my entire life. In the weeks leading to this breakthrough I was in quite a lot of mental anguish, and despite being most decidedly ON MY MEDS, I was plagued by mild depression, with a light sprinkling of anxiety. Since I figured things out, I’ve been exhilirated with the sheer joy of liberation. I am

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-39341563939365911652011-04-26T23:26:00.001-04:002011-04-27T00:38:14.597-04:00

PLEASE STAND IN THE QUEUE The other day I stood on a very long line at Kings during the pre-dinner rush. Many people were perturbed and impatient, and eventually the management opened a new lane. At this point, those in the back of the line who were suffering from RIGHTEOUS INDIGNATION DUE TO BEING FORCED TO WASTE THEIR VALUABLE TIME, made a beeline for the new lanes. Although I am patient

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-86715875424152963222011-04-23T14:58:00.000-04:002011-04-23T14:58:43.034-04:00

In our house, you get to choose what’s for dinner on your birthday. Above all else, Sarah loves duck magret, and begs for it frequently. Duck is delicious, but it is also very expensive, and as such, reserved for fancy. This year for her birthday, Sarah requested duck. Her birthday happened to fall on an especially busy day of child-related activities which did not leave me time to shop or

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-18418111913906767622011-04-20T14:33:00.004-04:002011-04-21T17:24:51.579-04:00

Even grading on a curve taking into account age and my undying affection, Sacha is disgusting. His table manners are atrocious. It’s not entirely his fault, because he has significant fine motor delays which make it difficult to use utensils well. Meals end with him saucy and greasy, and although he has a napkin in his lap, because he cannot sit still, it often winds up on the floor. I don’t

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-71688336786444503602011-04-15T13:48:00.000-04:002011-04-15T13:48:49.670-04:00

One of the kids came into our bed in the middle of the night, and it took me a while to fall back asleep. When I finally did, my sleep was fitful, and full of strange dreams. In the most vivid one, I dreamt that the entire family overslept. It must have been the last dream I had before waking, because I woke in a panic, wildly confused as to why David was not in the bed, and how it could be

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-48375328181093058462011-04-13T14:09:00.000-04:002011-04-13T14:09:40.122-04:00

KITCHEN MISHAPS My ear infection has cleared up, but it's taking a while for the fluid in my ear to drain. My equilibrium is still off, and I am more clumsy than usual. In the past week I have:  dropped a fully dressed pizza on the floor as I slid it into the oven. spilled a jar of caesar salad dressing everywhere: on the shelves and walls of the fridge, underneath the vegetable bin,

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-79586216770410090912011-04-11T10:56:00.000-04:002011-04-11T10:56:27.203-04:00

I took the boys to the drugstore last week to get birthday cards for Sarah. Their card criteria boils down to cute pictures of animals, so they were quickly done. I had a much harder time. Sentimental cards make me queasy, and joke cards are generally not funny and/or mean. I prefer a blank card in which I can write a simple message, but I couldn't find any. Everything was filled with bad

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-7105885265542115992011-04-09T13:56:00.003-04:002011-04-09T22:34:32.404-04:00

I consider malls a necessary evil, and try to avoid them except when ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY. Malls make me twitchy; there’s just too much humanity crammed into this weird, hermetically sealed space where time has no meaning. There’s too much music, too many smells, too many vendors hawking massages, or makeovers, or squawky, shuddering, battery operated impulse purchases, who are resentful

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-31355655255340676442011-04-07T11:57:00.002-04:002011-04-08T15:55:05.607-04:00

I am so tired of classic rock. I find Led Zeppelin to be the most odious band in the world. I respect the IMPORTANCE and the influence of the Beatles, but they bore me. I would much rather hear them filtered through Elliot Smith, or the Apples in Stereo, or a zillion other bands than listen to Sgt Pepper, or god forbid, Let it Be. Of course there is a lot of classic rock that I love; I

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-69209137632128306642011-04-06T09:53:00.000-04:002011-04-06T09:53:53.288-04:00

I enrolled in a writing boot camp this month, and it has me rethinking my schedule so that I can fit more time in for writing. With three children in school, in theory I should have lots of time for writing. And yet, I don’t. There is exercising and erranding, cleaning, and laundering and cooking, and I never sit down to write before 1:30. More than once, writers have given me the very

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-57150478695035053352011-04-03T11:36:00.000-04:002011-04-03T11:36:58.738-04:00

This morning I had to call Verizon for help resetting my voicemail box. Customer service representative: Hello, my name is Ed and I'm here to help you today! Who am I speaking with? Me: Pamela Goldsteen Ed: Is it okay if I call you Pam? Me: No; it's Pamela. Here is how the conversation could have gone: Me: WHY DON’T YOU CALL ME SUE, ED? AND I WILL CALL YOU GEORGE. BECAUSE PAM IS NOT MY NAME

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-3289225498180900752011-04-01T09:26:00.001-04:002011-04-01T09:30:06.894-04:00

ZERO FOR THREE I really struck out this week. I am down to my last sack of flour/pound of butter/block of cream cheese, and NONE of these items are currently on sale, nor were they the last time I shopped. Shoprite, why must you forsake me? PORTION CONTROL Although I’m not generally prone to chippy things, I am wild for sweet chili flavor Riceworks Brown Rice Crisps. I am quite

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-41167134416892194312011-03-31T11:17:00.000-04:002011-03-31T11:17:47.424-04:00

March is killing me this year; there hasn't been a week this month during which at least one of my children was ill. I was feeling a certain arrogance this year for our relative good health compared with last winter, but the ruthlessness of March has cured me of this. I can no longer keep track of who's been sick when, and on the rare days when everyone has gone to school, I am at a loss for

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-73434656693424013762011-03-23T13:14:00.000-04:002011-03-23T13:14:59.543-04:00

It remains a mystery to me how families with young children manage to take winter vacations; in my experience if there is a school break, invariably at least one of my children falls ill. Sacha had a fever for the better part of Christmas break, and in February, with the schools closed for two days, Sarah spiked an honest to god fever, as opposed to her recent attempt to will one into

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-1502327346577560882011-03-01T15:29:00.000-05:002011-03-01T15:29:31.211-05:00

Sarah made a triumphant return to school this week after an almost two week absence. Two weeks ago, she began complaining of amorphous symptoms: sore throat, headache, stomachache, but had no fever. A stomach virus was ripping through town, so I gave her the benefit of the doubt, and picked her up early on Monday. This was my first mistake.  She was lethargic and continued to complain

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-81246834588380468942011-02-18T14:53:00.000-05:002011-02-18T14:53:09.284-05:00

It would seem obvious that someone who has a long history of depression and gets mildly depressed every winter suffers from seasonal affect disorder. And yet, I only realized this year that this was the case. I use many approaches when I experience a bout of depression: medication adjustments, talk therapy, cardiovascular exercise, yoga, massage, meditation, and beginning this year, bright

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-37733063000727595852011-02-14T20:40:00.001-05:002011-02-14T20:41:32.109-05:00

A transcript of my children watching the Grammy’s Sarah: Can we watch the Grammy’s? Sarah: They're what old people watch! Gabriel: Sarah, you missed a Cover Girl commercial! Sarah: Wait, we're watching the Grammy's LIVE?! Sarah: She has too much melanin. Sacha: What's Justin Bieber doing there? Gabriel: I love this commercial; I would love to be in that land. Sacha: Is this the Granny awards?

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-16146357267941849742011-02-08T14:27:00.000-05:002011-02-08T14:27:53.751-05:00

There is virtually no airborne substance to which I am not allergic: pollen, ragweed, grass, mold, dust, mites, down, cat, dog and guinea pig. If it can be inhaled, it will make me sneeze. Aside from a two-week period in January, there is always something in the air to aggravate my immune system. If I don't start taking medicine well in advance of spring allergy season, I spend a few weeks

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-66857706086415992342011-01-20T13:49:00.001-05:002011-01-20T13:57:23.978-05:00

Happiness has been eluding me lately, as it often does at this time of year. Most years, in the late fall, as we move deeper into darkness, I feel something heavy settle upon me. A touch of seasonal affect disorder and a predisposition toward depression coupled with the mania of the Christmas season combine to create a noxious cocktail for my psyche, leaving me with a strong desire to

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-47596823744381351902010-12-06T10:29:00.000-05:002010-12-06T10:29:38.904-05:00

Prior to Thanksgiving, Sacha's teachers asked the class what they were grateful for, and the answers were documented in last week's newsletter. In a class of seventeen, sixteen answered some variant on 'my family.' Ever the outlier, Sacha was thankful for his Kung Zhu&trade hamster. He's never been one to mince words. At the beginning of the school year, the kids were paired with a classmate

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-17914070252010608592010-11-29T13:44:00.000-05:002010-11-29T13:44:00.426-05:00

I recently celebrated my forty-second birthday. I think that I'm aging well, but over the past few weeks, events have been conspiring to make me wonder if I am deluding myself. The first time, we were out for dinner for Sacha's birthday. Sacha was sitting next to my mother, adorning her with kisses. A woman with a large bouffant and over sized glasses sitting at an adjacent table, leaned toward

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-61138601035791852722010-11-12T14:07:00.000-05:002010-11-12T14:07:34.329-05:00

This week Sacha has developed an unfortunate habit of waking at that dreaded unnamed hour, when the sky is just beginning to lighten around the edges. When this happens I dare not look at the clock, because it will only confirm that although my sleep has been effectively ended, it is still far from time to start my day. I think these mid-night wakings are due to a combination of daylight savings

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-78951906735010777502010-11-02T13:31:00.001-04:002010-11-02T13:33:00.239-04:00

One recent evening the boys were watching television while I made dinner. Sarah, who was reading in the living room, expressed concern that the show was inappropriate. I wasn't terribly worried, on the theory that a show airing at 6pm on Cartoon Network couldn't be too off color. But you can never be certain, and Sacha is already plenty cheeky. With two older siblings controlling the remote, his

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-89260849382593724452010-10-21T13:48:00.001-04:002010-10-21T13:54:18.868-04:00

Here on the east coast we are enjoying a gorgeous, temperate fall. Last year by this time I was deep in the heat game, donning my makeshift burka and doing wind sprints up and down the stairs. But with the exception of a few rainy days earlier in the month, I haven't yet been tempted to turn the heat on. Sarah disagrees, appearing every morning for breakfast with her shoulders hunched,

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-43494590527860069502010-10-19T14:28:00.000-04:002010-10-19T14:28:34.586-04:00

Sarah is going to be a rainbow for Halloween this year. Her plan is to layer her clothing in Roy G Biv order, with her outfit unfolding: red headband, orange necklace, yellow shirt, green shirt, blue skirt, indigo and indigo and/or violet leggings. She is mightily into layering as of late. I'm not sure how she plans to handle the legs, but I'm hoping we can strike a compromise with purple. I

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-17787751523830500662010-10-13T13:43:00.000-04:002010-10-13T13:43:45.967-04:00

One night last week Sarah complained about the state of our powder room toilet. I couldn't argue with her assessment; I've been busy lately.  While I did scrub the sink recently, I didn't bother with the toilet, and was looking slightly unsavory, with an unappealing dark halo at the waterline. I decided it was time for Sarah to learn how to clean a toilet. She is extremely competent in

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-79562919638185866882010-10-12T12:11:00.000-04:002010-10-12T12:11:05.243-04:00

This year we went to synagogue for Simchat Torah. I'd never been to this service before, but the class of new Hebrew school students, of which Gabriel is a member, were being consecrated. While I'm not against the idea of going to synagogue, I do find it fairly boring, but on Simchat Torah I had the best time I've ever had in a synagogue. It was partly due to the joyous nature of the holiday,

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-62424676497014999802010-10-06T16:25:00.000-04:002010-10-06T16:25:11.074-04:00

No one needs another recipe for pesto, but the basil, if not quite dead, is no longer thriving, and so it is time to pick the plants clean and lay in a stash for winter, or at least the next week. Last weekend I set aside time to do just this, which is incredibly easy now that I no longer use the mortar and pestle. I love mortar and pestle sets, and find them incredibly useful, and satisfying. I

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-19347847289933141252010-09-30T10:56:00.000-04:002010-09-30T10:56:04.731-04:00

A WINK AND A JAB Today as my nurse called me in for my allergy shot, it looked very much like she winked at me. She may have been blinking, or perhaps it was a trick of the light, or an involuntary twitch, but from where I was standing it looked very much like a wink. This is a standing appointment, and I chose the time slot because not only is it convenient for me, but also because this nurse

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-73594264243066815552010-09-24T20:27:00.000-04:002010-09-24T20:27:55.395-04:00

I am a midday, as opposed to a morning or a night person. It takes me a while to get going in the morning, and I am happiest when in bed by 10.00. I like to ease into the morning slowly, in silence, and darkness, which is not entirely compatible with family living. Spouses rise early for work, and young children often wake well before you would like them to. Because David has the peculiar

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-23268824542711561892010-09-22T14:10:00.000-04:002010-09-22T14:10:33.654-04:00

I am having a love affair with a salad. It began with a dish of sausages and figs in a pomegranate dressing that appealed to me. I bought the figs, made the dressing, grilled sausages. And then I got distracted, and put a few onions and red peppers on the grill; I've never been good at following recipes. We had sausages and grilled peppers and onions with pomegranate dressing and grilled flat

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-52061135521391881352010-09-21T23:09:00.000-04:002010-09-21T23:09:05.438-04:00

One afternoon recently I arrived home to find a large maroon box from Gevalia, addressed to one Emelda Sanger, on my doorstep. I marked the package for return, expecting to never see it again. The next afternoon, the mail arrived, but the box remained. At this point I surmised it had not been delivered by the USPS, and called Gevalia to request they pick it up. That was the first of several

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-25765069546377039582010-09-10T20:39:00.000-04:002010-09-10T20:39:43.510-04:00

Late Friday evening, on a late summer evening. David is out of town.  Sacha: Mama, will you come upstairs and help me get ready for bed? Me: No, Sacha. I am going to finish my salad. Sarah and Gabriel are upstairs, and they can help you.  Sacha: No! Mama! You're being greedy! Me: No, Sacha, I am not being greedy. Sacha: Yes you are. Greedy: G-A-T-R-W-X-Y-Z. You're being greedy! Me: Sacha,

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-11322543280062210852010-08-18T13:54:00.000-04:002010-08-18T13:54:50.455-04:00

This morning while Sacha and I snuggled and watched television, he took my hands, which were folded around his middle, and guided them toward his groin. Being a person of sound judgment and a respecter of boundaries, I resisted his request. He, in turn, resisted my resisting, and so our hands remained suspended, as if subject to the force of magnetic repulsion. I am quite familiar with the

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-91347766686572323772010-07-14T19:53:00.000-04:002010-07-14T19:53:54.154-04:00

I prefer hot weather to cold, but cold weather cooking over hot weather cooking. I'm complicated that way. During summer, the less time spent in the kitchen the better, and last week, with the heat wave, any impulse I had to cook ground to a halt. Would that I could afford to order in sushi whenever the temperature reaches triple digits. Until then, all I can stomach is a dinner of salad, bread

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-16921259647516877892010-06-22T22:15:00.000-04:002010-06-22T22:15:39.706-04:00

Gabriel's second grade teacher, Mrs McChesney, runs the most effective behavior modification system I've encountered. She prints her own money, McChesney dollars, which is earned out in exchange for desired behaviors: turning in assignments on time, completing extra work, sitting quietly, random acts of kindness. One of her classroom rules is that all correspondence from home must be penned

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-65263234233083443022010-06-16T17:48:00.000-04:002010-06-16T17:48:07.022-04:00

When planning menus for dinner parties, I tend to avoid serving the same old thing, and I'm somewhat cavalier about violating that rule about not serving anything you've never made before.  But when it comes to something to put out with drinks, before dinner, I serve up the equivalent of the missionary position — not bold or inventive, but delicious and eminently satisfying. For years now,

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-30927481115415243062010-06-08T20:57:00.000-04:002010-06-08T20:57:42.502-04:00

Last month Sacha began wearing glasses. Apparently, he has been farsighted since birth; who knew? Such glibness can only come from a woman of remarkably laid back temperament or several years of mothering under her belt. Because had this been my first child, I would have spent weeks bemoaning my poor mothering skills to anyone who would listen for having thought my son merely clumsy when in fact

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-22407240624541654242010-06-07T21:58:00.001-04:002010-06-07T21:59:20.822-04:00

I've been a negligent blogger lately, but I have an excellent reason; I am writing a book. In March, I enrolled in a memoir writing workshop with Laurie Lico Albanese, a writer whose work I greatly admire. Her memoir Blue Suburbia made a great impression on me; while the particulars of her story are different, the emotional terrain was very familiar. And so when the opportunity to study with her

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-23731043406122711192010-04-26T16:59:00.000-04:002010-04-26T16:59:46.244-04:00

Shortly after Sacha was born, a friend stopped by with dinner, and upon seeing a shiny new car in the driveway said, "I don't know what's more surprising, that you have three kids, or a minivan." Me and the minivan never got along. I drove it for four years, and enjoyed doing so for one billing cycle, which is about the length of time it took for the novelty of automatic sliding doors to wear

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-87257028238068935212010-04-19T22:51:00.001-04:002010-04-19T22:53:25.075-04:00

1. We postponed a spring break road trip to Boston because I am suffering from a combination of cold and allergies. 2. We got a new car last week, and turned our old, much hated car in today. Despite our fears, we incurred no additional fees for abuse to our much abused old vehicle. Good riddance! I will have more to say about this shortly. 3. I quite like Parks and Recreation; do you? 4.

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-12593036470045497072010-04-07T22:32:00.001-04:002010-04-07T22:33:37.175-04:00

Today is significant because you turned eleven, and although it is your day, the fact of your birth marks the day that I became both your mother, and a mother. Soon after you were born, as your father and I admired you, we agreed that we wanted to raise a strong-willed girl. In that, we have succeeded in spades. You are so effortlessly authoritative that on occasion I have found myself

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-43370526374099130482010-03-31T17:33:00.000-04:002010-03-31T17:33:33.438-04:00

Passover is upon us, and in my admittedly limited experience, only gentiles, and Jews of the Greatest Generation actually enjoy matzoh. It has a mouth feel reminiscent of cardboard, tears up the roof of your mouth, and, if that weren't insult enough, swallowing it feels like being stabbed in the esophagus. It is messy, leaving a trail of crumbs in its wake. The less said about the havoc it wreaks

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-68429398189407890542010-03-30T16:49:00.000-04:002010-03-30T16:49:15.486-04:00

Last night we had our Passover seder. On her way up to bed, I had the following conversation with Sarah.  Sarah: Thanks for dinner mom, all the food was so delicious. Me: You're welcome, sweetie. Sarah, you are a good kid, and I am happy to cook for you. Sarah: I know. But my goodness is a testament to my parents. And thus concludes another scene of domestic harmony. And yet, as satisfying

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-77269935811075365512010-03-25T18:14:00.001-04:002010-03-25T18:15:02.421-04:00

I'm not certain what compelled me to reach into the glove box two weeks ago for my auto insurance card, but when I did, I found not the current card, but the one from the policy which expired last December. Figuring I'd forgotten to transfer the new card to the car, I went to retrieve it from my files, but it was not there either. Sometimes one's depth of self-delusion is impressive, because

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-68213662886333509892010-03-23T19:40:00.004-04:002010-03-24T11:32:39.190-04:00

Consider yourself lucky not to be related to me, because today I attended my fourth funeral in thirteen months. My children are now very familiar with Jewish customs of mourning. They've come a long way since October, when David explained that after his mother's funeral we would go back to the shiva house, and people would visit, and there would be food. "What kind of food?" Gabriel wanted to

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-13292309046261198282010-03-18T17:31:00.000-04:002010-03-18T17:31:19.515-04:00

Until I saw this recipe — ignorant American! — I never knew flapjacks could refer to something other than pancakes. I have since learned that in the British sense, flapjacks are bar cookies. I prefer bar or roll cookies because they are not only easier to prepare, but are often made without leavening, which I find imparts a slight but noticeable chemical flavor. And yet, as these contain brown

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-71998733133560567662010-03-09T22:01:00.000-05:002010-03-09T22:01:32.372-05:00

Recently we entered the age of indentured servitude, followed quickly by put the youngest to bed and babysit yourselves. The evidence is clear; a new era of child rearing is upon us, and we are exploring the contours of the terrain. Since toilet training, Sacha is marginally less insane, enough that I can leave him in Sarah's care for short periods of time. This means that I now have the luxury

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-891005488267730012010-03-03T22:26:00.000-05:002010-03-03T22:26:46.273-05:00

Let's say I really sold you on the corn tortillas, and you are looking for something to fill them with. There's beef, in its many forms, especially this brisket, which I cannot get enough of lately, or chicken. Or you could keep it simple and make quesadillas.  I try to serve meat only once or twice a week, and as a result, we eat a lot of pasta. The rhythm of a week's worth of dinners in my

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-33101580344908515022010-02-26T18:29:00.000-05:002010-02-26T18:29:11.166-05:00

A few months ago, I may have mentioned that I was finding it a bit challenging to toilet train Sacha. Those days are behind us, and now, he is a lean mean shitting machine. The way we trained him was a textbook example of classical conditioning, substituting television and feces for a bell and saliva. Wherever he is, I imagine Pavlov is either nodding in approval or burrowing deeper into the

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-20201099326440436802010-02-25T13:12:00.000-05:002010-02-25T13:12:11.221-05:00

I don't know anyone who doesn't like a cookie, and were I to run across such a person, I would be highly suspect of their character. Yet, at the risk of contradicting myself, or casting aspersions on my own character, there are a lot of down-home standby cookies which I could take or leave. I blame it on the leavening. I find the slightly bitter, metallic taste of baking powder and soda

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-40405951039143172522010-02-23T22:33:00.000-05:002010-02-23T22:33:02.994-05:00

It is somewhat fashionable to complain about the shortcomings of one's children's school districts, and while I am generally happy with ours, I have certainly been guilty of this offense. At this point, however, I can offer nothing but the highest praise for the Montclair Public Schools. At age four, Sacha has left a small eddy of destruction at preschools throughout town. When he was three, we

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-84441928143608767352010-02-19T17:02:00.000-05:002010-02-19T17:02:08.921-05:00

This morning as I swept the kitchen debris into a dustpan, I saw something skitter. When my heart resumed its normal rhythm, I looked down and saw a cricket lying belly up among the bread crumbs. I have a generally laissez-faire attitude toward insects; it's their world as much as ours, and knowing nothing of mortgages and property taxes, I can't blame them their desire to co-habitate. I share

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-25731272238677168652010-02-18T10:12:00.000-05:002010-02-18T10:12:39.298-05:00

For most of my life, I was a devoted cauliflower hater. It had the texture of soy cheese, and bore an unfortunate resemblance to the cerebral cortex. Or so I thought, that is, until, I began roasting brussels sprouts a few winters ago. Enamored of this easy, delicious preparation, my friend Sharon suggested I try giving cauliflower the same treatment. The next time I went to the market I picked

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-25416102132105605832010-02-16T21:35:00.000-05:002010-02-16T21:35:09.455-05:00

One of the ways in which my age shows is that I cannot help but text in full sentences. I am not above the occasional WTF, and regularly use w as shorthand for with, but am generally unable to write b4, or L8R, and I don't see the point of IWBAPTAKYAIYSTA*. While it gets points for looking vaguely Cyrillic, the sentiment could be far more succinctly conveyed by a simple, "Fuck you." Last week

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-1551741384385007462010-02-10T14:25:00.001-05:002010-02-10T14:26:23.798-05:00

Although I make it with some regularity every winter, I am not head-over-heels for beef stew. Although there are many ways to flavor a beef stew, the method I've relied upon for years uses beer for the braising liquid, and is finished with a bit of tomato paste to brighten the flavors. It is sturdy, dependable and warming, and while I would never refuse a bowl, it bores me. The flavor strikes me

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-54005180847146927842010-02-09T21:58:00.000-05:002010-02-09T21:58:53.856-05:00

On the last Saturday in December, I read on Twitter that Ted Leo was playing that evening, here in Montclair, at the Meat Locker. This was something of a dream come true for me; one of my favorite musicians, playing in my town? Yet there was no way we'd find a sitter on such short notice. Did we dare put Sacha to bed and leave Sarah and Gabriel in charge? Oh, yes, we did! After making sure

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-25549090447571912622010-02-02T21:41:00.000-05:002010-02-02T21:41:12.689-05:00

One of Sacha's most endearing qualities is that he is unabashedly, effusively affectionate. He declares his love for me at reliable intervals throughout the day; when I greet him in the morning; when I unbuckle him from his car seat; when I wipe his ass, and always, with pitch-perfect timing, when his siblings are getting a tongue lashing. I see his constant reassurance that I am indeed, the

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-6545958081103356972010-01-20T14:27:00.056-05:002010-01-20T22:46:05.978-05:00

I know, I know; you're never going to do this, but hear me out. In the early days of our marriage, David would occasionally return from the supermarket with a sack of masa harina, and a plan to roll our own make tortillas. I must have no trace of Mexican ancestry in my genes, because although I am game to cook many things of different nationalities, tortillas never called to me. And so the

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-29199440027948635132010-01-19T22:30:00.001-05:002010-01-20T15:51:26.471-05:00

Last week, Sacha said something that left me in a swoon. It was not “I love you,” or “You are the best mom,” or “You are the most beautiful woman in the world,” although all of the above is uncategorically true. What he said was,  “Mama, I need to poop.” And so with great joy, I gave away the last of our diapers to a younger and more deserving customer. After many, many months of trial, to

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-8504596408880795492010-01-07T19:33:00.000-05:002010-01-07T19:33:25.317-05:00

Sarah and I had some rare time alone in the house together while I was making dinner, and I decided to put her to work. I was making this, and I had her make the corn tortillas. (Yes, I make tortillas, but it is really easy.) She did a superlative job, and kept her work station neat. This was thrilling to me. I was proud of her skill in the kitchen, but it also signified the dawning of a new

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-38257567177459315922009-12-23T21:11:00.000-05:002009-12-23T21:11:23.273-05:00

Ours is a chocolate mint family. I ate a vast quantity of mint chip ice cream when Sarah was in utero, and it is hard to imagine a combination those flavors that I would find unappetizing. And so last year around this time, when I came across a recipe for peppermint bark, I had to try it, and it was unsurprised to love it. Although I am Jewish, I am not immune to the Pavlovian Christmas baking

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-55997026284316337192009-12-21T14:31:00.001-05:002009-12-21T14:32:23.764-05:00

Friday afternoon, the boys were playing together when David and I heard banging, accompanied by Sacha shouting, "Ow, ow, stop it, stop it, STOP HITTING ME GABRIEL!" Although he sounded more angry than injured, I would have been remiss had I not investigated. At the bottom of the staircase stood Sacha, hitting himself in the head with a hollow plastic tube,  while Gabriel played on the other

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-89994467931186793582009-12-16T22:04:00.000-05:002009-12-16T22:04:44.525-05:00

The delicate negotiations required to get Sacha to stop shitting in his pants have left me with an inverse relationship between soiled laundry and patience. For every shit in the desired location, there are several in the undesirables. The standard advice for a hard case such as my beloved is to have them make their deposit in a diaper, while in the bathroom. What parenting manuals fail to

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-44827180576118236462009-12-10T17:15:00.001-05:002009-12-10T17:21:28.143-05:00

When Sarah was in third grade, she had a brief flirtation with vegetarianism. I never got the full story, but something she'd encountered during a science lesson had made her reconsider her love of beef. Although I am not a vegetarian, I have vegetarian leanings, and so, I agreed to indulge this, provided she broadened her diet to include more — read, any — beans and nuts, to compensate for the

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-5050339136028658642009-12-07T22:26:00.003-05:002009-12-08T08:41:20.104-05:00

Since my ignominious defeat last summer, several people have asked me if I've had any luck toilet training Sacha. My standard response is, "Hell no, I would have blogged the hell out of that." In the past few weeks, however, we have made significant progress. I'd like to say that after much reading of parenting manuals and soul searching, we managed to find the key that unlocked the mystery of

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-16664795054925679672009-12-02T20:54:00.000-05:002009-12-02T20:54:41.748-05:00

For Thanksgiving dessert, I usually serve pumpkin pie and pears baked in red wine. Pie, because I like it, and pears, because the majority of my family DOES NOT LIKE PIE. While I try to steer clear of anything smacking of jingoistic, I believe this to be un-American, but I am willing to overlook it, because I love them. This year, although my Thanksgiving preparations proceeded with

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-66721387673310001502009-11-30T21:57:00.001-05:002009-11-30T21:58:22.498-05:00

Turning 40 in 2008 did not break my stride, but as it happened to be the same year that Sarah turned ten, I've noticed that this year, the terrain has gotten noticeably steeper. I am still adjusting to the fact of my first-born reaching the decade mark – not only have I been a mother for ten years, but we have also reached the juncture where childhood wanes as adolescence waxes. And so, what

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-49014845915174958292009-11-27T21:37:00.000-05:002009-11-27T21:37:31.728-05:00

Sarah had a friend over this afternoon who was helping her pull together an outfit for an outing to the movies. They came downstairs to show me what they'd come up with, and after I admired their handiwork, they had the following exchange: Friend: You have to go to school to be a stylist, but I have it in my blood. Sarah: What, is your great-grandmother Lindsay Lohan?

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-64140628846549341062009-11-26T21:53:00.000-05:002009-11-26T21:53:14.434-05:00

Some time in October, I ran my dishwasher and it emitted a noxious and alarming smell, something like the unholy spawn of hot rubber and electrical fire. I stopped the dishwasher and finished everything by hand. David made note to look at it over the weekend. And then began our the weeks of sickness and the death, and more sickness, and it was last weekend that David was finally able to poke

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-67462910431732574962009-11-24T22:08:00.000-05:002009-11-24T22:08:26.151-05:00

One piece of advice I would give to parents-in-waiting would be, if you have a newspaper subscription, don't waste your money on a diaper pail. Instead, dispose of dirty diapers in plastic newspaper bags. Start stockpiling them now, and you'll have plenty when your baby is born. I have an impressive collection of these, but I recently realized how habitual my hoarding is. When I unpacked my

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-37595465415305165802009-11-23T21:47:00.000-05:002009-11-23T21:47:34.034-05:00

Today was something of a supermarket high holy day for me, as butter, flour, AND ice cream were all on sale. My children have been feeling deprived lately because we've had an ice cream drought. I only buy ice cream when it is on sale, and the brands we like have not been on sale for a while, so they have HAD TO GO WITHOUT. And so I found myself at the register with four sacks of flour, three

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-42761748450109971502009-11-22T21:30:00.000-05:002009-11-22T21:30:15.292-05:00

I was in the produce aisle of the supermarket with Gabriel and Sacha, when Gabriel walked a few feet away from me and bumped into another shopper's cart, hitting himself in the eye. He started to cry, and ran over to me. I was examining the garlic at the moment of impact, so as I comforted Gabriel, I asked him what had happened. The man whose cart he banged into, answered, loudly, and with

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-42101998436124370712009-11-21T20:47:00.000-05:002009-11-21T20:47:41.980-05:00

Last night on my way up to bed, I stopped to check on the children. Sarah was still awake, and as I leaned over to kiss her, she told me that she was proud of Gabriel, because earlier in the evening he had fallen out of  bed, and had not cried. When she said this, she was lying next to him, in his bed, which is her traditional weekend perch. Although we moved to this house for more space, on

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-34896959609049966372009-11-20T20:46:00.000-05:002009-11-20T20:46:45.091-05:00

Sarah went to a birthday party tonight, and upon arriving home, she engaged in that time honored pursuit of examining the loot in her goody bag. As she repeatedly opened and collapsed an intriguing-looking metal sphere bedecked with jewels that was supposedly some sort of puzzle, she remarked, "This isn't magic, it's crap." I believe she just discovered the secret of advertising.

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-65246391607016435332009-11-19T22:26:00.000-05:002009-11-19T22:26:37.624-05:00

I have a love hate relationship with screen time. Because they want it ALL THE TIME, managing my children's access to it is extremely aggravating. But since they love it so, we are all beholden to it; they need their fix, and I need my threat.  In matters of discipline, you have to find the thing that most efficiently brings your charges to their knees. For my family, screen time is the closest

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-33586497439882382842009-11-18T20:54:00.000-05:002009-11-18T20:54:58.251-05:00

I like cabbage. While you could never call it sexy or sophisticated, as vegetables go it has many virtues. It is inexpensive, keeps well, and is equally tasty cold and hot. The trick to cooking cabbage well is to do it quickly over a high heat, much as you would a stir fry, so it chars and sweetens while still retaining a bit of crunch. When I was in graduate school in central New Jersey I lived

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-66307909677038538432009-11-17T21:49:00.001-05:002009-11-19T22:33:22.396-05:00

Depending on your perspective, two weeks ago from Saturday I reached either the nadir or the zenith of my bout of swine flu — I've decided to refer to it as swine flu from here on in, because it sounds so medieval — when my fever climbed to 104 degrees. I was of no use to anyone, and may actually have been delirious, and by 4pm I was fixated not on my fever, but the fact that by my admittedly

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-44362408007322934872009-11-16T21:33:00.001-05:002009-11-16T21:46:38.034-05:00

I hate to break it to you Sacha, but now you are four. Not seven, as was your wont for most of the summer, or eight, the age to which you recently promoted yourself. Despite the fact that you consider your best friends to be a pair of third graders, you are now four years old, as every fiber in your being can attest. I'm sorry you had a crappy birthday, as traveling home from a funeral with a

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-77136574858123142082009-11-15T08:08:00.000-05:002009-11-15T08:08:40.892-05:00

Despite my best intentions, illness got the better of me. For a while, I was able to get by on my stash of posts, but last Friday, after a day spent traveling home from a funeral with a fever averaging 102, I had to cry uncle. And while this may not qualify me for early adopter status, I like to think I was still in the forefront of a movement, having succumbed to the disease du jour at the

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-87488136205610765642009-11-06T22:18:00.000-05:002009-11-06T22:18:10.484-05:00

Sacha has a few disgusting personal hygiene habits, and we have been trying diligently to teach him some manners. Like most things where Sacha is concerned, it is an uphill battle. Lately, I've seen some encouraging signs that our attempts at socializing him are having some effect. I was out for lunch with brother recently, when Sacha began rooting around in his nose. I handed him a tissue. He

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-51655333110330382662009-11-05T09:00:00.074-05:002009-11-05T22:02:23.172-05:00

Do you like to play parlor games? I play them in my head all the time, which now that I admit this, gives the impression that I am easily amused, wildly creative, or extremely lonely. You choose!  I got the idea for this from Eden Kennedy at Fussy, who did a things I do not like post this week for nablopomo. I imposed a few rules on myself, because boundaries are a good thing. Because it is so

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-56153984896544650712009-11-04T23:19:00.002-05:002009-11-04T23:19:49.655-05:00

Sacha has become very interested in cooking lately. I'm glad to see him taking an interest, but alarmed whenever he pulls his chair in front of the lit stove and shouts, “CAN I HELP TOO?” I'm trying encourage him and keep him alive by making things he can help with without putting himself in mortal peril, that he'll actually want to eat, and don't make too much of a mess. I'm sure you can guess

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-48413642949928719882009-11-03T11:56:00.000-05:002009-11-03T18:42:00.019-05:00

It turns out that my powers of resistance are weaker than I hoped. Toward the end of last week David caught whatever non specific viral illness the children had, while I remained unscathed. This was somewhat unusual because David has a freakishly strong immune system, and I am normally the one to fall ill. I felt a bit left out for missing the sick party, but I wasn't going to complain. But it

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-83408017482928585392009-11-02T08:37:00.000-05:002009-11-03T18:41:12.272-05:00

My children were recovering from their first bout of sickness of the season, and after twenty-four hours without appetite, they began to exhibit signs of hunger. To capitalize on this, I made pizza for dinner. It's relatively gentle, and one of the rare things that everyone agrees on. Toward the end of the meal, Sacha's plate was littered with crusts, not unlike the bones of a small mammal's

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-52619213211630846002009-11-02T08:33:00.000-05:002009-11-03T18:40:27.229-05:00

Pamela was not my intended name. A contraction of παν (pan) "all" and μελι (meli) "honey," it means all sweetness. As baby names go, you can't get more auspicious. When I was born, my parents intended to name me Perry Arla, which I've always thought is a kick-ass name. It is strong and unusual, and I like its androgyny. I spent a good deal of time in my adolescence wondering what life would

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-68371110958837645902009-10-31T15:00:00.001-04:002009-11-03T19:33:32.069-05:00

My mother-in-law, Barbara Sharmaine Goldsteen died early this morning, from complications related to pancreatic cancer. This was her fourth bout with cancer; prior to this, she had survived ovarian cancer three times. Her first two sicknesses occurred before I knew her; when David was a teenager. No cancer diagnosis is good news, and ovarian cancer is especially deadly. When she was first

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-19337935382904004652009-10-30T20:46:00.000-04:002009-10-31T17:33:58.071-04:00

After some wavering, dithering and prevaricating, I have decided to participate in NaBloPoMo, or National Blog Posting Month. It rolls off the tongue awkwardly, no? I am going to do my best to post something every day in November, which will be no small undertaking for me. I've stockpiled a few things, and I hope that is not considered cheating. Some items will be short, and a few may be lame,

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-27218728207698827692009-10-28T11:59:00.000-04:002009-10-31T17:33:58.088-04:00

In an exquisite feat of timing, my children fell ill this week in highly choreographed fashion. Gabriel went first, spiking a fever on Sunday evening. Sarah came home early from school on Monday, and Sacha woke up sick in the middle of the night. I thought this most considerate of them, as it means we'll get this round over with quickly, whereas if they'd staggered their sickness, I would be

Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com1