The husband borrowed the 20th anniversary collector’s edition of Tron from a friend…who also threw in some raveresque glow bracelets. They make the perfect accessory for Tron-watching…a movie which is likely little man-safe, but after a couple of late nights the poor kid needed to hit the hay early. After putting him to bed we settled in to watch the movie on the husband’s computer (how fitting). We’d forgotten just how over the top cheesy it is. Yeah, I know…it’s an 80’s Disney flick, but damn. And then there are the extras…comprised mostly of interesting and entertaining stuff, but with a number of cringe-inducing clips to boot. Though I can’t help but look on this milestone movie through the lens of nostalgia. After all, I clearly remember when it first came out. It was at a time when my brother, Dad and I were spending a lot of quality time at Circus Pizza and Arcade, playing videogames and skeeball. But, blasphemer that I am, I have to say that Jeff Bridges will always be The Dude to me.

Ah, two consecutive nights of gorging ourselves full to bursting. Last night it wasn’t even Thanksgiving leftovers we were consuming (because we didn’t have any). Somehow, and I’m still not quite sure how, the painfully shy husband agreed to dine out with my “internet friends”. Thankfully we convinced a couple of our “real life” friends to come along, to help the husband feel more at ease. The little man and I were beat, having stayed up past our bedtimes the night before, but the prospect of eating at Evergreen *and* socializing perked us up just enough. So it was that we met up with the lovely Lane and Tina, Spacewaitress, and Chuck and Lorika. With such a large group there’s the bonus of being able to order many, many dishes…so that everyone gets to sample a bit of everything. But with the multiple appetizers and entrees arriving every few minutes I spaced, yet again, and failed to take many photos. Snapped off just a sad few. Yes, I was too busy eating to properly document the event. But the food was sooooooo good, as were the company and conversation. I was driven to distraction. Or something. And let me say that the also-pregnant Tina looks absolutely fantastic. Though it’s not fair…she’s about two months further along than I am, but my belly’s already bigger. Guess that’s what I get for being a midget.

Yesterday I was a bad blogger. We were moving around from place to place such that I rarely paused to take photographs. The day started with me baking a batch of BBQ tofu for the evening’s potluck. Once that was ready, we cruised out to the burbs for a visit with my Dad. It was hard to leave him, especially with the fire going (I’m having some serious fireplace envy these days). Afterwards we swung back by our house to retrieve the food, then headed to the husband’s family gathering. There we settled in…again, by a crackling fire. The guys started watching Finding Nemo but we ladies played a nifty word game, called Word Blind. We need to pick up a copy to play in our lovely (but sadly fireplace-less) lounge. Unfortunately we had to bail before the game was over, even though I was in second place. But I couldn’t argue with my belly. We hadn’t eaten yet and it was time to move on to the vegan potluck of the year, held at the home of the little man’s bio-dad. It’s an event we all look forward to and plan for the other 364 days of the year. It never disappoints and last night was no exception. The company was enjoyable (with over twenty of us gathered, including friends I hadn’t hung out with in a couple of years)…and then there was the food. I took small portions of each dish, trying to savor all, and still sampled less than half of what was available. My plate held homemade tofurky (with even better texture and flavor than storebought), garlic mashed potatoes & gravy, stuffed squash, lasagna, curried chickpeas & cauliflower, homemade croissants, mac’n'cheez, a sweet potato roll, my bbq tofu and rice, and more. Desserts included the husband’s chocolate almond midnight cake with raspberry coulis and candied almonds, pumpkin pie, homemade soy ice cream (two flavors), some sort of banana pudding, and pear & apple crisp, among other things. And if that all sounds too hippie-ish to yawl, well, at least no one was wearing Birkenstocks (not even the non-leather kind). And while I didn’t set out to be one, I’ll fess up…I seem to be some sort of pseudo-hippie mom. The little man just asked for a treat, specifically leftover Halloween candy, for successfully using the toilet. He’s been potty-trained and accident-free long enough that positive reinforcement is no longer necessary. But for a while I got away with pulling a fast one on him…by giving him his daily chewable vitamin as a treat. Eventually he caught on to it. So just now I tried switching tactics…but it backfired when I couldn’t even say something with a straight face. I attempted to sell him on the concept of raisins as “nature’s candy”. Next thing you know I’ll be whipping up some wheat-free carob cookies. Heaven help us.

One of my favorite Thanksgiving memories seems to have happened a lifetime ago. It was a little before my brother fell ill…when he was either fifteen or sixteen, and I was twelve or thirteen. We were happily staying at our father’s house for the holiday. The weather was warm but windy, with no snow yet on the ground. So it was especially noticeable when some stray scraps of white paper began blowing across the dry, brown lawn. As it was a few hours before the big meal, Tom and I ran outside to gather up these loose pages. We headed back indoors to examine our find. They appeared to be from some poor kid’s notebook, with most pages containing uninteresting scribbles or dull homework notes. But one captured our attention. It was a message (written but never delivered?) which began by extolling the virtues of this boy’s love…with a line forever burned into my memory. “You are my firefox!!!!” The punctuation and content only spiralled further out of control from that point on. It was so long ago…yet I’m kicking myself for failing to remember the rest in greater detail. Suffice it to say, it gave our immature minds hours of amusement (I cringe at the thought of anyone invading my notebooks of that era). At one point I was laughing so hard I fell to the floor, crying and clutching my sides in an uncontrollable fit (those who know me well will recognize this behavior…thankfully it occurs but a few times a year). I’m torn, part of me wishes that we’d saved this love letter. If it were still in my possession I could submit it to Found magazine for the amusement of others. But I realize father probably knew best in this case. Our dad mercifully destroyed all the evidence, using the wayward pages as kindling in his fireplace.

Upon waking this morning one of the first things I encountered was Sméagol. Not a face you want to wake up to. Luckily the little man’s adorable visage was an effective antidote. Still, I know what the husband and I will be doing tonight (thank you Dave and Huey-Ling!) though I doubt we’ll take it all in in one sitting. But you never know…we are already in hibernation mode. We spent most of the weekend, and yesterday, at home. More specifically in our computer room, recently dubbed the multi-purpose lounge. The husband’s futon-couch had been languishing in his parents’ basement. I’ve been putting it to much better use. Nearly two weeks ago we relocated it to the already crowded computer room, but instead of feeling cramped I think it’s cozier. So much so that I rarely leave the room. For one thing, it’s the warmest in the house (a good thing now, but it will suck come summer). It’s also become the best reading room in the house, for my books and the little man’s bedtime stories. I just finished “Ilium” last night, while curled up on the futon (can’t wait for the second volume of this epic adventure to come out). We’ve also been watching movies and listening to music on the husband’s computer…a machine far superior to mine. The Decemberists have been in heavy rotation lately, a band we’re both liking these days. And we’ve gotten in a good game or two…of Scrabble and Trivial Pursuit. The long-suffering husband also attempted to give me a lesson in the use of my sewing machine, but I had my nose in a book. I’ll have to pay closer attention next time…if the husband is willing to repeat himself. At least he knows where to find me.

On a morning like this one, when we’re being blanketed by our first heavy snowfall of the season (accompanied by a winter storm warning, no less), I would have happily spent much of the morning in my jammies. Sadly it was not to be. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone into the kitchen. But the little man needed some breakfast, and I need to get extra nutrients to v2.0. As I fried up my Smart Bacon I thought “hmmm, orange juice would be lovely with this”. The warning alarms should have sounded then. Instead I looked in the fridge, and, sure enough, there were the frozen concentrate containers. Though not so frozen any more. The husband keeps them in the fridge so the concentrate melts into more of a goopy sludge, thus making it easier to mix with water. I grabbed one unit and tore off that plastic seal dealy that’s wrapped around one end. But the metal disc was stubborn. I tried using leverage, poking the flat side of a butterknife under the rim, to no avail. After glaring at it in annoyance I made my crucial error. I decided to give it a light squeeze…to see if I could gently pop the top off. There must have been some serious vacuum at the top, as my slight pinch caused a sizable explosion. The sound shocked me, but not more so than my sudden drenching in orange juice goo. Stunned, I looked to see my right arm was coated from shoulder to wrist in the sticky stuff. And I could feel, and somewhat see, the major gobs that had become embedded in my hair and coated my glasses. The absurdity of the situation caused me to pause, take in a few deep breaths, and stare out the patio door at the pretty snow falling gently to the ground…before beginning cleanup efforts in earnest. I’m thinking this would have been quite comical…if it hadn’t happened to me. Sigh.

A series of small, sickening moments, relived in dreams at 2am…all of which occurred around the age of five.
1. Enjoying myself on a tire swing. In mid-air I hear the creak and groan as the rope snaps. I am hurled to the ground, ensnared in the swing. I feel a rollercoaster-type rush before I crash to the earth. The wind is knocked out of my lungs, while my small body is simultaneously scraped and bruised. No bones are broken.
2. Disembarking from the family’s old Mazda, my cousin too quickly slams the car door shut behind me…catching and crushing my small hand such that I am unable to free it. My father moves fast to unlock the door, and to take the blame for this act (to deflect my mother’s wrath away from my obviously wigged out cousin). I am rushed to the doctor where my hand is x-rayed. It is tender and sore and will be bruised for some time. No bones are broken.
3. Playing with a friend at her house, I run too quickly and trip over my own feet (this will not be the first or last time). Instead of falling facefirst to the floor my mouth connects with a wooden doorframe. My front teeth are pushed up at an odd angle while cutting my lower lip, causing it to bleed profusely. No bones are broken.
4. Playing by myself at the playground, I run too quickly and trip over my own feet. Even though I don’t have too far to fall, the earth rushes up at me, my mouth connecting with hard concrete…knocking out a front tooth far before its time. My mouth bleeds profusely. No bones are broken.
5. At a summer birthday party across the street. The birthday girl’s mother has the bright idea to set up a slide in the large wading pool. The slide is rusty and old. I wait my turn. Several girls are ahead of me, but I don’t hear their screams until it is too late. Each of us cuts one or both of our feet open on a loose piece of metal at the bottom. The pool water turns red as though there’s been a shark attack. Neighbors come rushing to tend to our wounds. No bones are broken.
My, what a rotten year that was.

This morning I have to give a shout out to one of my oldest and dearest friends. Monica just found out that she passed the California bar exam. No small task, considering it’s got about a 50% passing rate for first time takers. Congratulations! But I have to mention that I’m totally jealous. Not of the bar exam business (I’m very happy for her), but because she’s celebrating by spending the weekend in New Orleans…and may even get to see Duran Duran play the TwiRoPa tonight. That would be sooooooo dreamy. Sigh.

In an effort to redirect my crankiness, I’ve been tracking some non-household news. Sometimes I’ve got to bust out of my cozy cocoon, just for a little while. The past few days have been interesting ones…with the FTAA protests in Miami, the Shrub’s European vacation, and former senator Max Cleland’s blasting of Bush. First off, these undercover cops are way out of touch (obviously) if they think anyone’s going to buy their “disguises”. They look like they’re trying to blend in at a Dave Matthews Band concert rather than a protest. Secondly, the Chasing Bush site is brilliant. I’m sorry the Brits have had to put up with him…but we don’t want him on this side of the pond either. And finally, the Max Cleland interview:
“Former Sen. Max Cleland blasts Bush’s ‘Nixonian’ stonewalling of the 9/11 commission, his ‘lies’ about Iraq, and his flight-suit photo op on the USS Lincoln after ‘hiding out’ during Vietnam.”
I’m afraid it’s Salon premium subscribers only, which is unfortunate as it’s a good one. And about the Wacko Jacko business…I don’t even want to go there. Suffice it to say, I loathe having to share the planet with creeps like him and Bush. And sometimes I’m not sure which one of ‘em is worse.

I’ve just made a most unpleasant discovery. Not the kind of thing anyone wants to wake up to. While I was sleeping my traitorous husband ate the last TWO pieces of the pumpkin pie that *I* made. Selfish bastard. He should know better. You do not get between a pregnant woman and her food of choice. And to add insult to injury, he failed to take off his boots when he got home last night…and tracked huge clumps of dirt all over the house, from the kitchen to the bathroom. To take a line from Inigo Montoya, “there will be blood tonight”.
Update: I should have realized these things come in threes. When the little man and I went out to the car this morning I discovered the husband had, so courteously, left it for us with an empty gas tank. The gas light lit up the instant I started the car, with the needle falling to the empty line. Grrr.