We're not in Kansas anymore.

I've been reading Elizabeth the classic children's book "Eloise," which we checked out of the library. I didn't get two pages into this book when I had to stop and flip back to the front to check the publication date, because it was so very obviously not written any time recently. 1955. Yup, that's about right.

So Eloise is this precocious 6 year old who lives in the Plaza Hotel in New York. She pretty much has rip-roaring run of the place, and torments the guests and staff alike. The book tells of her adventures, such as calling room service and ordering beer for her nanny on Fight Night:



Here's Eloise's nanny, smoking a butt and drinking a brewski while watching TV with Eloise:



In 2008, the TV-watching alone would be enough to send the mommy blogosphere into an uproar.

We never do see Eloise's mother, but we learn a little about her
"gentleman friend:"





Eloise's mommy goes to Virginia with her martini-loving lawyer? No, this was most definitely not written in the aughts.

Of course, all this innuendo flew right over Elizabeth's head, but for me, it sure was a nice change from "Pinkalicious."

It's sort of like "Cinderella," which you probably remember well, even if you don't read it/watch it as much as I do these days. It doesn't take long to realize that Cinderella is not contemporary children's fiction. Much of the focus on the stepsisters in Cinderella is on the fact that they are not only mean, but ugly. And they have big feet. We just don't do that in 2008 -- we leave the "ugly" part out of it. These days, the mean girls are always hot, in a Shannen Doherty (who just can't help but look like a bitch) kind of way, rather than in that cute all-American Rachel Bilson or Katie Holmes (Dawson's Creek days, not post-Tom hookup days) kind of way. In my view, the fact that we no longer make fun of people's appearances in children's literature is a change for the better, but the fact that children's books no longer feature nannies who knock back a few pilsners while watching the big fight with their charges is not.

And I really want a Prius.

We had the following exchange at breakfast this morning:

Elizabeth: Mommy, do you know what I really want?
Me: No, honey, what do you really want?
Elizabeth: A compost pile.

Gotta say, I wasn't expecting that one.

[Edited to add: I wasn't sure at first whether this came from school or TV, but have now confirmed that it was TV.]

Can I figure out how to schedule a post?

Let's find out.

If this posts at 1:05 a.m. EST*** on 11/6/08, consider "scheduling a post to publish automatically" to be among my new blogging tricks!

***Yes, I have my Blogger time settings on Eastern Standard time, because (1) I still consider EST to be "the real time" - you can take the girl out of Connecticut, but you can't make her embrace Central Standard Time, dammit!!, and (2) if I'm on Eastern Time, I can cheat and publish my Tuesdays with Dorie baking posts on MONDAYS (rebel that I am) any time after 11 p.m. CST, but it will still show up as a Tuesday post. That way, I get my post published, leave a comment or two on other (Eastern Time or fellow cheaters') blogs, and still get to bed at a reasonable hour. Of course, if I can figure out how to schedule posts, this will become largely irrelevant. I'm still keeping EST though. Interestingly (well, interesting to me, not objectively interesting -- but you don't HAVE to read my crap, do you?) -- I actually prefer many things about CST. In general, doing everything an hour earlier is a good thing. I can watch Letterman at 10:30. I can turn in for the night on 11:01 p.m. on New Year's Eve (because would you stay up until midnight to watch some cut-rate Central Standard Time ball-dropping ceremony? No, I didn't think so.) But what can I say? In my heart, it will always be one hour later.

R.I.P. Halloween '08

Well, we've finally bid farewell to Halloween, which is always a huge month six weeks day in kid-dom, right up there behind Christmas and a birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese (sorry for mentioning the "CEC" word, people over the age of 12). We've spent the weekend detoxing from all the sugar, and now we're gearing up to start overhyping the next holiday. But first, some pictures:




We had no idea what Jacob would be until the last minute, when he emerged from his room as Mr. Incredible. I believe that his pecs are the crumpled up sports section. It pained him not to wear his vampire teeth, but he did not tell me that he wanted to be a vampire until 9:00 p.m. on October 30th, which was two days past the bar date for filing a "change of costume" request. I had the authority under section 105 to consider a request made after the deadline, but after careful deliberation, I determined that good cause did not exist for me to make an 8 a.m. Target run on Halloween to hunt down a devoted "vampire cape," when Jacob has two bins full of dress-up clothes, including a Harry Potter cape and a Batman cape, both of which could serve as vampire capes in a pinch. Does that make me a witch? Well, in any event, Jacob got over the vampire thing and seemed very happy as Mr. Incredible.




Elizabeth was a purple fairy, and she could not have been more delighted. Between the magic wand, the tiara, and the wings, she seemed to think that she was sufficiently bedazzled, which was no small feat. As she has probably already told you (or would tell you if given the opportunity), purple is her first favorite color, so between the purpleness and the bling, she was in fancy heaven.





Caroline was a butterfly. I was going to have her wear the bumblebee tutu that Elizabeth wore on her one year old Halloween, but Caroline REFUSES TO WALK, and I didn't think that a tutu would be as crawler-friendly. As a sidenote, even though Caroline won't walk unassisted yet, she is the most funkadelic dancer I know. If she hears so much as a ringing cell phone tune or the jingle of a TV commercial, her ears will perk up, and she'll immediately stand up and start shaking it. We should all be so moved by music. Appropriately enough, David helped Caroline pick out the perfect card for my birthday:


When you open it, it plays the theme to "The Love Boat"


It's signed "From Caroline, your funky little cruiser." By gosh, she is a funky little cruiser!

We do so adore musical greeting cards in my little family. Consider yourselves warned.

Anyway, back to Halloween! Does Caroline look distressed to you in this picture?

It's only because she was distressed. Her tolerance for trick or treating is about like my tolerance for Chuck E. Cheese. Plus, she shared the wagon with Elizabeth, which I am sure had to be stressful in itself. I took her back and put her to bed after three or four houses.

Jacob was excited to get to see his cousin Cantrell for a little while:



When I saw Cantrell, I said, "hey sweetie! You look like a rock star!" She replied: "I'm a POP star. A modestly dressed pop star. I am not showing my belly like a real pop star." Hmmmm, do you think that the pop star's father/manager had a hand in that? You just can't make this stuff up.

The end of the night evaluation of the candy haul. That's our little friend Ben. Elizabeth is looking a bit dazed and disheveled, don't you think?



Hope that everyone else had a great Halloween, too!

[confidential to Cam & Wendy: yup, you know that your neighborhood is going to break heavily for Obama when your kid asks why the monkey has two daddies. I had A BALL on Saturday!!]

Wait . . . just give me a second and I'll think of someone!

I've written before about how my children (at least Jacob and Elizabeth) are terribly picky eaters. I'm sure we've made that worse by indulging it. I mean, if we were consistent about just saying "Tortellini with Spinach and Prosciutto for dinner! Take it or leave it!" and refused to make the grilled cheese sandwich, EVENTUALLY they'd start eating the tortellini, wouldn't they? Well, most of the time I take the eating issues in stride, but every once in a while I get frustrated. Like the other night, when I made some oven-fried potatoes with salt. Just salt. No green flecks. No pepper. Potatoes and salt. Okay, and a little olive oil to brown them.

Jacob: What are these?
Mom: They are french fries.
Jacob: Are they like zoo french fries?
Mom: (frantically trying to remember whether zoo french fries are a good thing or a bad thing): No, they're better than zoo french fries.
Jacob: Hmmm. I don't think so. They look funny.
Mom: Jacob! I just tasted these! They are DELICIOUS! Dip them in some ketchup. You need to eat what I cook! I am a GOOD COOK! People tell me that I am a good cook!
Jacob: Who?

Oooooooh. A name. You want me to give you a name. The pressure . . . of a name. (okay movie buffs, name that flick!) I think I meekly answered: "Daddy? Grandma?" and he said "well, you're not a famous cook!" Ah, there's my problem! Apparently only famous cooks can get their kids to eat dinner! I tell you, if it weren't for Caroline, my ego would be in tatters right now. That child wolfed down some adult-sized portions of Butternut Squash Lasagna and then started waving her arms around and saying "muh muh muh" (I think that's "more.") There you go! Caroline thinks I'm a good cook! Of course, she also eats leaves and paper, so her standards are pretty low.

It's Not Always Easy Sorting Out Who is the Boss of Whom

Last night Jacob and Elizabeth were sitting together at their little kiddie table, enjoying a little conversation over dessert. This is what I heard:

Elizabeth: I am the boss of you.
Jacob: No, you are not the boss of me. I am the boss of you. It goes like this: Daddy is the boss of Mommy. Mommy is the boss of me. I am the boss of you. You are the boss of Caroline. Caroline is not the boss of anybody.

Ah, so much that needs correcting, so little time. First, given that everything we do is dependent on Caroline's sleeping schedule and her mood, I would say that Caroline is the boss of all of us. Also, we tell Jacob and Elizabeth every day that if they would just worry more about themselves, and less about being the boss of the other, then their days would be much more harmonious. Finally, David will need to tell us himself whether he feels like he is the boss of me. David?

With a moo moo here, and a quack quack there . . .

I dressed Caroline in her cute little farm animal romper for this picture for a reason, because we have big news to share with you! Yes, you guessed it: Caroline can now moo like a cow and quack like a duck! Isn't that exciting?? Now, I know, I know, you all know babies who spoke in complete sentences at 13 months, well, not my kid! -- but if it's barnyard animal noises that you need, Caroline is your baby. Sometimes she will start quacking when you tell her to moo like a cow -- details! -- but overall she is clearly very proud of her new farm animal noise-making talents. I would say that she's just a week or two away from baaaing like a sheep and oinking like a pig. Stay tuned!