QQQQQuestion?

Are you able to tell when you have enough?

Kimber: Nope. If anyone has tips for developing this particular power of discernment, please do share.

Charity: Not to go all Confuciun on this answer, but the more I have, the more I think I need. The less I have, the more I realize I can live without.

Liberty: I'd like to say yes, but after a recent joyous conversation (partially motivated by 3 glasses of champagne), that concluded in a fit of public tears...the most accurate answer is probably closer to no.

Mercina: Probably not. This question makes me think of a diet Glorianna and I went on a few years ago. We attempted to eat only fruit. But after a few days we were feeling pretty woozy and indulged in some cookies. By indulged I mean we ate until we got sick. And we both felt awful for the rest of the day. Yeah, no.

Glorianna: Yes, but that doesn't necessarily mean I stop.

QQQQQuestion?

Kimber: Willa joining me in the laundry room, WAY past her bedtime, and insisting on brushing my hair. When the midnight makeover was complete, she grabbed my cheeks between her tiny hands and whispered, "Mommy I make you so beautiful and happy."

Charity: Yoni and I went to a beautiful, magical party hosted by all of these wonderful women! It was so fun.

Liberty: Checking out Premal's cute bootie as we pedaled around Denver on our tandem bike.

Mercina: Seeing a mother duck and her SIXTEEN ducklings during a walk around the lake.

Glorianna: I was going through a lot of old pictures, so it's probably a tie between finding:

and

What about you? What was the best part of your day today?

Room

My time here at Yale has had its ups and downs. It has also had its neither-ups-nor-downs. Its many strings of slow dull moments. Those hours in between meals and after assignments have been turned in. Long afternoon walks alone. 1am sitting indian-style on the floor of Woolsey Rotunda, staring up counting light bulbs and listening to a lone organist practice through locked concert hall doors.

I've spent many of those spans of uncomplicated contentedness in my room. Reading. Listening. Watching. Strumming. Cleaning by shoving things into places I can't see. Dancing in front of the $5 Ikea wall mirror. Falling asleep on the couch instead of the bed for no good reason. I've organized and arranged and acquired this room. I like it in here. I think I've grown to love it a little.

Most underclassmen left campus a few days ago. During move-out, I caught glimpses of empty rooms hastily swept out of all the things which made them one person's and not another's. It's sad to think I'll be doing that same sweeping in a few days. My sacred little space will revert to four clean cream walls, a closet door, an empty bookshelf, and a cold-to-the-touch floor. Any indication that I ever ate or sang or slept or wrote here will be oversights -- careless residue leftovers where I neglected to scrub myself out of the whitewashed woodwork sufficiently. A cleaning crew will come in over the summer and wipe any old receipts or strands of hair I forgot to take with me into the irrecoverable yawn of a black plastic trash bag.

No, I don't want to stay in this one-room kitchenless fourth-floor walk-up with a bathroom shared by too many boys forever. Even I'm more ambitious than that (and also the university won't allow me to live in the college after I've graduated).  But I've appreciated all the space I've found in this minute number of square-feet. Next semester, another student will turn a key in the lock of A41. They'll see how awkwardly the unsentimental desk, chair, chest of drawers, and bed-frame sit in its center, a big mess of blonde wood elbows. I hope they're able to find room for themselves within these clean cream walls. I hope they're able to find home for a little while.

Perverbs

Some would call Harry Matthews a writer. I prefer to think of him as a lyrical Dr. Frankenstein -- except instead of sewing together old body parts, he sews together old truisms. Yes, Mr. Matthews has pioneered a new and exciting form of prose: The Perverb.

No, a perverb is not a pervy proverb (i.e. lace curtains never stopped any Peeping Tom with character). Rather, it's the creative combination of two or so tired old phrases into one exciting new phrase (i.e. stop and smell the death and taxes). It's a lovely way to forge new bits of wisdom out of old ones which have lost their oomph to overuse.

I had to write a list of 15 these for a class, but I get the feeling I missed a bunch of really good ones. So I'm crowdsourcing to all y'all clever people to find the best perverbs capable of existence (for entertainment value only -- I already turned in the assignment). I'M DOING THIS BECAUSE I BELIEVE IN YOOOOOOOU!

Below, I've included a few more of my perverbs, accompanied by pictures of weirdly beautiful hybrid taxidermy jobs by the artist Enrique Gomez de Molina (because this is likely the only blogpost I'll ever write where those will be even tangentially relevant).

Honesty hurts

The Devil is in an apple a day.

Big brother has more fun

A little knowledge makes Jack a dull boy

A rolling stone turneth away anger

The road to hell is paved with pennies saved

Business by any other name wouldn’t smell as sweet

Diamonds are next to Godliness

Dead horses tell no tales

Damn! The torpedoes killed the cat!

So what's your best perverb? Share a couple in the comments so we can all chortle at them together alone at our personal computers!

How to take young children anywhere

Mimo and I have a regular date on Fridays. Usually, we take the kids to visit a museum or paint pottery, or we drop by Union Market for smoked fish and ice cream. But last week, when I got to her house, she was sitting in her favorite chair, surrounded by a mountain of photo albums. We spent the whole afternoon pouring over pictures from her amazing life. Our grandpa, Didi, was elected to congress the year that I was born, and spent the next 28 years dragging me and the rest of his grandchildren to completely inappropriate places. For that brazen disregard of protocol and better judgement, I will be eternally grateful.

These days, my kids and I don't have occasion to crash state dinners, but I do look to my fearless grandparents as inspiration when deciding whether to get a sitter or bring the team.

If you're feelig bold, Here are my top 5 tips for bringing your kids anywhere...*

*I also feel I need to insert a disclaimer for anyone who has been to church with my kids. I don't know what it is -- maybe the hyper-familiarity of once-a-week worship with so many of their best little friends? But my tricks don't seem to work there. Once we walk through the chapel doors, it's kind of in God's hands....

Why do I judge you? Because my brand of feminism is better than yours.

We like to talk about food a lot on this blog. I hope that doesn't diminish our feminist credibility, because in the next weeks, you can expect a few posts on the topic.

Which track to take? That is the question.
Next question? How I can make the woman who took a different road feel bad about herself.
Actually, maybe that shouldn't be the question at all.

I was 18. It was midnight and my best friends were over. Katie, Ruth and I were an ambitious troupe with very clear goals. Ruth wanted to be a mother and musician. Katie wanted to be an academic. I loved opera and writing, but all I really wanted to do was go on a Mormon mission. We were eating frozen fruit as I read the central thesis of my newly written, favorite college paper ever. It was a magnum opus on a coming fourth wave of feminism that would broaden the scope of a once, narrow idea of female empowerment. The paper was good; it got an A. But the gathering foretold truths about modern womanhood that I would have never anticipated.

Today, we're riding that fourth wave of feminism I wrote about in 2002. From Hillary Clinton to Sherry Dew, Sheryl Sanberg to Sarah Palin, Susan Patton to Anne Marie Slaughter, Beyonce, Lena Dunham, Jezebel.com to FeministMormonHousewives.org, there seems to be a renewed understanding of the realities of womanhood. But it feels like the world of feminism is all Lean In vs. You Can't do It All, Ordain Women vs. I-Don't-Want-The-Priesthood, or Professional Lady vs. Parenting Warrior. In my life, the issue isn't either/or, it's achieving excellence and happiness in my path while experiencing joy in the roles of others.

I don't know of many people who stayed home with their kids while running a super successful business who became pop stars, politicians, gagillionaires, best-selling authors, astronauts, Olympians, scientists and concert pianists at the same time. Maybe I am alone in this, but if I want to be truly excellent in one thing, I need to focus. One of Paul's epistles says each of us are given different gifts. He goes onto enumerate some of the gifts: languages, healing, faith, knowledge, wisdom, discernment, the list goes on and on. I don't think this epistle was reserved for men.

Women are finally coming to terms with the vast number of acceptable and valuable occupations open to us. There are many noble professions, parenting being just one, incredibly valuable option. Happiness becomes much more difficult when we are preoccupied with expecting others to have the same skills, talents and gifts that we do. In my never-as-humble-as-it-should-be opinion, true feminism is about fulfilling our potential and encouraging others as they do the same -- regardless of their gender.

Take me and my sisters. We have as similar of a baseline as possible: same parents, same city, same gene pool and similar educations. But we're all different. Kimber is a full-time mom. I'm an artist. Liberty is a young professional. Mercina is a missionary. Glorianna is a student. I could envy Kimber's stable income, fabulous aesthetic and perfect children, Liberty's rational professionalism and effortless style, Mercina's work ethic and perfect chic, or Glorianna's Yale education, brilliance and self assurance. Sometimes, I do. But more often than not, I feel blessed by their different gifts.

Within a few years of that late night in Denver, me and my friends were living out each other's dreams. Katie was getting married. Ruth was going on a mission and I was at a top music school. It would have been easy for jealousies and envy to get in the way of friendship. Instead, something wonderful happened: I learned to experience vicarious joy in a way I never knew was possible. These days, Katie is being an amazing mother to her four kids, Ruth is a respected researcher and I am making music. We're still friends and I continue to receive a great deal of satisfaction from their successes. When we stop judging one another and focus on doing our best in the life we're living, we can experience the satisfaction that comes from doing it all without doing everything by ourselves.

What do you wish was part of the current discussion of women, womanhood and feminism?

What do you think is being overlooked? We'd love to hear your thoughts here. We might even write a post about them. Whether you're a lady or man-type, thank you for reading! We <3 you! 

Things impressed upon me from a young age, in no particular order:

Respect older people, those in positions of authority, and everyone else too.

Always say ‘please’, ‘thank you’, and ‘hello, you’ve reached the Tillemann-Dicks' residence. How may I help you?’

Cucumbers should be planted in small mounds.

You should not consider yourself superior to anybody else.

Appearances are important.

Appearances mean very little.

Read.

You are in no way obliged to do things how other people do them.

Privacy from family is not a right – some would prefer to abolish it all together.

The American flag should never touch the ground.

You are capable of hard work, and you have very few good reasons to avoid it.

Manners are an important thing for a young person to have.

Wash the dishes when a guest in someone’s home.

Screaming won’t kill you.

Most things won’t kill you.

Emotional trauma is largely avoidable.

You are capable of figuring out when to go to bed by yourself.

Water is delicious and good for you.

Song To a Fair Young Lady Going Out of Town in the Spring

Ask not the cause why sullen spring

So long delays her flow'rs to bear;

Why warbling birds forget to sing,

And winter storms invert the year?

Willa is gone; and Fate provides

To make it spring where she resides.

*I hope John Dryden forgives me for taking the slightest bit of liberty with his charming ditty. I don't know Chloris, to whom he originally penned the poem, but it's certain that Willa's been hogging good weather lately. Sincerest apologies to those she's left behind in the Polar Vortex!

Frozen: a neurotic mom's self-indulgent review

I think Hettie was probably the last 5-year-old girl in America to see the movie Frozen. You try sitting quietly in a dark theater with my busy little people for over an hour. Regardless of how captivating the on-screen diversion, how tightly sealed the sippy cups, how equitably divided the popcorn, how recently emptied the bladders... something always turns into an earsplitting crisis that leaves me with an entire auditorium of people wishing I'd just been a little patient, stayed home, and rented it on Amazon.

But this weekend, Dave was out of town and the kids had been really good and it was awfully bad weather and I desperately wanted to get out of the house but I really didn't feel like trying very hard to wrangle or entertain once we got wherever we were going. So I took a deep breath, sent a quick message to a pal (because everything's better with backup a friend!), and took the kids to the movies.

And, miraculously, there was no crisis. We watched an entire movie and nobody in our company hit/bit/stole/screamed/peed/pooped/spilled/barfed/stripped/ran away/became hysterical when a perfect stranger chose not to relinquish a silo-sized Mountain Dew. It was awesome. And so was the movie. I absolutely loved it. Also -- who knew Kristen Bell can sing?! She held her own in a duet with Idina Menzel, for crying out loud. If I had a tiara, I would tip it in her general direction.

But as we left the theater, with the lovely songs and sisterly affection and fairytale Scandinavian snow all swirling around my head, something nagged at the corner of my mind. And I couldn't pin it down. And it's been bugging me all weekend. And I think I've finally got it.

What bothers me is this: Somewhere between saving one daughter's life and teaching their other to suppress and hide her remarkable gifts, two loving parents -- a king and queen, no less! -- screwed up their kids so badly that the consequences nearly destroyed not only their family but their entire world.

We all know that every Disney movie has a subversive subtext. This one just happens to feature one of my own personal demons.

Because it's true, right? No matter how well-intentioned we are, no matter how blessed our circumstances, no matter how tireless and tender and well-researched our nurturing, no matter how much love and care and hard work and faith and sweat and passion we pour into our kids, no matter how we exhaust ourselves trying to do everything right, we won't. Even the very best parents with the very best luck are still going to screw up their kids.

And then, we will die and leave them alone.


Ouch.

But there is hope. Because all this goes down in just the first 20 minutes of the movie. Isn't parenting kind of the same way? All this stuff that seems so incredibly important happens right at the beginning of their precious, perfect little lives. And it is important. But it's also just prologue. History and scripture -- and Disney! -- have shown that their little spirits are stubborn and resilient. They have an innate spark that no horror, and no rotten parenting, can extinguish completely. They are blessed, as we all are, with the power to make their own choices. They write their own stories, fight their own demons, sing their own songs. And it's terrifying. But also a little bit freeing.

We can -- and we should! -- wear ourselves out in this epic adventure of parenting, helping our little heirs in every way that is healthy and possible. And then we have to, uh...

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go build a snowman.

Today is a good day.

We're celebrating a bit of an anniversary in the Tillemann-Dick clan. (If you're at all confused, this link might help clarify some things.) I can't say in words how grateful I am to the person who chose to preserve life in the midst of death two years ago today. That decision has changed my life and that of everybody I love for the waaay better -- especially that of a certain sister with a penchant towards strong opinions and delicious foodstuffs. Wherever you are, Thank You. Thank you so much.



To everybody else who might be reading this, please consider registering as an organ donor. Please consider asking your friends to register as organ donors. It's a good thing. I promise.

In fact, if you have any questions or concerns about registering as a donor, send me a note at nonitd@gmail.com. I would love to talk through any uncertainties about the registration or donation process you may have, I just need to know about them first. It's not exactly a pleasant subject to have a conversation about, but it's important.

Have a exceptionally lovely weekend.

Blurred Lines

"ugh. that chick was trippin' lizards, yo". . . Nothing.

"dewd, my belly does not have any food in it right now.". . . Nope.

"soooo when are we going to go do that thing we talked about that one time?". . . *crickets*

"where you been, man?"

"Just busy with some stuff and things"

"want to grab coffee?"

"I don't know. I have a dentist appointment next Tuesday, so I don't know if we'll be able to sync up our schedules"

"come on. we haven't talked in ages. you're usually free thursdays, right? let's meetup for a canolli or something."

...

"Sure"

Boom. Fraped.

Frape (not frappé) is a new word I made up last night after realizing that I'm terrified of becoming an overbearing friend person, a.k.a. a frapist. You can probably figure out its roots if you think about it. . . yeah. You get it.

I've been thinking lately about when being friendly and proactive in relationships crosses the line from appropriately thoughtful into uncomfortably persistent, and I've determined that I have absolutely no idea. Forcing the physical act of hanging out is wrong and nobody should do it. But what exactly counts as forcing? Four texts? A phone call? More than one email? For me, three chronologically distant yet consecutive texts feels pretty frapey -- because really, how many more can you send before the other person become so uncomfortable they reply, even though they really don't want to? After two, I pretty much understand that you've been over me for, like, four months already and the resulting shame that I didn't tire of your company before you tired of mine means I hate you forever and ever and I never want to see you again.

. . . I realize that this is probably not healthy.

For obvious reasons, yes, but some others as well. My eagerness to avoid engaging in non-consensual friendship means that I tend to just not get to know people unless they get to know me first. This is unfair, illogical, and I'm sure excludes me from many enriching relationships. But it's the case. The good (?) news is that I actually quite enjoy spending time alone, so this intense social dysfunction doesn't bother me all that much. However, on those rare occasions when I do shoot off the first communique, I quickly spiral into the above mentioned doubt-spiral and shut out people who I actually think might be pretty neato. Not productive.

I don't even think frape is bad, in the abstract. If you think someone is keen, of course you should put some real effort into getting to know them better! I probably wouldn't have any friends if people hadn't done that with me. But I just can't bring myself to. . . you know.

I don't even know what the point I'm trying to get across here is.

I think it's easiest to just associate with blood relatives -- if they think you're lame they'll tell you, but you still get to be buddies anyway because that's just the rule. (ok siblings? Ok.)

Because I don't have any other good conclusion, I'll leave you with the frapists' anthem, by Blondie:

A Mormon, A Lesbian and Baby Jesus

A word of advice: If you're invited to dinner, it's probably a bad idea to bring up abortion during the main course. Especially if the family is Mormon. But for some reason, I thought it was the right time and place to air my left-leaning views about the topic which almost a decade later, I understand is only something a rude, self righteous teenager would do. I could see the husband's face getting red. A very mild mannered man, he was finishing medical school at Johns Hopkins University. "I have been in the room during abortions and there is a darkness there." He went onto explain that from the time he was young, his parents had taken in single, expectant mothers through the birth of their children and cared for the young women until after their children were adopted and/or after they had a more secure place in the world to care for their children. 

The other night, I attended an event held by Women in Government, an organization that brings women of all political stripes together to discuss issues without the partisan rancor. I met Pat Spearman. She is a veteran, an ordained minister, a former police officer and the first lesbian ever to serve in the Nevada State Senate. I happened to sit next to her when she got a text message. It was from a 12 year old boy who was in the middle of basket ball practice. She explained that when his mother was expecting, she was on the brink of poverty. It was a choice between providing for the children she had or the financial ruin that the pregnancy and expenses of another child would bring. Senator Spearman had an idea. She told the woman that money should not be a deciding factor of whether or not to terminate a pregnancy. Ms. Spearman promised to help provide financially and emotionally for the child, which she has done for a dozen years.

Jesus sounded like the dictionary definition of an unwanted pregnancy. Despite His Father's divinity, Jesus was the bastard child of a fourteen year old, single, minority woman in the 1st century. Talk about a nightmare. Single, pregnant women were frequently stoned to death, violently ending life and the potential for it. If Mary's cousin Elizabeth wouldn't have swooped in, giving Mary food, shelter and emotional support during and after the pregnancy, who knows if the Christian world would exist, let alone have known Jesus as their Lord and Savior? 

Abortion is not a new phenomenon. It's as old as history. The missing link in the abortion debate isn't political: it's human. A study of women who receive abortions by the Guttmacher Institute suggests that almost three quarters of women do not feel financially able to care for a/nother child. Almost 50% of respondents were afraid of the implications of single motherhood. 20% felt pressure from a sexual partner or parent to end a pregnancy. Pregnancy carries enormous professional stigma and many women are fired or never rehired after taking maternity leave.  Many women facing abortion don't see a choice. They see abortion as their only real option. They don't see the possibility of a real life for their children; so why would they bring them into the world? 

It speaks volumes about the Mormon family that they continued making the lives of young women and children possible and that we are still friends. It speaks volumes about the Senator that twelve years later, she plays an active role in the young man's life that she helped save. They have different beliefs about whether or not or when abortion should be legal,* but they are doing more to address the issue of abortion than any lobbyist in Washington, any court ruling or any tirade on facebook. 

If we're pro-choice, we need to make sure women know they have options beyond professional and social stigma, unemployment and poverty. That we'll rally around if they give their baby another loving home through adoption or bring a child up themselves, despite any medical challenges that baby might face. If women or men decide to leave the workforce to care for children, we should be ready and willing to hire them when they return to employment outside of the home.  If we're pro-life, we need to try and provide children a life worth living once they exit the womb, with education, housing, health care and nurturing relationships. We need to advocate for maternity and paternity leave and work to have family friendly workplaces. 

Antiabortion legislation certainly didn't save baby Jesus. It was a friend who was willing to step in and pick up the extra slack.Who was there to love and support Mary. Elizabeth didn't tell Mary what to do. She let her come and stay until Mary and Joseph figured how to deal with this unexpected, extremely inconvenient miracle. 

So between the dinner parties and cookies of the Christmas season, take a moment to think about the Elizabeth's in the world. Whether they're a Mormon family in Salt Lake or a lesbian legislator in Nevada, they're bringing peace to the discomforted and miracles to even the worst dinner guests. 

While elective abortion is considered a serious sin, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints does not have a political position on abortion regarding its legality. For more information, visit mormon.org

We Salute You

I was in a South Carolina airport, checking my bags and getting ready to fly to another performance, when I saw people pouring out of the main terminal. A large group was dressed in vintage costumes, Rolling Thunder bikers were everywhere, there seemed to be a dozen color gaurds and a brass band was playing. There were hundreds of people, young and old, gathered together to welcome the returning soldiers. I told Yoni we needed to get more gigs in South Carolina. There was a group of WWII  veterans back from a trip to Washington DC. It was beautiful and wonderful and fun. I was overwhelmed with the commitment the community had to honoring people who protect us every day. When I asked if they did the same thing for veterans returning from current tours of duty, they explained they didn't. It just made me think for a while.

A Jolly Holiday

Here it is, people, The (belated) Halloween Money Shot(s):

Mary Poppins, Bert, and a wee waddling penguin

Aren't they too much? I die. Also, these go on file under easiest costumes ever. The whole communal ensemble was shopped from their closets. Willa's penguin hat was a very thoughtful gift from Momo, saving me from at least 10 minutes of hot glue gun frustration. Phinny's penguin hat was also a gift from Momo -- she brought it back from Japan a couple years ago, and it is officially my favorite souvenir ever.

On a related note, have you watched Mary Poppins lately? We've (obviously) been on a little kick. And I have to say re-watching it after 20 years totally blew my mind. I'd forgotten -- or more likely, never appreciated -- how beautiful and profound the story really is. When Mr. Banks finally breaks, and realizes what a treasure his children are, I just burst into tears. It reminds me what an unbelievable privilege it is to have this time with my sweet little people, and how incredibly fortunate we are that their daddy is first and foremost a lover of munchkins, magic, and monsters - and a super-serious, hard-nosed banker-lawyer-man mostly only during business hours (mostly). We're the luckiest. Go watch Mary Poppins. It will make you smile.

Uncostumed? Ask 5.

We got a note from the folks over at Paul Fredrick asking us for some low-stress/high-reward Halloween costume ideas. But they already had some pretty good ideas, which made us think their email was just a backhanded way of rubbing their dumb creativity in our faces. This naturally made us feel super jelly and, consequently, hyper competitive. And that's why we wrote this post. If any of you guys haven't already devoted hours of careful concept development, stringent dress rehearsing, and tender sequin application to your All Hallow's Eve getup this year, seriously reconsider your priorities. Also, enjoy these last minute ideas for some last minute Halloween costumes from your favorite procrastinators (and if you end up wearing any of them, send us pictures at fivetdsisters@gmail.com)!

Kimber: "Future Wes Anderson character." Look in closet for any and all monochromatic clothing. Add contrasting (or coordinating) head gear, simple yet intense eye makeup, and severe hair. Name your character (good options included: Nan, Flossie, Mrs. Greoter, Dimple), and tell people it's a character from Wes Anderson's new movie. Not this one. People will either a) think you're in the know, or b) think you are quite clever. 

Charity: I always have grand plans for Halloween, but they typically don't work out. My friend Sarah Ward is a master of costuming and I recommend you check out some of her ideas. But here are a few thoughts from yours truly.

A pumpkin head. Cut a pathetic hole in the bottom of a large pumpkin along with eye holes (optional). Clean out pumpkin. Place on your head. Dress in black or jeans and flannel.

A dog. Tube socks make perfect ears when attached to a headband. Put on white, grey or black sweats, attach another tube sock to your fanny for a tail. Give your nose some attention from your eyeliner and make the tip a little black triangle, put on some freckles and Voila. You're a dog.

Fall down a hill in SF, scrape up your knee and wrap it up in gauze and surgical tape. Wait. Don't to that. I did that. It's not a good costume

Liberty: (1) Dress up like a panda* (for me this means black pants and sweatshirt, the fuzzy white faux-fur vest Momo got me last year, two buns for ears and HEAVY eyeliner).
(2) Cover panda costume with a large black sack.
(3) Pin a sign to the sack reading "Due to the shutdown of the federal government the Smithsonian National Zoo's Panda Cam will be offline until further notice."
*actual panda costume optional.

Mercina: We couldn't get in touch with Mercina in time for her to contribute to this post, but we're pretty sure we know what she would have suggested.


Glorianna: A famous person running errands. Wear what you always wear, but say that you're dressed as [insert name-of-that-one-celebrity-you've-always-kind-of-thought-you-look-sort-of-like here] when they're at the the grocery store or renewing their driver's license. People won't be able to help but say "Oh! Wow! I definitely see where you're getting that from. You guys have the exact same [smile / build / eyes / eyebrows / nostrils / hat / number of fingers]." Abracadabra: you spend the night feeling Hollywood handsome (it's cool, girls can be handsome too) after putting no extra effort into your appearance. Double success.

Have a question? Ask 5. You'll have a 1 in 5 chance that 

someone will see it your way!

Just send your questions to:

fivetdsisters@gmail.com

The Book Barn

This morning I went on a delightful little birthday outing with a few delightful friends. We ventured out from the familiar (if not exactly safe) embrace of New Haven up to The Book Barn in Niantic. It was like a happy dream -- thousands of old books organized into different little stalls and carts across a block or so of property (crime novels in this shanty, classics across the way on that wagon, etc.), interspersed with benches for reading and cats for petting. Can you imagine anything better? (If you can, then maybe we can't be really good friends.)

I picked up quite a few dollar tomes I've been meaning to read but haven't had on hand, as well as some other books I hadn't known I'd been meaning to read but now realize I definitely had to have been. If you find yourself in the proximate neighborhood of the Connecticut coast, I can't recommend this little bibliophile's paradise highly enough. To fully optimize your experience, I would suggest going on a crisp yet sunny autumn afternoon while wearing a scratchy wool sweater and sipping from a thermos full of hot cider.

Multitasking

Sorry I've been absent lately. I've been a little swamped.

I actually do have my hands full.

I have about six half-written aspirationally-profound blog posts, but I just can't get my act together to finish them right now. So, instead, I'm posting a picture of me and a baby and a baby crocodile, and cutting and pasting an excerpt from my last letter to Mercina. Which is actually a little funny, because often when I write to Mercina, I cut and paste from the blog. Hmmmmm... 

****

Mimo got home this afternoon from a week in Budapest, and I went to pick her up from airport. Since I had to go all the way to Dulles, I made plans last week to spend the day with friends at the Air and Space Museum annex, to feed Hettie's surprisingly long-lived, (Tom-fueled), obsession with becoming an astronaut. But then the government shut down, and it took the museum along for the ride. So instead I got in touch with my old Yale roomie, Lindsay, who now lives in Leesburg. Even though she's a million months pregnant, she's a total sweetheart and sent me the name of a restaurant between her place and the airport where we could spend a couple hours catching up. At the appointed hour, the kids and I were waiting and SO eager to see her. And she sent a txt "I'm here!" And I sent one back "me too!" But neither of us saw the other. Which actually made perfect sense because we were in different branches of the same restaurant 30 minutes apart. And it was my bad. And at that point, neither of us had the time or energy to schlep our impressive entourages over to where the other one was. We're going to try again next week....

On the bright side, I was right next to a MicroCenter, and Dave had desperately wanted me to pick up an Ethernet cable so he could finally mount a TV in our kitchen. So I trundled the kids over there, and we found it, and while I was standing in line, the guys in front and behind me both together started lecturing me about how I should really buy it online at a place called monoprice.com, because it would save me $40 and I could get it in any color I wanted rather than the bright blue that the store carried (and I actually just checked right now and they were totally right), so I called Dave and he said to abort mission. Which was annoying.  

We headed over to the airport, and I was worried because I just knew I was going to have a hard time finding Mimo, and she would end up frustrated and in a cab (it's happened before!). So I called around to make sure I had the right number for the friend who was flying with Mimo. It turned out that I had the right phone number, but the wrong flight information -- they arrived an hour LATER than I'd been told (which would have given me plenty of time to connect with Lindsay). But by this point, we were already right next to the airport and Phinny and Willa were asleep in their car seats, so we just waited.  

BUT. Once they finally did land, actually connecting was really quite painless. And Mimo was just brimming with sweetness. And we had the nicest trip home. (Except for a quick squat-pot on the side of the 66 during rush hour traffic. That actually wasn't the best...)  

And I realize this is all very rambling. But I just thought I'd share, because, really, it was a wonderful day. I had such a nice lunch with the kiddies, and at least 3 or 4 people came over and told me how darling and well-mannered they are. sometimes that really is just heaven to hear. And even sitting in the car at the gas station was genuinely fun. Hettie and I had the nicest chat about life. She is such a charming, intelligent little girl, and sometimes it's hard to find a quiet minute just to see what's going on inside her sweet little brain. And during our many long car rides, she and Phinny sang along to ALL the songs on the latest Sandra Boynton CD that Momo gave them -- it really might be the cutest thing ever. my heart wants to burst just thinking about it. 

Sometimes the weird crazy days with lots of disappointment and wasted time end up being surprisingly satisfying. Because there is something about being anxiously engaged that is inherently valuable, regardless of the outcome of your labors.  

And it's important to have priorities -- of course it would have been NICE to spend the day at the museum, and to see Lindsay, and to get the TV finally working and maybe to hit up the outlet stores rather than sit in a parking lot... BUT the most important thing was to get Mimo home in a spirit of love and appreciation, and also to spend some meaningful time with the kids. And on those two accounts, the day was a mad success.