In issue: (#17)
Waldorf School Drop-out - Gnomes, knitting and watercolors? Don’t mean a thing when you’ve got the teacher from Hell.Love Object - Mama’s got a crush. Big time.
Library Ethics - using your kid’s card to reserve extra books for yourself – clever strategem or unethical scam? Readers weigh in.
Stocking Up for Winter – Sure, Ma Ingalls never froze pesto for the winter – but she’s my inspiration.
Book Luck - You can read the review, but until you get it back from the library, who knows what the bookish wheel of fortune holds in store?
Plus, the Motel of Lost Companions goes back to an old babysitting job; more book reviews; Mama’s Stray Thoughts (encompassing knights, breasts, and the girth of the Empire State Building); and a recipe for the most delectable parmesan chicken you’ll ever taste.
In issue #13
- Soothing the Savage Mama: in which a magic song restores my sanity and saves my children from years of therapy.
- The Zerhounia Mix: Proust had his madeleines; I've got this mix tape; it conjures up Morocco like nothing else can.
- Homesteading Dreams: a would-be-hippie mama pauses to wonder just how Ma Ingalls dealt with all those diapers, anyway.
- The Good Stuff: motherhood's tough and I like to complain. But not always.
- Plus: The Motel of Lost Companions revisits summer camp and a first crush; a bunch of new Books for your consideration; Stray Thoughts of a Stay-At-Home Mother (in which birth control, volcanoes and love, and are all up for discussion); a Recipe for the most subversive muffins you or your kids will ever eat; and expectations vs. reality in the case of our current toddler.
In issue #12
- Peace Corps vs. Parenthood (sleep deprivation, language learning - it's all culture shock)
- He's the Boss (no, not my kid! reaching waaay back to my past for this NJ reminiscence)
- Alter Egos (everyones' got a secret side; here's mine)
- Buring Down the Store (in which an unlikely pair of heroes battle the flames nightly)
- Plus, the Motel of Lost Companions looks at the closest companion of all; a new Booklist for your consideration, stray thoughts of a stay-at-home mother, an addictive tomato-pesto recipe, and the definitive word on, "trying for a girl."
In issue #11
• The Portland Zine Symposium: a highly subjective report on fashions, personalities, and breastfeeding at an underground publishing conference
• But I Wanted a Girl! coming to terms with being the mother of sons
• Pirate Band: how we became followers of a bunch of rock-and-roll buccaneers
• A Note on the Type: everything you never knew about Garamond
• Stray Thoughts of a Stay-at-Home Mother: in which Mama ponders questions of life, death, and a little lego man inexplicably named Jesus
Plus: book reviews, the Motel of Lost Companions, and a really good pasta recipe
Issues 9, 10, 14 and 15 are sold out.Each back issue costs $2.
Tabasco Baby
It was the cranky hour, around 5:30 in the afternoon, when neither parents nor their vexatious offspring are at their finest. I was attempting to make dinner, irritably counting the minutes until the magical moment when Bruce’s bicycle bell would sound in the driveway.
Earlier that day, Mr. Baby had broken the lock on the pantry cupboard, ( "I’ll show them ‘child-proof," he would have chortled, could he talk) and was engaged, as he had been for much of the day, in removing its contents. I was constantly interrupting my dinner preparations to rescue bottles of v inegar and olive oil, unopened jars of jam, and other fragile foodstuffs from the marauding hands of a child whose current favorite occupation was throwing.
Glancing down from the counter, I noticed that my small son had located the bottle of hot sauce my mother keeps at my house because I of all her children have not inherited her love of fiery cuisine. He was holding the top in one dexterous little ha nd and unscrewing it. Since when did he know how to do that? I snatched the jar away.
The ensuing wails drove me over the edge of reason.
"You want Tabasco? Fine," I snapped, and tilted a drop onto my finger. "Here." I stuck my finger in his mouth. "Try that, and quit being so darn troublesome!"
The next second, it occurred to me that I really didn’t know just how hot that stuff actually is. I hastily tasted a drop, screeched, and sprinted to the sink for a glass of water. (That is, I would have sprinted if my kitchen had been large enough)
My poor, innocent child, I thought remorsefully. How could I have been so cruel? Have I destroyed his trust in me?
Then I noticed the expression on the face of my poor, innocent child. He did not appear to be suffering. He did not seem to be experiencing a crisis in maternal trust. He looked quite intrigued, as a matter of fact, and he was gazing up at the Tabasco bottle with the sort of rapt fascination usually seen in pilgrims at religious sites.
I can tell he’s going to get along great with Grandma.
