5penny

The stork has arrived

2008-08-06T20:29:00.003+02:00

Finn Leigh was born August 1st at 2:51 am. Everyone is healthy and not even big sister Julia could be happier!

Somewhere between January and now, we decided we liked the nickname too much and decided to call her Finn. You'd be surprised how many people raise an eyebrow when told her name!

tilted duster finished!

2008-03-03T17:23:00.004+01:00

Wow, I turned away for a minute and an entire month escaped me. Incredible. Well I have a finished object to show off... only 2.5 months late (twas a christmas gift) and unblocked because my mom tore it out of my hands... It's a tilted duster from Interweave Knits Winter 07 and my mom says she loves it. Which is good because I don't. It doesn't lay as prettily as in the photo and I hate seams of which this has plenty. But, who cares what I think, she loves it!

lord help me!

2008-01-22T20:04:00.000+01:00

Only 7.5 months to go and I'm already making bibs. But it's monkeys! and polka dots! Who can stand it! Look again, ack, it's so cute I could puke. But won't. Instead I'll just say thanks Chickpea via glittergoods

Shameless product promotion

2008-01-20T01:49:00.000+01:00

We've been trying to convince ourselves that we'd only use cloth diapers with the next, try and do our part for the environment and whatnot. Now I don't have to swish stinky, poopy cloth diaps in the toilet to pre-wash. Yay!

g-diapers, check it out.

introducing...

2008-01-10T19:54:00.001+01:00

well, I'm just gonna skip the sorry for the long absence part...

and get to the good stuff. The stuff I've been waiting forever and a day for.

I'd like to introduce you all to Finn, the belly alien.
S/he's due in August... I'm comfortable saying zoli is pleasantly terrified! He never wanted to have his own kids and so, let's just say I'm relieved that he's all giddy like a school girl with her first crush!

Julia could not be more excited, although hers is conditional: Finn must be a boy to earn her approval otherwise she'll send her back!

Me? Well, I haven't come up for air since I found out, and being that there are only 10 months to this thing I've got to consume as many carbs as possible! I had hit an all time weight low (sz 6), but was freezing. It was 65 degrees outside and I had 2 sweaters on plus a blanket, so I said au revoir to my newly purchased 6-es and said hello to bread, bagels,pasta, chips, etc!

Then yesterday, I got an itch and decided to donate my hair, introducing the newer svelter 5penny:

So, that's what we've been up to. How've you been?

um. whoops.

2007-11-19T07:25:00.000+01:00

um. I know I've kinda gone awol, but honestly, I've been having a ball getting to know my parents as an adult. It's pretty cool and will probably get old, but for the moment it's great. I've been such a slacker here and still want to share the loverlies that have fallen off the needles...

Julia's having a ball getting brilliant and we've reached a common platform. Although, being dumber than her teacher has its drawbacks. It is so weird that she rides the bus to school, but her new "friend" Jackson rides the same route, so there is motivation! She's hard at work reinventing the English language. For example:
pulling a fart (falling apart)
paint nolish (nail polish)
halky-talkies (walky-talkies)

I hope to be back soon. Know that I'm reading. Happy Thanksgiving.

Look! How pretty

2007-10-04T19:46:00.000+02:00

I have not bought a new pair of shoes in 2 years and maybe I went overboard because really, I never wear heels, but Look! How pretty! And "comfrable" (which I'm not saying just because the Geek might be reading) And Pretty! I've coveted these for nigh on 2 years, knowing that the day I started getting paid was the day they'd be mine. And they are.

Yay!

the death of iPAQy

2007-09-28T18:30:00.000+02:00

Oh, christ on a cracker. Yesterday while rocking out and polishing my mom's hardwood floor, I smooshed my pda. ACK! I aparently have butt bones of steel, because this is not the first time I've run around cleaning with it shoved in my back pocket but it is the first time that my butt has broken an LCD screen. My personal geek says he can probably get a replacement screen on ebay... so it's not the end of the world.
But geez, if this country is welcoming me a little coldly; First, my computer stopped holding a charge and tried to light itself on fire, so I bought a cute little Acer with tons of ram and all that yummy goodness, but guess what? Vista takes up so much fawking memory that it nullifies the extra gig and makes me feel like I'm trapped in 1993 with 256mhz and a DOS prompt. Hmmph! Seriously, it takes 5 minutes to start up. 5 MINUTES.

*bangs head against wall*

Luckily, the selling price of my dying beloved lappy - the sale price of crappier, but pretty! lappy= happy bank account.

Then, all (ALL) of my flip flops broke. Now, I realize this should strike me as trivial, but I now live in California where a sweatshirt and flipflops is perfect winter attire. Plus, we're approaching fall and so, there are no good flippies to buy, unless you're looking for sparkly wedges. Which I'm not.

Now, the damn pda. Lord, I need to get a job to pay for the damages incurred in moving back. There is, thankfully, some light in my rather dark tunnel; new car = awesome! Loving the Nissan Altima. Also, knitting. Am now knee deep in requests for knit goods... pictures still forthcoming, um, next time.

love you all! Monika, I miss you and our crappucinos in cegled!

Wow!

2007-09-07T06:25:00.000+02:00

I've been up, I've been down, it has been a whirlwind that is finally slowing. Things are going, albeit slowly, and I believe the right path lay right around the corner. You see, my mom had shoulder surgery a month ago and besides the tear being bigger than they had thought, she suffered an allergic reaction to... something and almost died in the recovery room. So, priority az első is taking care of my mom and her house.

Julia is, I think, having a ball in Kindergarten. She's in the same class as her cousin and I overheard this bit of gold the other afternoon on the way home:

(Girls comparing their "smart" levels in the backseat, based on knowing their Alphafriends)

J: So, you know before there was us, there was NOTHING. The volcano took it away and the dinosirs died and for a long time there was nothing and then this green stuff came, algae, and then monkeys become us! And that's the Oreos of Life.

Or the day we had to go catch up on our immunizations and the kind doctor at the free clinic wondered whether Julia had a hearing problem because of her accent. He was amusingly embarrassed when he realized it was her bilingualism. I hadn't realized she talked funny, but I also live with Zoli who often translates directly and thusly says things like: We should go soon until it's still available. Instead of while. Just like Hungarian. So really, would I have recognized an accent? Probably not.

Letter B warned me about this change, and she's right. It's a big shock to find your culture is, hmm, strangely different than where you're coming from. I haven't quite recovered and have already cried regarding the change. But it will all be well. Soon.

Because really, where else would the oreos of our lives have come from? hehe.

p.s. How cute is this pup? My family has a Kennel and this ones mother dried up too soon... I've been nursing him back to health.

p.p.s I haven't knit since arriving but, BUT, I have something I am extremely proud of that I will post as soon as I get a picture of it. Promise.

home again, home again, jiggity jig

2007-08-22T14:14:00.000+02:00

After what can only be described as hell in the sky, we have arrived in California. When we booked our tickets we were so smug because of the amazing price we got, that we failed to realize that cheap, cheap, cheap translates directly into transfers from hell and lost luggage. (Just an fyi, until I can locate all the wonderful punctuation available on this hungarian keyboard, go ahead and contract verbs and punctuate as deemed necessary. My computer is awaiting repairs.)

It is odd being back, truthfully I do not think I am ready... And of course, the bag which was sent to somewhere other than SFO has my knitting and gifts. They promise to have it here by noon, but we will just see about that.

And I'm back.

2007-08-05T13:09:00.000+02:00

I just kinda disappeared there for a minute. We've been alternating packing with short trips to different rivers to break up the monotony and depression that accompanies packing/moving, blah, blah, blah. It's been fun and highly stressful and altogether unbloggable.

Hope you all are enjoying your summer. I know I am.

It's 94 degrees inside the apartment, let's put on some sweaters!

2007-07-21T11:18:00.000+02:00

Ya'll should call the loony bin on me. It is STILL over one hundred degrees outside and I made my george put on a wool sweater to show you. That's how much you all mean to me. And possibly how proud I am of my accomplishments.

This is my rowena and while I'm not 100% in love with the bottom ruching ruffle, I do have a policy of done = done. I can try it differently on the next, because believe you me, there will be another.

Zoli cut off a pair of his pants and I tackled him on the way to the trash. That along with the leftover scraps from the pants-turned-quiver and an old pink long sleeve became this market tote and is actually lined. The straps are made from the sleeves and the lining is the torso. I have another in the works.

Finally, child abuse! Poor girl is as excited about her new hoodie that she volunteered to pose despite the insane heatwave. This is my own pattern as the cables were placed on a whim and therefore, could technically be better. BUT I don't care, it's fun and since no one paid me to do it, it stays!

If anyone is interested in deets and patterns, please let me know.

You'll find me in the bathtub with a tub filled with ice.

less filling

2007-07-18T22:41:00.000+02:00

Is it just me or is acclimating to the metric system a long and sometimes agonizing process? I try to feel what the number represents, but it is somehow less. I've finally begun to understand that 25 deca (local speak for ordering meats and cheeses) is 250 grams and that, in turn, is one cup, but do you know how bena* I look trying to process all that in an instant. I'm sure by now the counter girls think, "Oh great, here comes the slow american." Also, they measure liquids in decis, or deciliters, so I've got no idea on that front, excepting a half liter which is two cups approximate. I usually just order the median amount and go from there.

Completely unrelated to weights and measurements, but nonetheless related: when ordering ice in this country you actually need to specify the number of pieces of ice you would like in your glass, and you still may only get 3. Just fyi.

Lord have mercy, a huge ass bug just crawled across my chest and I damn near dropped my laptop. Weird, those bugs. Makes me want to watch Naked Lunch or read The Metamorphosis. heh.

immedialtely updated to add: whoops! *bena = dummy

I come from a desert: Stop with humidity already.

2007-07-18T22:39:00.000+02:00

Lord have mercy, it was a hundred and four (104F= 40C) today with, WITH!, humidity and I am just about crawling outta my skin. In all the time Hungary has measured heat, it has never reached a huner'four dontcha know, like my g-pa would say!

And I promise, I'm going to actively seek out a camera with which to display my pretty-pretties. Starting tomorrow. When it will only be 100. heh. I've been stewing over a sweater the last few weeks, and finally cast on yesterday and it is knit in the funkiest olive green/goldy-brown yarn. It's promising to drive me to drink (more) when I try to photograph its chameleon ways.

Do ya'll have a preferred packing method? Cause I do, and it is drastically different than Zoli's. I believe I called him a control freak the third time he questioned my pile of clothing I am currently not using. I do not wear makeup and have essentially no bathroom products which are not both of ours, leave my clothes the hell alone. I already have to leave behind my insanely expensive beloved cookware and tupperware (the MIL is a sales rep for both. yay free stuff!) So I feel justified in packing up a dress I've never even worn. Just because. Ya know? Julia spent most of the day in the bathtub, cooling off but also "cleaned" her room for hours.

"Is it okay if I play with my toys first and clean after?"

But, of course my dear.

a bleeding heart and the disappearing act

2007-07-10T09:37:00.000+02:00

I'm somewhat in the middle of an ethical debate with myself. You heard me right, I am debating myself. The topic? My daughter's friend Tünde (tewn-deh, ya gotta pucker your lips to say this name). Her homelife is a mess and I am a bleeding heart. I want to try and save her except that not really, because she is a bad influence on Julia.

To date: 1) she has told Julia that she shouldn't pay attention to what her anya (mom) says, 2) they hid from me and disappeared we found them 10 minutes later on the 10th story of a nearby apartment building. (By we I do not mean her mother and I, her mother doesn't come to the park with her she just sends her down with a bottle of water.) 3) When Tünde came over to play they asked if they could play outside, Zoli explained the boundaries and of course, they took off again. 4) Yesterday at the park I asked Julia if she wanted to stay there or come with me to unlock the door (I accidentally locked Zoli inside the apartment and took both sets of keys!), she preferred to stay, I then asked one of the mothers if she wouldn't mind watching her. These are all kids from her K class and I'm comfortable with the moms. As soon as I left she whispered to Jules and they took off running, I later found them in front of our building and I was seething.

There's not a lot on this girl's side I mean, I know my child is not blameless: she apologized to the other ladies and is on büntetés (punishment) no chocolate/candy/ice cream for one week. But there's the side of my that wants to help this girl. It's not her fault her mother spends no time with her, she spends the whole day at kindergarten and the moment they get home her mom sends her to the playground until it gets dark. And the other adults at the park won't allow their kids to play with her because well, you get the picture. I don't subscribe to their style of parenting and I don't want Julia to think less of her, but I also don't really want Julia pulling this disappearing crap and general disobedience...

So here's where I ask y'all for your thoughts. Do I forbid Julia to associate with her like the other moms? Do I allow them to play together but watch them like a hawk? Do I stand a chance at helping this wayward child?

ambivalence

2007-07-06T09:16:00.000+02:00

I'm sitting here in a corner, ignoring the fact that we're leaving in 7 weeks. Why, you ask? Haven't we all been in a suspended state with fingers crossed for nigh on 6 months? Shouldn't I be supremely excited to leave and reenter society? I should. And part of me is, but the other half kinda wants to stay and be Carefree, Weird Foreigner (CWF, for short) forever. Despite this country trying to suck my husband's soul dry, part of me is sad to be leaving.

I probably freaked out my mom with so little enthusiasm; she's completely giddy and planning and I'm all, meh. It's as though I feel guilty either way. Or possibly I only want to stay because I don't have to. I don't know. But planning has done me no good, so I'm definitely not doing that. Just gonna fly by the seat of my pants.

I've also gotta figure out What To Take, What To Leave, and What To Give Away. I took some of Julia's clothes that she refuses to wear, i.e. skirts, flowers, pink, green to the park to give to a tiny 7 year old who appreciates the finer, sparkly, girly things in life and also a pair of blue snowboots for her little brother. He kept asking me whose they were, I kept saying they were now his, he couldn't believe it and asked his mom if it was true. And then proceeded to wear the boots (but not ugg, maybe snowbear, or bearshoe, i dunno) in 90 degree weather. It was love!

Also, I never know how to feel about giving jules' clothes away because while I know it helps, especially here in the land of no money and tiny apartments, I don't want to be the weird American who gives expensive (but thrift store so not) clothes away to near strangers while refusing to give her child coke. Oh, the humanity.

Although, I guess I'm already the weird American what with all the non-worrying I do at the playground. I know some of you have heard my rant before, but that won't stop me. hehe. What is the point of a slide? Is it not the 3 seconds of, try to get this, sliding, the free falling sensation? Because here they are totally missing it by holding their damn 2 year olds while simulating the sensation! I understand that nobody wants to see their child get hurt, but holy hell is their joy in the little things worth less? I'll never get. That and all the parents sitting on a bench screaming at children, "Nem szabad!" (Not allowed) and "Le ne es!" (Don't fall!) And finally, the parent who yells not to hit and then slaps the boy because obviously hitting your child is the best way to teach them not to hit. But I digress.

A randomly odd question I am often asked: Which is easier to learn: German or English? As if I knew how hard it is for a non-speaker to learn German, or English for that matter. I try to explain that I don't know as English is my first language and also, I don't speak German. Or I'll ask them which is harder Magyar (Hungarian) or Japanese? Do you know what they say?

THEY ALWAYS SAY MAGYAR!

How do they know?

Meg van!

2007-06-26T19:12:00.000+02:00

meg van = got it

Zoli has returned from the embassy a happy man! In what can oly be explained as sheer luck, the adjudicator took pity on his case and granted him a visa! We are completely numb; we've been back and forth so often on this journey that the reality is not sinking in very quickly. This is turning out to be a very good birthday for him indeed!

Wow. So hyperspeed planning and evacuating is going in full effect. Anyone in Hungary need a bunch of books? Electronics? Let me know.

Thanks all for crossing the fingers, I'm positive it helped.

All I need now is a camera and my life could just be considered perfect.

on the home stretch

2007-06-25T19:18:00.000+02:00

alright. fingers and toes crossed people for tomorrow's the day we find out whether the visa has been approved or not.

will be drowning nerves in a rich red tonight.

still blind

2007-06-16T10:43:00.000+02:00

Wow, remind me to never again take for granted having a camera; lots of neat stuff to proudly display and no way to do it. boo hoo.

My rowena is finally finished and I could not be more pleased with myself! I used a no name microfiber which turned out to be not only cost effective ($15 for 10 skeins) but really comfy. Unfortunately, it's like a bajillion degrees here with all the humidity in the world and so, she sits on display waiting patiently to be worn.
deets: 8.5 skeins Markoma microfiber
50g ± 125m (136 yards)
4mm circular, 4mm dpns
construction: my own top down raglan based on this picture

My other feats will have to wait until I can borrow a camera... le sigh

unrequited, unresponsive, unhealthy: gotta have it

2007-06-12T08:33:00.000+02:00

I find it amusing that everyone has a tale entitled: The One That Got Away, and many, many people blame their current misery on this phenomenon. I find it odd that rationally speaking hindsight is 20/20, but emotionally those early angsty feelings are so passionate that we attribute them with super human qualities. We allow these myopic memories to alter our present courses. I am no saint as I too have a sordid history chock full of unrequited love and wishful thinking.

I met him in the third grade, I was nine. It took little more than a once over to realize that I loved him; he was a skater, an individual, a comic, the nine-year equivalent to perfection, as far as I was concerned. (It was 1985 and he wore Vans, for pete's sake.) And even today, I look back upon my earliest memories of him and the third grader in me is blushing furiously, hoping he'll choose me in Red Rover. He never does though, unless bored.

By the time we were in hs I gave up pursuit, contented to be his friend and hang out with the same friends, but I never stopped believing he would someday want me. He always played my feelings to his advantage and strung me along. We even at some point became each others "back up," deciding at the old age of 17, that if neither was married by 30 we would get together then.

After hs, I got the hell outta dodge and our friendship suffered; I saw him randomly when I could be cajoled into coming home for a family event, he was always the first person I called. He never called me nor came to visit me and that hurt so I stopped contact.

At our 10-year reunion, I saw him again and I think it was the first time he initiated contact. All I know is that he bear-hugged me from behind and proceeded to get drunk with me, sitting next to me. Sufficiently numbed, he admitted (staged?) that he was disappointed I had gotten married, that we were almost 30 and it was supposed to be him, it was The Plan. I was stunned and although the almost thirty year old me knew it had all been a game to him, that he was disappointed in me only because I stopped pining for him, the nine year old little girl felt vindicated. Finally!, I thought, but what I said surprised even me, "The Plan? I had a baby with Crazy-Mexican and then met the love of my life and got married in four months, who just happens to be from the other side of the world. Does my life sound planned? I gave up The Plan a long time ago, it was too painful. Waiting for you to want me was too painful."

Excuse me for not throwing away a great life to be someone's doormat. heh.

listed in no particular order

2007-06-07T07:39:00.000+02:00

wow. so i sit here every morning, maybe afternoon, and i'll be thinking about a post i want to write and then i never actually write it. to combat this egregious laziness, a bulleted highlights post:

zoli lost the camera
obviously, julia learned how to ride her bike the next day (5/29/07, mark it on your calendars, hehe)
and a solo in her school play the day after that (first time she's participated, she usually orbits)
her legs look so bruised, you would think child abuse (seriously, toes to ass one large purple bruise. if she weren't mine, i'd judge)
not abused just a clumsy tomboy (combined with biking as fast as possible because it's just no good otherwise)
the consul wants to keep us here for up to 10 years (hells to the no!)
our lawyer was, in fact, telling the truth (yet still inconsistent)
consulate says they follow their own rules regardless of the actual laws (how is this possible?)
i learned magic loop, yay! (here)
i'm 90% finished with the rowena knockoff (i need to redo the damn sleeve, it's too short.)
i'm 90% finished with a cabled v-neck for julia, my own pattern (so. damn. cute.)
every day i spend in solitude, it is a day harder to rejoin the world (i don't even email. how sad)
thunderstorms still rule all!

am on my way to budapest with more papers from the lawyer, hopefully these will change some minds.

9am pálinka never seemed so deserved

2007-05-28T17:31:00.000+02:00

Being a Cali-kid I never really experienced thunderstorms and lightning. Nor for that matter did I ever really experience rain out of season, which in California is late fall - winter; it just does not rain in warm weather, what with being a desert and all.

Which is how I found myself sitting on the balcony last night at 11pm watching the most amazing lightning/thunder combo ever. Even when hail the size of gobstoppers began pelting my forearms and head, I could not quit the storm. It is simply amazing to my virgin eyes; I realized I would be able to withstand the disgusting humidity if the lightning is this spectacular.

I may, however, not be able to withstand the serious emotional roller coaster everyone seems signed on for when the humidity reaches its peak: everyone, in my extended family at least, gets all snappy and short the hotter and wetter it gets. Something done in an act of kindness is twisted and thrown in your face or you're schooled like a child for arbitrary allowances.

Or both.

It started on Friday, I guess, when Zoli and I purchased a present for Julia. We thought nothing of it, I mean GAWD, the kid has to wait eternities for things because we're never sure which country we'll be in and whether we should buy something here or there. Apparently, the MIL thought it an extreme waste of money and rather than tell this to Zoli, she waited until we were alone together to throw it in my face the fact that we have "so much money to waste." Her words, translated of course, not mine. Yes, we have money. We worked really hard: first at saving the damn stuff by not buying anything save essentials, and secondly at making it last. Again, by only buying essentials.*

But I digress.

Add to the fact that I cannot really respond besides shrugging my shoulders and harrumphing. Add to that his aunt and sister telling me that I'm not teaching my daughter how to write properly because she writes her /s/ and /j/, /4/ and /5/ backwards. I tried to reason that at 5 it doesn't matter that her letters are often confused, the important thing is that is resembles the character it is meant to denote. But they weren't buying it, they began to argue with me over how stupid my kid would turn out if I didn't stop and tell her she's "doing it wrong."

Ah, yes so wisdomous I could cry. I did.

*I read somewhere that the average couple (average salary, average expenses, minimal debt) is able to save around 11,000 dollars a year. We saved close to thirty. That is some hard shit to do, let me tell you.

a-froggin' we will go

2007-05-21T09:59:00.000+02:00

I had made it this far before frogging.
I love it. It just needs to be a leetle bit smaller.
This is noticeable more so in the back shot...

Can perfection actually be acheived?

2007-05-14T09:19:00.000+02:00

So, there I am browsing the old knitting blogs, randomly clicking through when whimsy strikes, following pretty patterns, when suddenly Behold!: Rowena,the mostest perfectest cardigan to ever have lived. I stared at it for 3 days, dissecting it's constructing, sketching out possibilities, and then I went to buy yarn.

I'm gonna give it a shot: top down raglan construction, I think I've even figured out the ruching... with either a wine red or olive green ribbon.
What do you all think?

The saga continues

2007-05-10T11:01:00.000+02:00

Julia's still sick. She suffers from a terrible case of gastroenteritis and yesterday morning her pediatrician said that if she couldn't drink 500ml of electrolyte water by 10 am, she would have to go to the hospital for hydration therapy. She couldn't and so off we went. We arrived at the hospital with a languishing 5 year old and the children's ward doctor said, "If she doesn't get a temporary Hungarian social number, he would charge us 300,000 forints (~$1,600.) for a liter of fluid and a bed for the day. He told us to go to the social security office and request an emergency number, so we went.

The office was busy and we waited patiently for an available window. When they finally helped us, we were told there is no such temporary card, but if we paid a half year up front (140,000 Ft. or $700) she would be issued a card, but just one moment while they call the director to speak with us. Zoli drives home to get the cash to pay the fee and we stay. The director comes out, starts speaking to me, asking for her passport. I hand it over and then she asks me what nationality she is, although in her hand is not only a passport, but 3 Hungarian documents all of which read "amerikai." She wants to know whether I have a job and then why I don't have a job. We fill out the paperwork and Zoli returns. Julia is half passed out on my lap, moaning the entire time. When we're about to pay, when the director, as an aside mentions that the benefits won't go into effect until June 1st. We ask about today: it's an emergency, we say, she has an admittance form stating that she needs hydration therapy. Sorry, the director says and turns to speak with the guard.

We flee. Zoli tries to call the pediatrician, then the pharmacy (which his wife owns) when he doesn't pick up; he explains the situation and asks if it is in fact an emergency because while we can technically pay the outrageous hospital fee, we would rather call the private hospital if we have time. Our tale pisses off the doctor to no end. He says that while it is strongly recommended, Julia can wait and he will see what he can do. In the meantime, just make her drink as much of anything as humanly possible.

An hour later he calls back; not only has he called the hospital director and had words, but he called the Health Ministry and filed a complaint. (Apparently you can legally deny healthcare to a adult foreigner, but NOT A CHILD.) He said that he would place the iv himself in our home and that he would be by that evening with his son (who is also a doctor).

They placed the iv*, gave us instructions, and told us to take turns sleeping while the other sat up making sure she didn't accidentally tear it out nor that the bag emptied. It was a long night. She's a completely different person today: still sick but she no longer appears to be knocking on death's door.

The funny (sad not haha) thing is that Zoli's sister is a director for the retirement branch of social security and after hearing our tale said that there while there is no such thing as a temporary card, there absolutely IS emergency activation. She was going to call this morning and have words with the director. Can't wait to hear that story.

(*OMG! can that kid scream when confronted with a needle!)

and we've got a keeper

2007-05-07T22:04:00.000+02:00

My latest FO (finished object) It is another version of Minisweater using up some fugly pink multi yarn I was gifted and green remnants. I've been trying since Christmas to figure out a use for this yarn and besides miss dashwood, I've frogged every sweater (3) I've knit. I finally decided the only way I wouldn't gag every time I looked at it (PINK! AGH!) was to use it sparingly.

I used 4mm circs and 4mm dpn's for the sleeves which I did in the round, as I LOATHE seaming. I really like this pattern and it's versatility: I hardly had to do any math to compensate for my smaller needles and yarn.

And presenting Julia's new bike! She's very excited about it and finds a reason to clean it (if she can't ride it). I think being sick had thrown a serious hitch into her biking schedule.

Last, but not least: go check this kid out, HILARIOUS.

No gift better than vomitous migraines

2007-05-06T11:05:00.000+02:00

Yesterday, for the first time in years, I suffered from a migraine so intense I felt as though I was drowning in my own pain. It scared the shit out of me and I believe I had an anxiety attack on top of it. it reminded me of a side effect of the imitrex shots I used to give myself: my chest felt as though someone was standing on it with my head in a vise-grip. Breathing shallowly, head swimming, vision auras aplenty, and not a damn pharmacy open within walking distance. Luckily my SIL had extra strength advil and so I downed 2, knowing nothing less would suffice.

Later that evening a thunder storm broke and released not only its own tensions, but mine as well. I fell asleep sometime after midnight only to be awakened by the sounds of my daughter puking her guts out next to my bed at 2am. I cleaned her up, got her back in bed, found a bucket then cleaned up the floor. I returned to bed but didn't fall asleep until 3:15. At 3:30 we repeated the cycle, only this time she found the bucket and just needed solace. I returned to bed. At 4:15, 5:30, 6:45 and 7:10 like a broken record playing a heaving tune over and over and over again, I pulled myself out of bed and into her room to hold her hair and wipe her face while soothing her distress. We called the doctor around 10 (he makes home visits) who rushed over (on a Sunday!) to assess her. Not good. He gave her an antiemetic to stop the vomiting because she was rapidly becoming dehydrated. He's coming back this evening to check on her to make sure she doesn't need to go to the hospital for an iv (cross your fingers). I'm on pins and needles, not having been so sleep-deprived in five years, and am feeling a bit of a basket case. This is not the best holiday ever.

We're on fire over here with the illnesses.

Happy Mother's Day to all you moms: may your day NOT include cleaning up vomit from the floor, bedclothes, toilet, bucket, or child.

Although, spending the day in bed with your kid is underrated. We're on a movie marathon. Included are her lion and her tigger as well as every "meaningful" blankie or stuffed animal.

Have a happy day!

updated: Haha, I soooo have no clue. Apparently it's only Mother's Day here... Well, I might be an idiot but at least I get a do over, eh?

stuck in Lodi again

2007-05-02T08:48:00.000+02:00

haha, Of course this is ME we're talking about, so no. We're not leaving anytime soon. Which is totally ok (I love doing Nothing more than most people). My dad asked, "Why not move to Canada?" Um, Why move to Canada was my response. By which I mean no offense to any Canucks who may be reading, it just seems weird that because our first choice is denied (California) that we would be all, "Canada, eh? Yeah. Let's move there." Why wouldn't we just stay where we are?

Dads. Silly.

So, what happened was our lawyer in the States told us something and we planned around her being right. She wasn't. Shit happens and maybe we're supposed to be here hanging out with his family, maybe something extraordinary will come as a result, who knows. Zoli's going to talk to the consulate today, he's not sure why, I mean, they already told him not to bother applying but then told him to come discuss it. Why?

In crafty news, I have really gotten into doing The Crafts. Mayhap there's a group for it CraftAnon? I decided that I really needed to knit a rug out of bedsheets and so I ran off to the Turkáló (thrift store) where they sell used items by weight. I bought a couple of sheets, ran home, and begin the ardous task of cutting the sheet into one continuous strip. But duh! I have no needles so large as to be able to actually knit this, but I did have wooden spoons with long handles. I now have callouses and blisters from that project. And zero pictures.

But I do have a point. So, obviously I'm not going to repeat the sheet thing, so I got to thinking. And what I thought up was this:

Pj's.

Out of a sheet.

an appeal

2007-04-22T08:10:00.000+02:00

I've thrown myself into all things superficial these last couple of weeks. I've gone shopping, I've gone to lunch, I've finished a bunch of knitting projects, and I've watched a lot of Scrubs. You see, I'm avoiding thinking about a decision that I have no say in. It will essentially decide my future and to tell the truth, I'm frightened. I hate not being in control of my will, and I absolutely hate that a bureaucrat will approve or deny my petition, based on superficial words on a page. A random stranger will pass judgment on my husband and decide whether worthy of citizenship or not.
I volley back and forth whether I even want to return home. I could easily make my life in either place, but I want to be able to go home, all of us, to visit. So, a plea:

Dear Heavenly Father/ Allah/ Thor/ Goddess of The Eastern Light/ Whatever Your Name Might Actually Be:

I bow before You humbly to honor Thee. Although I've no idea why you would appear to men long ago, but now during the darkest of times when man has turned against man in a fight impossible to resolve; I mean, come on. A system of beliefs is invisible and is based upon faith. Faith in Thee, who is also invisible. And yet men slaughter each other in one of Thy names, accusing one another of slander, heresy, and immorality. Why do they not respond in Thy image? Were we not created in His likeness? Should we not be compassionate and respect each other despite our differences? Did I misinterpret Thy Will as recorded by men?

I did not beseech Thee listen to complain. Maybe You believe we mortals capable and thus have not abandoned us to our fate, but rather as a concerned parent allows their child to make mistakes in order to learn life's valuable lesson. In that case I ask Thee to assist with our pending immigration. I do not want Thee to magically take of everything, but if you could just give Mr. Adjudicator an extra dose of Love and Compassion when deciding our case I would forever exalt Thy Greatness by living compassionately.

In Thy Name,
5penny

(And if ya'll don't mind crossing your fingers or doing that thing you do when invoking luck, I'd really appreciate it.)
(More knitting pics soon.)

porszivos orrszivo

2007-04-21T12:53:00.000+02:00

haha, the doctor gave us a prescription for a vacuum enabled aspirator. oh yeah, julia has her 3rd ear infection this year with the added bonus of sinusitis.
funsies.

you may want to turn the volume down.

Of spin cycles and buttons

2007-04-16T10:01:00.000+02:00

I had this greenish yarn leftover and although I like the color, I knew that I didn't need anything more from it. So, I started minisweater by glampyre knits but am opting to copy Diana's stylings. This is for my dainty friend (HI MONIKA!) Monika. It is a fun gratifying project and I'm looking forward to making one for myself. Assuming I don't get distracted. I am infamous for never making the same thing twice. That's why I hate sleeves. And also why I've never tried socks. Um, not the point, the minisweater, ah yes.

But I need some help. Which button to use? I say the top left blue green one, the husband says the peachy brown. What says you?

And a little reminder courtesy of Julia:
Enjoy even the most mundane things in life, like laundry.

bookmooch=awesome

2007-04-09T20:31:00.000+02:00

Have ya'll been holding out on me? This is fricking awesome, this book mooch idea. Am in heaven...
I gotta sit down and breathe.

In the wonderful world of knitting:
I am kicking some serious butt. Since completing the cardigan, I've finished quite a few other projects as well, including my first felting project. Which was interesting, to say the least. (It turned out too big and I messed up the star.) It pays to know something about the wool you are trying to "ruin". I finally (FINALLY!) found 100% wool at the craft store... There was nary a label and very few color choices. I figured it must be házimunka gyápjú, I can just imagine some old lady carding her wool and hand dyeing it. Although, I have to say it was super lanolin-y and not very clean. Is all wool like this? It made my hands hurt, sticky, and stinky. Gotta say, not loving the wool.

Here's a view of the wrong side with the intarsia, this was my first intarsia project and although,m I began a little wobbly, I'm fairly certain I now know what I'm doing.

I also received some very pretty gray-green mixed yarn for the birthday and I already knew that I wanted to make myself a bag from that, so it worked itself up nice and quick like. (The gall! I made myself something, can you believe it!) But apparently, I cannot count as the inside is slightly askew... oh well.

And finally, a little sumpin-sumpin for the girls in the fam... Spring is rebirth and cleansing, but also chocolate and bunnies, so tessék! (here you are) I saw this idea somewhere, but where? No clue. They're little soap cozies and according to Julia, "using it was FANTASTISIC!" I used a 50% wool yarn and so I'm hoping they'll be reusable.

Oh yes! Happy Easter/passover/spring/whatever you celebrate. I hope it was riddled with joy. And also chocolate. Aaaand, maybe some alcohol.

LOTR cardigan done!

2007-04-01T12:16:00.000+02:00

Well, the cardigan for Zoli is finished as of a week ago. I meant to put up the pics then, but we were attacked by a crazy week long cough til you puke party. I also wanted to snap some pics of the sweater in action, the zipper action, the hood, well everything, really.

I am so proud of myself. Not only is the first hooded cardigan I've knit, but it is the first zipper I put in, as well as my first pattern. All in all this took one month and one week to accomplish. It also took three passes at each part which pretty much tripled the time it should have taken... Oh well, live and learn.

Details:
Yarn: Tweed Extra 20% wool, 72% acrylic, 8% viscose 50g ~ 90m, 14 skeins
needles: 5mm circular and dpns; sleeves knit in the round, body knit in one piece.
pattern: my own using saxon braid pattern.

The hood was specifically requested as "over the top large" and so that alone swallowed 5 skeins... My husband has a more feminine taste in clothing and wanted flared sleeves with no hem.

working pictures forthcoming...

Opera Man Mommy

2007-03-21T08:57:00.000+01:00

Since Julia was very small I have always been able to get away with stopping a probable tantrum by changing the subject. Whether she's fallen down and scraped her knee or justs wants to be a little shit at the grocery, changing the subject has always worked.

Recently, however, I've had to take it a step further: Opera mommy changes the subject. I've been graced with the musical child, I mean, the child who LOVES her some sappy musicals. West Side Story, Les Mis, Hair, Barbie: The Princess and the Paupress, you name it, Jules will EAT IT UP. And so if she's melting down and I need her to laugh or forget something I just Opera It Up. Same goes for reading books, you'd be surprised how renewed her interest is when Ten Apples Up On Top is not read but rather performed.

5penny and the terrible horrible no good very bad day

2007-03-18T13:20:00.000+01:00

I haven't suffered much tragedy in my life, sure there have been hard times, but very few instances of actual why God? type tragedy. There is, however, a day I would consider The Worst Day of My Life.

It all started out normal enough. I was living in this super tiny (think the size of your kitchen) studio cabin in the mountains, it was my haven. Sure there was no indoor plumbing save for the kitchen sink, but an outhouse is a small price to pay for the view from my outdoor shower. Yes, I said outdoor shower. It was magnificent, there is no comparable experience to showering while snow falls around you. While not a very good picture, it is the actual view from the mountain where I lived. (courtesy of Nicole Holmquist)
Despite awakening to this beauty, February 14, 1998 was anything but a beautiful day. I started out on a walk with my dog, Shiloh. We were headed to a very secret meadow, my thinking spot. As we walked along the bank of the canal, I let my mind drift as my body continued on autopilot. I may have also been talking to my dog, she was a hyper boxer and seemed not to walk so much as bounce. Bounce, bounce-bounce, splash! She had bounced herself right into the ice cold canal and was quickly been swept downstream with the current. Pulling myself out of my reverie, I sprinted downstream, passed her, bellyflopped onto the hard ground and extended my upper body into the ice cold water and scooped her out. I zipped her into my jacket so we would retain some body heat and headed home. Of course, the fire was out. I got it going and we cuddled in my sleeping bag until normal temperatures were restored.

I was supposed to visit my parents later that day and so I packed ~~my dirty laundry~~ an overnight bag and we got into my p.o.s. orange Volkswagen bug. It wouldn't start. No problem, I told myself, I live on a hill so I'll just pop the clutch on my way down and all will be well. Or so I thought. The blonde in me had different plans. She thought it would be hysterical if I forgot to turn the ignition key on. Fucking hysterical. At the bottom of the hill, no running engine, no problem, I decided to a) turn on the damn ignition, and b) push the damn car until I got enough momentum to pop the clutch.

Which, obviously as this is my story, did not work.

After an hour or so of pushing, I gave up. I walked back up to my cabin in paradise and made a sandwich. A couple hours later, I went down to inspect the orange nightmare and thought, hehe, I'll just try to turn it over and see what happens: the car started. Of it's own volition. I whistled for the dog and we were off.

The drive to my parents took about 45 minutes of foothill driving through the barren nothingness. Golden grasses and rolling hills. Coming down the last big hill, I slipped the gear clutch into neutral and coasted (which is totally illegal in California, so I, of course, didn't really *wink*). It was the only way my orange p.o.s. would hit 65mph. Nearing the bottom of the hill I heard a clunk and looked out the driver's window just in time to see my rear tire pass me, roll off the highway, jump the bridge, and land in the middle of the creek. I amazingly kept the car from losing control and by the grace of a higher power, maneuvered it onto the shoulder where I did not turn the engine off, in case it would not start. (You know, cause tires that fall off can be easily reattached without the need for specials tools or parts. Geez, what an idiot.) The car behind me pulled over as well, stunned that I hadn't gone off the bridge and offered to let me use their cell phone (in 1998! how lucky was I) to call for help. A tow truck was dispatched and while I waited for it to tow my sorry ass to my parents, I took my second river bath that day.

By this point I could not believe the day I was having and immediately upon arriving started relaying my craptastic day to my dad. He was somber and not very interested and didn't once laugh at me. Something was wrong. My father would never purposely pass up an opportunity to laugh at my pain.

When I had finished my "can you believe this crap?" story, my father said the oddest thing. "Well, no matter how shitty your day, it's definitely better than Uncle Ted's."
"Whaa? What is that supposed to mean?" I asked.
"You know about Ted, doncha? Oh.", he sighed.
Loooong silence.
"Of course you don't. You don't have a damn phone, how would you know. Um, your uncle was involved in a fatal farming accident this morning. He's dead."

Ever have a day like that? Tell me about it.

Lady, Thy name is Whimsy

2007-03-13T09:38:00.000+01:00

I decided on a whim to make this traditional Hungarian treat aptly named Női szeszély or Lady's Whim, if you will. It is similar to making some types of Bars, in that the crust is pressed into the pan; it calls for yeast and a half hour rest to help it attain that flaky perfection instead of the dense bars of my childhood, and topped with a vanilla meringue it is transformed into something fancy and angelic.

(Just an idea, use your favorite jam, for us that's raspberry but apricot, strawberry, whatever your little heart desires. Oh, and don't scrimp!)

Női szeszély - Lady's Whim
Hozzávalók: Ingredients:
50 dkg liszt - 500g flour (2c.)
25 dkg vaj - 250g butter (1c.[cold cut in chunks])
2 t.sárgája - 2 egg yolks
6 t.fehérje - 6 egg whites
15 dkg cukor - 150g sugar (3/4c.)
2 dkg élesztő - 11g yeast (2tsp)
1/2 dl tej - 50ml milk (~1/4c.)
kb. 15 dkg málnaíz - about 150 g raspberry jam (3/4c.)
20 dkg vaníliás porcukor - 200g confectioners' sugar (approx. 1c.)
5 dkg mandula
1/2 tsp vanilla

Elkészítés: Instrusctions:
Preheat oven to 350 (175c). Add yeast to milk, let sit 5 minutes. In a medium bowl sift together flour with butter chunks and mix until combined. Add egg yolks, sugar and yeasted milk, mix well. Lest rest 20-30 minutes.

Press into an ungreased cake pan and bake 10 minutes. While baking crust, mix 6 egg whites on high speed adding the confectioners' sugar 1/4c at a time, add vanilla. Mix until stiff peaks form. Be careful not to overmix!
(stiff peaks=good whereas hard peaks=bad.)

Remove pan from oven, lower heat to 300F (150c), spread raspberry jam and slowly pour meringue on top. Spread evenly in pan, smoothing over with a rubber spatula. Bake 20 minutes or until meringue is lightly browned. Allow to completely cool before cutting and serving, several hours if
necessary.

Elkészítési idő: Preparation Time: 60 perc/minutes

old like a gramma

2007-03-11T09:07:00.000+01:00

I was prepared for the worst. For crying, depression, or tantrums. For the last month or so, I've been gearing up and mentally preparing myself, as well as going over in my head the different ways this could play out.

Today I turned 30. I am, in the words of my daughter, "old like a gramma."

But I don't feel different. I'm not sad nor am I mad. Last night we had a family dinner to celebrate both my birthday and Zoli's name day. I was completely surprised at how big of a deal his family of my 30th. On top of great presents, they brought a HUGE bouquet of 30 carnations. That made me cry, the generosity of their affection, but the actual being thirty, eh.

So I guess I'm ambivalent towards the whole thing. I don't know. It doesn't feel scary or depressing, but it is a big reminder that no longer am I a twenty-something.

I am a bona-fide adult.

Watch out world, the training wheels have come off.

closing the divide

2007-03-09T11:57:00.000+01:00

Yesterday just happened to be International Women's Day, which in the U.S. means conversations regarding sexism and the how's and why's, etcetera are sparked. I definitely do not want to beat a dead sheep repeating thoughts, ideals that are better said by someone who believes them. Why? Because I don't enjoy pointing out the differences between anyone let alone men and women. It's obvious we're different. And it bothers me that all we can do is state the obvious. You and I are both women and yet we are not the same. I am a domestic goddess, you may be a corporate goddess, I don't know.

I do know however, that by lending ourselves to a fight which is pointless and painful and in which we seek to prove that we are not different only showcases that difference. You cannot disprove fact. You just can't.

My point of view may be refuted based on case studies of income discrepancies, inequalities, whatever, but I don't really care. I believe in women's rights, hell, I believe in men's rights too because I believe in human rights. Most of us with the time and resources to blog and read blogs and wax poetic on the injustices of the modern world have been blessed with privilege. The privilege of living in the free world, the world of excess, of opportunity. Therefore, we have the privilege of time to rant about the perceived inequalities among us. Because we don't have to worry about where our next meal will come from.

It seems that as long as we point out how we're perceived differently or paid differently we are hindering ourselves from narrowing the divide. We should instead celebrate diversity, that we aren't all cut from the same pattern and just enjoy our lives, differences and all.

trend and blend

2007-03-04T09:08:00.000+01:00

I generally consider myself to be a very good driver. I blame it on my irritating ability to pay attention to everything at once. At least it irritates Zoli, he can never win a where-was-it-last war because I automatically catalog the placement of all things upon every re-entry. And I'm the same with driving, I don't actually have to pay attention because my craziness has been operating separately for a long time.

Except for this one time. When I managed the restaurant. My parking space was 6 blocks away, it was dusk and I had been at work since 5:30 that morning. I was fried. I picked up my car, pulled out of the parking lot, stopped at the signal, looked to the left and proceeded to make a right turn against the light. All of a sudden he appeared as if from nowhere and I slammed on my brakes.

him: What the fuck, you almost hit me!

me: Um, I know, sorry it's just that...

him: What? Why the fuck would you try to hit me? Can't you see?

me: (giving up on the niceness) DUDE! It is dusk and you're wearing CAMOUFLAGE.

taking control

2007-03-01T13:17:00.000+01:00

It is hard to have a trusting relationship with a medical professional when the AMA disagrees with your lifestyle choices. For me that means that I continuously bounce from gynecologist to gynecologist, each one belittling my stance on birth control.

Which is no birth control, by the way, just thought I should put that out there.

I wasn't always this way, as an 18 year old beginning her sexual journey, I relied heavily upon depo provera in shot form. I showed up religiously to get my shot despite living on a commune, despite being a vegan, despite everything. I knew that I was not ready to be a parent (not with the amount of recreational drugs I enjoyed) nor was I to be trusted with a pill. (I do not take pills well, I have a box of vitamins my mother has given me over the years that I could never remember to take, let alone remember to throw away...) So I chose the shot. Not having a period for 3 years was an added bonus, or so I thought.

When I decided to go off the shot and explore other options my period didn't return. For six months it didn't return and I was unaffected by its disappearance. Until it painfully appeared. It started out as a normal period but quickly progressed to "why the hell am I still bleeding?"

After 3 months of profuse bleeding, I sought out medical advice: uh, sometimes when a cycle has been absent for a significant amount of time due to prescription birth control, it plays catch up. I bled for 9 (NINE!) months straight and no I am not exaggerating. It wreaked crazy havoc on my life, I suffered from acute lower back pain, I couldn't stand for long periods of time nor could I sit. I consulted with some of the best doctors in California and after much probing and prodding was told that most likely I would spend my life on birth control to control the bleeding which would negatively affect any reproductive plans I might have held for the future.

Uh. Hmm, I was 21 years old. I was in severe pain, and was told I couldn't have children. Life was so very far from okay.

My mom at the time (who knew nothing of the birth control) was just getting in to holistic healing and herbology, she attended a conference and gave me a progesterone cream to try, claiming that hormonal imbalance can result in profuse bleeding... It worked. It took two cycles to regulate and I only used it for about 6 months (see previous confession re: pills). My "Specialists" regarded the results as coincidence and still urged me to resume birth control to control my cycle. I didn't/ don't want to control my cycle, I wanted to facilitate a healthy and normal cycle.

In fact, every doctor I have since consulted be it for pregnancy (wow! not barren, hmm.), yearly checkup, 6 week postpartum check, whatever the case, they've always pressured me to resume birth control. One Ob/Gyn actually phrased it as "the only choice to avoid another unwanted pregnancy." (which was really odd considering she wasn't my ob/gyn during pregnancy and if she had been she would have known that it was no surprise that I was pregnant.) I was so stunned by her shunning of my personal choices that I could only mutter a polite, "um, no thanks, I'd be more comfortable abstaining for the rest of my natural life. But thanks for your disdain." (Coincidentally, she was the same doctor who told me I might want to look into a baby leash. We did not last long there. Insurance be damned.)

Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the medical society's ability to save my life, set a broken bone, etcetera, but personal decisions regarding OPTIONAL drugs and/or procedures are best left with the individual, thankyouverymuch.

mine eyes

2007-02-21T09:37:00.000+01:00

It has been roughly 8 years since my last eye appointment. Which wasn't a big deal as the scrip was quite possibly the weakest available (pity glasses: he knew how badly I wanted glasses)(I am such a Loser) until the last six months or so, in which time I've had more migraines than ever. But when my eye started to twitch non-stop for 3 months, I knew I had to do something. That was the deal maker: an eye twitch is hardly bearable once in awhile, but 20 hours of the day for 90 days. GAH!

I stopped by the szemvizsgálo (lit.= eye exam) to check the price of everything and the néni's willingness to deal with my foreignness. She sat me down in front of this fancy computer, turned it on and BAM!, it spit out the answer. It was amazing. No questions to answer, whatsoever. No, better 1, better 2; better 3, better 4, which is how my eye doctor tests the lenses and oh man, was I relieved because I never knew the correct answer. Hmm, could the right answer be 3 or 4? I would seriously struggle with trying to please the eye doctor. Screw my vision, I had to be the best eye patient ever.
(The top picture is basically what the computer looks like, but less 80's cheese, more 21st century chic. Does your optometrist use this funky computer? Or the old fashion big ass mechanical lens dealio?)

So, obviously I was less sweaty once I realized that I had to say NOTHING! There is nothing I can say to a machine as it needs no crazy lady input for it measures each eye with a little out of focus-in focus-out of focus dance and: presto chango! I can finally see!

I picked them up yesterday; this was the least rectangular frame available that also did not double as crazy euro-trashy eyewear. And they have the slightest hint of 50's oomph that made me pay ever so slightly more for the gift of sight.

Onto the world of knitting!
I've started a hooded cardigan for Zoli, he requested all stockinette stitch. But for the love of jesus! how boring is that. Using my womanly wiles, I suggested cables, although I think I called it a LOTR / elvish braid. (hehe, I knew full well that he would dig it if it sounded LOTR-cool) Pictured below is the first repeat of the saxon braid, but vertical. I think it will be purty.

This is Miss Dashwood in multi pink, no bobbles (still can't turn my work) she's headed for Texas to protect the head of one very adorable new baby... Definitely a fun, easy (without bobbles) 1-day knit.

So, How've you been?

what shimmers and's shiny

2007-02-18T15:40:00.000+01:00

Doubloons.

Doubloons. hehe. Don't you sometimes wish that somebody still referred to their currency as doubloons. And pirate-speak.

Aye, it would be a great thin' t' speak like a pirate. Yo, ho, ho and a bottle o'rum.

Saavy?

Help needed.

2007-02-11T13:12:00.000+01:00

Hey everybody! I have a knitting question: Pockets. HELP! I made two pockets for a cardigan for the husband and cast on the body... What I am wondering is if there is a way to knit the pockets into the original body or if I have to attach afterward?

Any clue?

success in knitting

2007-02-08T07:38:00.000+01:00

just a knitting update before parent's day at kindergarten. One has to be pretty creative here to not go crazy from lack of choice, this is especially hard for spoilt-americans who are used to finding anything their little hearts desire. But here in Hungary, good yarn is impossible to come by, now on the other hand, if what your heart desires is every type of Red Heart for 3.5 - 4.5 mm needles then I guess you're in heaven.

Also? no fricking 100% wool because apparently it doesn't sell... argh! Luckily, I can write a request and when the truck comes, the kezimunka-néni will inquire as to its existence.

What I have been able to create are these two winter hats...

[updated to add]

The first is of my own creation. CO 72, I used 4mm dpns and a multi-blue acrylic for the first 6 rounds in k1,p1 rib. I then picked up a second yarn, a beautiful deep blue and knit in moss stitch until 3 in. I then drop multi yarn and worked 4 rounds in yo, k2tog. Pick up multi yarn, resume moss st 2 more inches. I dropped the multi-yarn and began decrease rows knit 7, k2tog, k 2 rounds, k 6, k2tog, etc. until 12 st remain, thread through, break yarn. weave in all ends.

The second is a pattern I found at magknits... here to be exact, although I did take some liberties to make it less pointy on top. The flower is from here. The bead, my own.

if only

2007-02-03T16:09:00.000+01:00

If I could bring an unlimited amount of just one wine....

it would have to be Honig Cabernet Sauvignon.

Have you ever heard of this winery? At 2 of the restaurants in San Francisco I worked at, we carried both their Sauvignon Blanc and the Cab. Both are great wines, honest, but my twue lub is a BIG cab. Honig Cab is big and beautiful and man, if I wouldn't trade my husband for a case.

As far as pricing goes, it's comparable to much more expensive Cabernet's, so for 35 bucks, it's both an investment and a deal. Plus, they are good people. I know. I bought wine from many a salesman while serving time as restaurant manager, but only once did I ever go after a wine.

So, if you're in the continental US, have a couple extra bucks, and love a good glass of wine then I envy the night this amazing wine arrives on your doorstep.

it's time for another recipe

2007-02-01T10:25:00.000+01:00

So, in honor of my husband garnering another account which affords him the right to buy his own damn laptop already, I'm declaring it an international make your own pizza holiday. Both Zoli and Julia love my homemade pizza, enough that we are forbidden! by law! to order crappy Hungarian pizza (which fyi, usually has green peas, corn, a fried egg, or sour cream on it; if you're really lucky maybe? ALL THREE!) regardless of how tired one is.

Every region/country has their own rules regarding pizza condiments. For the West Coast it is ranch, Mexico has a sauce called chimichurris (so. yum.), Hungary prefers "pizza szósz" read sauce in native speak. Basically, it is just extra pizza sauce. I was all, haha yeah right, give me my ranch until I tasted it. Talk about a good idea. yum.

Pizza Szósz Nicolle-i Modra (Pizza sauce ala Nicolle which coincidentally, is also my standard spaghetti sauce with the exception of twice the sugar.)

500 g (2 cups) tomato sauce (paste, crushed, however your favorite comes)
2 tsp Basil
1.5 tsp Oregano
pinch Thyme
pinch Rosemary
salt
1-2 T Sugar (depending on tom's acidity)

1. Bring all ingredients to boil, reduce heat, simmer 10 minutes to develop flavors, stirring occasionally.

Pizza Dough

1.5 tsp instant yeast
6 T warm water
6 T milk
2 T oil
1/2 tsp salt
~1.75 cups flour

(the next part is super secret confidential info)

1. As long as the yeast and the salt are added in different sections, i.e. yeast first, salt after flour, you don't need to proof yeast. Just a little something I learned at the bakery...
So, add everything together and knead 5 minutes by hand or do it the fast way in your mixer, (am so envious.) Let dough rise for 30-45 minutes in a warm environment.

Pizza Toppings

30dkg. (1.5 cups) mozzarella or nice melty cheese of your choice.
vegetables of choice
meats of choice

Assembly

1. Pre-heat oven to 400-ish F. Punch dough down and let rest 5 minutes. Roll out to desired specs. Lightly oil pan*, place dough on top, and repeatedly stab with a fork.

*Have you ever had a well made piece of foccaccia? You know how the bottom is golden and a little crispy? That's why the oil.

2. Spread desired amount of sauce (for us, I double the dough recipe and use 2/3 of sauce, reserving 1/3 for dipping) on top of dough. Follow with 2/3 of cheese. Place desired toppings meats first on top of cheese. Cover with remaining cheese.

3. Bake 25 minutes or until done. I measure the doneness by gently lifting a corner when crust is golden and verifying goldenness of bottom. If golden, then done. Let rest in pan 5-10 minutes. Slice. Serve.

common sense not so common

2007-02-01T09:39:00.000+01:00

I'm not used to chillen's crawling into bed with me in the middle of the night. While we definitely have our battles with Julia sleeping has never been one of them. Which is for the better, as I am not the one you want to startle awake from a dead sleep. It's not pretty. But last night she did. at 2:15a.m., no less. Apparently, she "couldn't sleep" and would pretty please like to watch cartoons. I kindly, let her in bed with me and mumbled that it is Time. To. Sleep. I rolled over only to be poked in 15 minute intervals for the next hour, "because Mommy? I still can't sleep." And finally, an hour later, "I'm too hot."

Hot? It's January and while maybe not the coldest winter in recorded history, we are cheap and do not run our heaters at night because of the down comforters and footie pj's. But hot? I am suddenly awake, questioning if she is sick and going into emergency mom mode when she tells me, giggling, that she has on two (TWO!) pairs of footie polar fleece pj's and is trying to sleep under the world's toastiest down comforter. The kid that sweats with a hat on when it is about 2 degrees. DUH.

I escort her back to bed, relieve her of her fiery inferno, and let her listen to her current favorite cd: Butterfly something or other trance. Yes, my 5 year old has been recruited by my husband (they hang out listening and dancing) as a devotee to trance. Oh. Not like the crap found in a disco or club, more like really mellow/progressive lullabies, only electronic not Raffi. Obviously cooler without all the polar fleece she falls asleep in 30 seconds and I am still awake.

Szeretem Alanát

2007-01-25T11:27:00.000+01:00

Hey! Do you guys know Alana?

No?!? *gasps in horror* Well, you should because I super heart her. Right after Christmas we decided to chance the Hungarian post office and do a little swap.

Look! How pretty.

Yes, that is toilet paper. Luxurious toilet paper! You can tell she's in the know. Tp here is similar to the original seventh generation 1-ply sandpaper... the benefit obviously being a nice exfoliated ass, but come on.

Red vines. Mmm... quite possibly the best candy ever.

Yay! JIF peanut butter. Can you believe they don't have PB&J here. But I do now.

Tapioca pudding, oh, how I've missed you.

And a little Sponge Bob valentine's fix for Julia.

Alana, I love you. Thank you.
Let's go now and all pay tribute to her.

it's official

2007-01-23T15:15:00.000+01:00

While my spoken Hungarian is understandable at best, my comprehension is stronger than ever. This past weekend we were invited out to a nearby village where Zoli's fishing buddy lives. I was nervous as I knew the boys planned on fishing for at least 4 hours on Sunday and that is a whole lotta me and the magyar wife. Although there were many missed details, I somehow managed to keep my half of the conversation relevant.

It was also refreshing to get out of the damn apartment and go somewhere already. There was no plan: just food, drinks, and hanging out. I think it went well (besides having Julia in our bed snoring because she suddenly became very afraid of the dark). Even Julia was excited and had fun: they have a ten year old girl and a two year old son. And while the baby definitely stole some of her thunder, the girl helped by doting on her every wish. Julia's only remark about the baby boy was this, "Mommy, I think I would like a baby sister now. Not a brudder."

The baby's an early riser and so much sleep was lost, so much so that it took AN ENTIRE HOUR to wake Julia up this morning to go to school.

Now that's a good weekend.

blogger is trying to kill me

2007-01-17T14:10:00.000+01:00

I hate blogger.

Does anyone know why I haven't been able to upload a single picture, any which way, in more than 3 days? I just keep getting an error message.

*grumbles around house kicking and generally throwing quite the tantrum*

wah.

things disney has taught my daughter

2007-01-14T19:46:00.000+01:00

"Holy Shit!" - Cars

"Crap!" - Ice Age 2

"Damn!" - Ice Age 2

All have been exclaimed in the last 24 hours. Great. The only curse words she didn't know are now repeated in context* as often as possible. Thank you Pixar, Disney and Big Sky!

*We limited her use of the words to only when quoting or talking about the movie in which it appears, lordy, have I ever heard enough. Although, the first time she said them I laughed really hard. Really really hard.

The bakery

2007-01-09T08:40:00.000+01:00

nine or so years ago I worked at a rustic breads bakery. Now, any job within spitting distance of a restaurant or food is right up my alley (isn't that imagery just plain gross: Spitting! around food!). I just know what to do in a restaurant, I'm comfortable there. Yada, yada, back to the bakery: the coolest girl (she was 27) owned the place because she had had a whim that she wanted to be a baker. I loved that. A whim. So, at that point in life I only had front of house experience and was intrigued by baking. Not even the hours scared me.

Mel, the owner, met me at the front door on my first day. She was late and I loved that. As she was explaining the procedure she announced that in her bakery you measure with feeling not arbitrary units. Though she had a scale to weigh she made me feel everything: the grain of the flour, the coarseness of salt, a pound of butter, the slippery, sticky-wet dough. She made me taste the raw dough to correct the seasoning. Every batch is slightly different, unique; like a snowflake you mistake for all snowflakes but upon closer inspection is only similar in composition and name. She believed that understanding the individual ingredients made a better product. That theory made sense to me and I embraced it fully. I was good at baking; I am good at baking. It makes sense to me.

I still feel my recipes and "eyeball" the measurements, I know what the proportions resemble in the mixing bowl; how salty the wet dough tastes when sucked on.

I fell in love that morning: the predawn gray, coffee, conversation, and sticky hands shaping loaves.

a room with no view

2007-01-06T17:23:00.000+01:00

Sitting next to me and cutting paper, Julia asks, "mama, what's it called when you can't come in?"

me: Do Not Enter?

J: Yeah, yeah, how do we spell that?

me: dee-ohh-en-ohh-tee-ee-en-tee-ee-arr

J: aha, and how do you spell micolle?

me: en-eye-see-ohh-el-el-ee

J: ha, it's done. can I have some tape? I want to tape this to my door.

me: ok, sure. what's your sign say?

J: It says mommy can't come in.

View from afar

2007-01-04T08:38:00.000+01:00

(I boarded the train to Kecskemet without reading material; this is the result of a conversation with an old woman and a winter view.)

the train station

Life's pain
spilled upon the station platform
desperate and disparate
Beseeching any to feel
to share
Life's pain
so familiar, uncomfortable
to bear
necessary to live
silently pleads for death
Life's pain.

natural resources

Stark, barren, impoverished
beauty.
who has wasted you
and left you for dead?
here you sit defending
the old ways
unaware
your fields unyielding
your horizons ever
shrinking
royalty begging their
survival
sealing their fate.

it's like a hug

2007-01-03T08:15:00.000+01:00

While the holiday season ended up being easier and less stressful than I anticipated, it was lonely still. It's a hard concept for me to wrap my mind around, this, this homesickness, when I've spent the last 12 years running as far away as humanly possible. I had to see the world and not get stuck there. Until Julia came along, I only went home when I had to. And now, because I physically can't be anywhere near them, I long to be there.

It did not help that I've only met one person who has become a friend here (Hi! Monika).

It does not help that my life is in transition, always coming and going, back and forth. This is life as an international family: time here, time there, but when is it time for us? (Not that I would change it, it's just harder)

So, I've avoided this place for awhile now because I'm not sure who I should be here. Which mask should I don as I've felt so incredibly raw and vulnerable and unable to commit to virtual paper, my innermost fears. I called it "vacation" but really I was just afraid to tell you all what's going on inside here: I'm blue. That winter and darkness are conspiring against me. That I rarely leave my apartment. That I'm afraid I'm not a good mother. But then I read your pages and realize that I am just me, so similar to the me we all inhabit. Similar fears stain our hands, similar joys wash them clean.

During this journey (although it feels more like standing still than moving) I've made some amazing connections through this platform; I never imagined how supportive and friendly you would be. Or how excited I could get to be given the privilege of sharing in your lives. When I'm blue and can't find the words to describe my pain, I hang out with you guys, reading through your archives, remembering I'm not alone.

gimme my stuff! I mean, Merry Christmas

2006-12-23T09:30:00.000+01:00

Wow. I just finished a week long knitting marathon. It all started on Sunday when one of the nieces asked if the bolero would be done in time for Christmas... I, of course, said yes! and promptly sprinted to the yarn store to make a large purchase. I was more than a little apprehensive as I had just finished the ruffled scarf and still had a rather easy but large vest on the needles...

I cast on Monday night and knit 10 hours a day for the next 3 days, I finally, bound off all stitches yesterday. Oh. My. God. I can't believe I actually finished it. Also? It looks decent. Yay!

While I was furiously knitting, I thought about Christmas and the giving and receiving of gifts. I really, really hate the gift part of the holidays. (I don't want you to buy me crap I don't want, therefore, let's just hang out and have some turkey, m'kay?) But I love giving crafty gifts... However, I was/am nervous that somebody won't like what I've made (being new to the knitting and all) and it pisses me off because, well, it should be about the giving and loving. Anyway, they're going to love all their crap. They're nice people.

So, here's me wishing you a sappy, made for television Merry Christmas and a peaceful New Year. May Santa (or Jezuska) bring you ~~all the szaloncukor you can eat~~ whatever your heart desires (assuming you were a good boy or girl; unless you want bad things. In which case, let me rephrase: peace. I wish you all peace.)

Mmm, carp soup

2006-12-17T20:09:00.000+01:00

Mwahahahaha. Thank you all so much for the vote of confidence. I don't know what to say, except that, I, um, I meant the built in email-address-rememberer-thingy that comes with the email account. I don't actually have a tangible address book. Well, I do but it only has my mom's address in it and I'm pretty sure I'm not going to forget that one, you know, since I grew up there and all. But really, omg, I felt so organized there for a second.

So Hanukkah has begun, Christmas is a week away, yesterday we slaughtered a pig. Ahh, the holidays. The butchering barely involved myself, I was more the dishwasher and courier. The whole DIY pork thing is a pretty cool process and really hardly anything gets wasted (except the workers, they're wasted by 9 am). Bonus points for drinking while handling sharp objects, yike! All in all it was less icky than I thought, I was less squeamish, and no one lost a finger.

(that's me pimping the ruffled scarf)

A week ago the MIL asked who wanted to host Christmas as she said she didn't. We said, "Sure! We'll do it." I was so excited to plan an american Christmas dinner because well, carp soup with a kilo of oil and paprika is NOT my idea of food let alone Christmas. I ran to the butcher chop to reserve my turkey, dug out my recipes for killer stuffing and mile-high cranberry apple pie, and then, tragically, was informed that the MIL IS, in fact, hosting the holiday. Apparently, she just wanted to be begged to do it. WTF!

Woohoo, carp soup and overcooked breaded meat.

I'm homesick. I want my mommy.

proving to the world that i really am an idiot

2006-12-14T08:47:00.000+01:00

There are few people in my life with whom I've lost contact that I have regretted. There has usually been a reason to lose contact: changing jobs, changing cities, or the mistake of sleeping together. Also, I'm not the best example of what it means to be a friend as I generally just disappear. If you know where I am, that generally means that I believe my life is better as a result of our friendship.

Except in the case of 2 of my friends, one of whom I found yesterday. Yay! We'll call her Vivianne (she used to complain about her name and I don't know if she's cool with all 4 of you knowing it! hehe). I met Viv in a sleepy little town in the sierra foothills. I actually remember the day we met: her energy brightens a room and you just want to find a reason to talk to her. Which I did. We talked and eventually became friends. We briefly lived together during the rainiest winter/spring with hardly any wood for the stove. We eventually went our own ways to finish college.

My last contact with her was, hmm, 3 maybe 4 years ago. I've googled her and found her trail, but never her. I've complained to Zoli, that it was just. so. unfair.

Then I found her email in my address book.

duh.

heebie-jeebies

2006-12-07T20:18:00.000+01:00

huh. I'm completely skeeved out after checking THIS out... I mean, it is empowering to have this information and all, BUT not only did we find someone with whom the husband worked, we also found the babysitter's next door neighbor. Where my baby spent a good portion of her first three years...

Man alive, anyone know how to un-know something?

you know what they say: have a cold, eat soup

2006-12-06T21:56:00.000+01:00

Wow. Until today I've felt as though I had taken a break from thinking, a hiatus of the cerebral sort. I got that damn sinus infection (turned brutal head cold with a horse cough finale) and it was all I could do to remember my name.

Last night my husband started feeling woozy, and throwing all germy caution to the wind we decided to have sick sex. Normally this is a big no-no for us, we're weird and like to do it clean and healthy (or ultra clean -no shower, no sex- if you're my husband), but it had to be done lest we forget how. And hey! This morning I woke with a somewhat clear head and it was like a jumpstart. Not only could I actually think about waking up or getting out of bed, I could also perceive leaving the house.

So I did what anyone would do: I made Roasted Garlic and Potato Soup. Mmm. With lots of onion.

8 medium potatoes cubed(washed NOT peeled)
4 small yellow onions
1 head garlic roasted
1 cup stock
water
Oil
bouquet garni
salt to taste
2 Tbls flour
1/2 cup milk

Saute onions in oil until transclucent. Add potatoes and saute 2 minutes. Add stock and water until just covering potatoes, bring to boil. Make bouquet garni and place in pot. Meanwhile, roast garlic in tinfoil with olive oil for 20-30 minutes. Afterwards, remove cheesecloth, add cloves to soup, salt to taste, and puree. Whisk flour into milk and add slowly to soup, pureeing until smooth. Simmer, stirring frequently, until desired thickness is reached.
Enjoy!

success is guaranteed with a lil' sponge bob

2006-12-02T11:13:00.000+01:00

Hoo Doggy! 48 hours of semi-intense labor while wiping a furiously dripping nose and voila! a successful birthday party attended by none other than Sponge Bob himself and the boyfriend, Patrik.

Thursday morning bright and early, suffering from my first sinus infection in YEARS, I started to bake this cake. It is quite possibly the easiest AND delicious-est chocolate cake on the planet. By noon she was ready to be transformed into the ultimate birthday cake: Sponge Bob Squarepants. (She LOVES "Spongabob", I don't get it.)

I enlisted the help of my slightly more artistic husband to make sure sponge bob looked like sponge bob and I took care of making sure that it tasted good. We are a good team...

Friday was Julia's birthday and swimming day at pre-school, so we got up extra early and had cranky chocolate pancakes with a candle. Her Gramma had already taken care of the school party prep and they had chestnut cake with another candle at school. For a total of 3 cakes eaten, 16 candles blown out, and 2 firework-sy candles. A very successful 5th birthday.

It was like a first date: the kid's table consisted of Julia and Patrik and they cheers-ed with Kid's champagne in real champagne glasses.

5. Huh.

2006-11-30T21:14:00.000+01:00

I wantd to write this beautiful letter to you on the eve of your 5th birthday, expressing all the wonderment that you are and all that you have accomplished. But you know this, you're you.

I'm the proudest mama there ever was because you're my daughter. The fact that you can make me laugh when you say, "Piriks of da carob bean with dead skillirs*" (which you've never seen, but that doesn't deter your fascination), or that you can add and subtract in your head, or that you pick out boys clothes because there the goodest, has nothing to do with my love for you.

I never imagined being your Mommy would be this. It is harder and scarier than anything Ive ever done, but one random snuggle from you erases any fears I might have had. I thought this whole Baby Thing was about me teaching you How To Be, but it's not. It's about watching you develop into yourself. I'm much more of a supporting role: helping you, loving you, holding your hand.

For as long as you need it.

The helping and the holding, that is. The love is non-negotiable.

Love you to bits,
Mommy

*Pirates of the Caribbean with dead skeletons, just in case you didn't get it.

upside down or downside up?

2006-11-28T12:03:00.000+01:00

Lessons in good DVD player maintenence:

1. Buy cheapest player on the Tesco market.

2. ALWAYS play US region discs in E.Europe coded player.

3. When player begins to screech (loudly) and skip, flip upside down.

4. Ignore and deny that it has any problem whatsoever.

And, Voila! watch a movie whenever (almost, it's kinda picky about which it actually will play) you little heart desires.

giostefcom, gitincnet, glaahacom, skortizcom, skorznet, skrapucom

2006-11-28T09:18:00.000+01:00

Zoli and I have decided (after watching an hours' worth of news) that although we love life and its' gadgets, we really really don't much care for human relations. Any like minded thinkers wanna go in on an island? We could totally gadget it up and make it undetectable like in Spy Kids 2... Oh no, I've said too much, haven't I. I swear I've never seen the movie unaccompanied by a child. (My inner child counts, right?)

It could've been worse, I could have actually left the comment I wanted to over at letterb, "...coincedence, hey that's Jo-incedence with a /c/." Just to prove the seriousness of my friends addiction. Oh, and by the way, Thany - if you're out there, Julia said the other day, "Joey's my favorite, but Chandler's the goodest (meaning funny) one." It feels so good to come out of hiding: when I lived in San Francisco it was seriously uncool to enjoy it and so I learned to be discreet despite their inexplicable devotion to Desperate Housewives...

(BTW, the title is taken from the title of some spam currently sitting in my bulk box, I thought it fitting since I basically just spammed you all by talking about nothing, AGAIN.)

hear me lash out at nothing

2006-11-26T09:32:00.000+01:00

Holy hell, this extended vacation can get boring. And before you get all snarky with the poor little 5penny, hangs out, no job to go to, living in a foreign country, boo hoo you f'ing bitch... Let me say this: were this a true vacation, where my spoiled rich ass could hang out and do whatever, I would totally agree with the snark. But, because we moved here with the grandiose plan of self-employment that was thwarted prettymuch the moment we got here, we have been "on vacation" insomuchas we do not work but we are also living off our life savings. Therefore, I am not said spoiled rich girl: there is very little traveling involved, very little movement involved, actually.

As an example, may I present a week in the life of 5penny: With the exception of delivering and picking up daughter from preschool, I sit still, knit, watch friends*, make food/bake something, interact with said child, and sleep. Wash, rinse, repeat. Every. Single. Day. And while it is fun and has it's moments, and while I wouldn't trade this year for all the money in the world (or even the savings that is dwindling) it has it's boring moments. Wah. Boo hoo. Poor baby.

In other news, LOOK! I made pretty-pretties. Fingerless gloves, yay me! But I've realized that 5penny don't do gloves...they each take an entire day of non stop knitting AND I still have to make a matching pair to each of these, ack.

See, those two green gloves? Yeah, they were supposed to be a pair for my neice, but apparently she would like a pair that are the same size. What's up with that?

Even though they look almost the same size, it's really the angle of the photo. Let's take a closer looksy, shall we? Yup, definitely NOT the same... dammit...

*This is me whispering, it is my other secret shame. I cannot get enough, I am a sad, sad creature.

suckage is november

2006-11-24T16:07:00.000+01:00

Geesh. I had such high hopes for this NaBloPoMo thing. And then we had the three day fever/puke fest. And then a four day immobilizing migraine. And then my husband's laptop died and he confiscated mine because apparently his clients' design work is more important than my blogging habit. The nerve, eh.

So, congratulations to those of you who've actually made it thus far, only a couple of days left; a big thank you to those who've stopped by and commented (my husband thanks those of you who left links for me to waste a greater part of my day *wink*).

There's a man pacing the ground behind me, so anxious is he to resume contact with a keyboard...

hay-el and ooh doggy

2006-11-22T10:52:00.000+01:00

Do you remember the first time you heard a cuss word? the first time you used one? I do. Remember the day I heard the f-word for the first time, that is. It was in seventh grade on the bus ride home and I didn't know what it meant. The fierceness of the sound itself construed the meaning and I was in shock. I had heard "badwords" such as shit and god when my brothers said them and I had snickered (discreetly, of course, so as not to suffer the same punishment) as my mom washed their mouths out with soap. (One time she actually used liquid soap when she realized she had no bar soap, haha.) I mention all this because I don't remember bad words before 8 years of age or so... and I think my daughter knows them all. We ~~don't~~ try our hardest not to swear in front of her, but after bedtime our tongues relax and it comes out. Don't get me wrong I use the f-bomb on this site far more frequently than I do in real life but things like shit!, dammit!, and whatthehell! pop out on occasion.

Last night my kid's telling me a bedtime story (we take turns, I read a book and she in turn, creates a new one out of the pictures.) and it is fantastic in the very meaning of the word way (beware Kit, her imaginary friends, Rico and Anika, live in Cape Town in a blue house). This goes on for 12 and a half minutes. I wish I had a voice recorder. And she's summing up her story and delivers the punchline that goes something like this: "So, Anika's walking and goes, 'What the hay-ell? What did I just do?'" I interrupt her saying, "Um, babe? We don't talk like that, it's not very nice." "I know, Mommy," she says, "I didn't say it, Anika said it. I telled her, 'oh my goodness!' when she told me the first time!"

Oops, apparently sleeping babes are actually studying and memorizing the manner and accent in which their mommies cuss.

what the hay-el?

beware the ignorance, it is contagious

2006-11-20T08:42:00.000+01:00

This is an open letter to Kindermusik:

What's with all the Kindermusik love? Why the promotion of poor spelling?

Now I'm aware that you'll probably sue me for copyright infringement and to this I have but one thought: Bring It On, if you can spread ignorance like a fucking communicable disease then I'll happily take one for the team. Of edumacated parents, that is.

Why all the hate, you ask? Well... I think you remember my not-so-nice email that I sent you to which you've never responded. It was in this email that I pointed out a false statement in one of your alphabet books: namely that there IS, in fact, an animal that begins with X. Exhibit A showcases the 'X' page of your book Awesome Animals ABC, it states that "X is for x-ing/ No animal starts with the letter 'X.'/But you've all seen animals x-ing, I'll bet."

X-ING? Is that kindergarten slang for crossing? Will my child automatically intuit what in the hell x-ing means? Is it a good idea to erase any doubt that an animal might begin with the letter x? Like, say, maybe the South American bird xenops?
Ooopsy, my bad, it just that we also have this book which clearly marks Xenops as both an animal and beginning with X. This is Animals AtoZ by David McPhail.

As we all can see, there is in fact a "X" animal; why can't we all just do a little fact check before printing blatant lies? I realize that I am culpable of posting whatever I feel like, fact checking aside, but I Am Not An Author Nor Am I A Publishing House. I am merely an invisible blogger (gah) and a concerned parent.

Expecting a reprint within the year,
5penny

P.s. My 4 year old daughter refuses to read this book because she knows it's lying (and lying is BAD!), despite her undying LOVE for Noodles From Scratch.

Mrs. Clean

2006-11-19T20:56:00.000+01:00

So the other day, I decided to scrub my kitchen floor, but not just with a mop. No sir, about once a month I get an itch and scrub the damn thing a la Cinderella. On all fours with this bleachy grout cleaner. Because the tile AND THE GROUT is white. In my kitchen, where food routinely falls from clumsy hands; where dirty shoes mark their way. This is because my MIL refurbished our apartment before we moved here a year ago. She decided on the tile, the cupboards, the furnishings and for the most part she did good.

I don't believe she thought about the cleaning requirement but rather of it's stark beauty. When it's brandnew it is stunning. She, like most of her fellow countrywomen, is obsessed with cleaning and not in a "heh-heh, I'm a tad OCD and I like things a certain way. She [they] is [are] of this essence that spurs people to believe you MUST Do Certain Things A Specific Way Without Deviation. It causes people here to IRON THEIR UNDERWEAR. And believe me, I wish I were making this up. She finds me amusing because I do not harbor any of these qualities. At all. I do not mind hy house feeling lived in. I do not mind a little dust. I do not iron period.

But I do feel the need to scrub my floor with a brush. Three times.

I think they're trying to convert me and the white tile was the gateway.

What I did for love

2006-11-17T23:25:00.000+01:00

before the listy-crap, GO SUPPORT THIS, unless you believe women shouldn't BE ALLOWED to breastfeed their chillins' in public. What the hell is wrong with people?

Letterb has encouraged the listy thing and being a complete sheeple (and in Vienna for the day) I present the amazingly white trash: 5penny's What I Did For Love

Changed my major (to his native language)
Spent 400 dollars on international calls, only to be dumped by mail
Learned another language to spare partner from having to learn mine
Changed my major, again
Drugs I wasn't okay with "to bond"
Lived in scary foreign country with no money
Got pregnant with Scary Country Resident's baby
Ended friendship with friend who told me bad things about S.C.R. a year after they happened, which happened to be true
Allowed SCR to live his rock'n'roll lifestyle despite having newborn
Single mother-thing, for love and health of baby.
Married a foreigner (like, what is it with me and the foreign guys!) after dating for 2.5 months.
Learned yet another language and lived (living) in non-scary foreign country

my hidden shame

2006-11-16T14:17:00.000+01:00

Because I am so out of touch with current social events in my own country, I have become mildly infatuated with people.com. It a sickness. I scan the New York Times, BBC, CNN and Comedy Central, of course, that goes without linking, but I love me some gossip these days. I check it daily along with Go Fug Yourself. It occurred to me today that maybe I don't care whether or not celebrities breathe, I just miss intrinsically being in the know. Ya know.

So, there it's out in the open. Phew.

4 years

2006-11-15T17:01:00.000+01:00

You entered my life at a time when chaos reigned and I could not have been more fucked up, emotionally, financially: basically every which way. Today marks the fourth year we've been together and look out world because we are good to go the distance. This year has proved it.

(this is the original secret wedding night, holy crap i was big)

Unbeknownest to family, we got married 2.5 months after making out for the first time. We found ourselves painted into a corner: get married or never see each other again. I am so glad we chose the first and hardest/most expensive option. We were married by a friend, in front of 10 of our friends, went to a bar afterwards to celebrate and then to our apartment to celebrate some more.

You have brightened my life; this journey together has been everything I ever hoped a marriage would be. And if our wedding picture is any indication, I think we will be happy for a long time to come.

Happy anniversary babe.

because the puke party's over but done with

2006-11-15T10:22:00.000+01:00

Phew! *wipes sweat off brow* that was a mean virus. She finally fell asleep of her own volition (I had suggested napping 3 times to which she responded in tears and vomit) at 2:30 in the afternoon, she woke at 6:30pm and we believe her fever broke around 5-ish. She had gone 32 hours on 4 hours of crappy sleep. We're taking it easy today, lots of games you can play in bed...

In other news, I knit my first wristlet (you know, fingerless glove) from this pattern and am now starting a pair for Jules... yay, me!

This meme thingy looked interesting and I was surprised I had read most of the list (sorry, but I'm not reading the Harry Potter books, no way, no how.) Oddly, all the books I hadn't read but had heard of, are ones I've been trying to coerce my mom into sending me... She refuses though, because my stuff doesn't usually arrive and she keeps promising to come and visit and bring them. But, what good is that when RIGHT NOW I've nothing to read. Anyway, instead of blathering on with the woe is me, here are the meme instructions: Look at the list of books below. Bold the ones you’ve read, italicize the ones you might read, cross out the ones you won’t, underline the ones on your book shelf, and place parentheses around the ones you’ve never even heard of.

~~The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown~~
The Catcher in the Rye - J.D. Salinger
The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy - Douglas Adams
The Great Gatsby - F.Scott Fitzgerald
To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
The Time Traveler’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
(His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman)
~~Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince - J. K. Rowling~~
Life of Pi - Yann Martel
Animal Farm: A Fairy Story - George Orwell
Catch-22 - Joseph Heller
~~The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien~~
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
Lord of the Flies - William Golding
Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
1984 - George Orwell
~~Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban - J. K. Rowling~~
One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
Slaughterhouse 5 – Kurt Vonnegut
~~Angels and Demons – Dan Brown~~
Fight Club – Chuck Palahniu
Neuromancer - William Gibson
(Cryptonomicon - Neal Stephenson)
The Secret History – Donna Tartt
A Clockwork Orange – Anthony Burgess
Wuthering Heights – Emily Bronte
Brave New World – Aldous Huxley
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe – C. S. Lewis
Middlesex – Jeffrey Eugenides
(Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell)
~~The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien~~
Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
(Good Omens - Terry Pratchett, Neil Gaiman)
Atonement - Ian McEwan
The Shadow Of The Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
The Old Man and the Sea - Ernest Hemingway
The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood
The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath

Puke-apalooza

2006-11-14T14:12:00.000+01:00

And a raging fever of 102.5/39 trumps any hope of NaBloPoMo daily posting. The wee one came home from daycare complaining that everything hurt: "[her] head, [her] belly, and [her] leg, cause that mean girl, Bettina, pushed [her] down and Marika-neni don't do nothing." I could feel the fever radiating off her poor little body and so we took a tepid bath. It came down for an hour or so, enough to let our guard down, and returned full force with the added bonus of puke. We've been veg-ing in bed ever since. When she isn't bowing before the mighty one, she's laying next to me holding my hand.

Excuse me dear internets, I've a babe who, unlike the past couple weeks, truly needs her mommy.

hand of hand combat awaiable

2006-11-12T20:25:00.000+01:00

We encountered this warning on the ferry at Lake Balaton. It's not a very clear shot because, well, I suck at the camera thing. But I will give you a close up as well as tell you what it says, in case the blur is making you nauseated. It reads: passangars without awaiable tickets will be punished extra 6,ooo Ft.
My first thought after reading it was rather in the gutter. Is it just me? Come on, you will be punished extra! Not just punished but extra! hehe.

And, um, I don't know your (Balaton Ferry Company) needs, but I'm awaiable for copyediting...

---------------------------------

Julia is more tomboy than girl. She loves playing rough: tickle fests, karate chops to Daddy's shin, running across the wood floor and sliding on her knees. She is easily riled, hard to calm down. As a counter-attack tonight, she declared mano duh mano combat.

miscommunication

2006-11-11T16:24:00.000+01:00

Z: Did you hear what he said?

J: what?

Z: well, listen.

J: What?

Z: You're not listening to the...

J:I DON'T HEAR ANYTHING!

Z:THAT'S BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT LISTENING.

J: WHAT'D HE SAY, HUH?

Z: San Francisco.

J: Oh, I heard that.

but I do exist, I do.

2006-11-11T09:56:00.000+01:00

This from Laid off Dad would lead me to believe that I don't exist. In the U.S. 3,000 people are registered as spelling their first name the same as I, but according to this site, no one in the U.S. is registered as having my name. No one? But, I am registered in the U.S. with my name so , wouldn't that mean that 1 person has my name, namely, ME?

Could they actually know that I currently don't live there? But, I didn't tell anyone, I just sent everything back to my Mommy's house, like a responsible, adult. What? Am I the only mother and wife whose permanent address is that of her parents? That's a whole other post...

I do exist, assholes. Ask my mom, she knows.

stubborn is as stubborn does

2006-11-10T22:09:00.000+01:00

The grandchildren in my family have proved that the 5penny genes need a little beating in the early years. We tend to breed them as stubborn as sin: last night, my 18 month old nephew had an hour long standoff with my mom, his grandma, over picking up a piece of gum that he threw on the floor. In fact, all six of the kids have this same demeanor. They are not idle, sit still and play nice kids, but rather they are active, agressive, hands on players. They are bossy and dictatorial. They are non-conforming to the role of obedient child... and they are beautiful.

According to my parents, these children are mirrors of their parents as children and this gives them no end of comfort. They chuckle when we call with the updates of parental abuse, like, when Zoli threatened to throw Julia's toys away if she refused to help us clean her room. She refused, he bagged them up, and she NEVER asked for them back. That was 2 years ago. We even, after two months, inquired after them and she acted all disinterested. Or, when my niece refused to say please for three days for an M&M.

We also have a sense of humor but man, if we believe we are right, well then, WE ARE RIGHT.

Look at these faces, how could they not be right.

szabadidő and by the way the locals call it Pest

2006-11-09T21:43:00.000+01:00

Every city has a series of nicknames: those the tourists use and that which the locals use. Take for example, San Francisco: the tourists call in San Fran or Frisco which, if you live there, sounds like nails on blackboard because as we all know it is called The City. Or, Budapest where by tourists pronounce it with an /s/ while the locals and the saavy know it is an /sh/, BudapeSHt. But the nickname or what they don't tell you is that the Magyar recognize it as two separate cities or Buda and Pest. And so if you know this you sound less like an idiot in their eyes.

Why am I talking about this? Good question, This morning, after finding the wee one like this: we had to travel to Pest, as we had an errand to run. Since we will soon be celebrating our wedding anniversary, we decided to stay for the day and treat ourselves a little with a late Thai lunch and beer at a bar in the middle of the afternoon. I may also have gone to the yarn store to get my fix; but it all balances out because Zoli made me spend an hour at the fishing store.

Anyway, we made our way and were on our way for lunch, a delicious Thai lunch. A taste we had not savored in more than a year. They could have served dog food with a sprig of cilantro, calling it thai food. I would have bought it, such was my craving for foreign cuisine. Not that they did or would have On our way there, in a foreign city where I do not live, in a foreign host country, we saw a guy we knew. Hey, guy I know on a bus, how's it goin'?

We knew we were in trouble when we turned down an alley that forbid grandfathers and grandchildren from strolling hand-in-hand... dum-de-dum. But really, what DOES it mean? We were utterly confused.

Lunch was wonderfully refreshing despite the buckets of rain that fell. We tried a little bit of everything, they even had thai iced tea, yay. We walked and talked and spent time as a couple. We laughed alot, ate and drank alot, and kissed alot.

It was great.

bay-em-bah we go

2006-11-08T21:56:00.000+01:00

So, apparently, my husband needs to write an official (notarized) invitation, extending the use of his house, to me, his wife. And I, likewise, to my daughter. This is in order to be issued a temporary residence permit. I filled out the same paperwork last year for my visa but, I guess they don't keep a file of the entire immigration process. Each application requires fresh, costly copies of crap we thought we took care. The background check, I understand; the verification of monetary funds, cool; but an invitation to stay in my own home?

And just when we thought it just couldn't get weirder (well we were sure it could we just didn't believe it would), the powers at the BM Bah (immigration) requested that I place my Hungarian Forints in an inaccesible savings account (to assuage their fears of my silly dollars becoming sillier forints, or what?) to guarantee that I will have money for the duration of the permit's validity. (2 years) An Hungarian account, by the way, my own two american accounts are not acceptable.

To which I countered, if my funds are frozen (essentially) with what will I buy food, pay bills, or contribute to their failing economy?

Ahh, but the interest rate is higher.

Ohh, well okay then, sign me up. That makes perfect sense.

hey! how about some boring

2006-11-07T22:23:00.000+01:00

Isn't it amazing the things you can pick a fight about? Sometimes it seems things are so comfortable, so hum-de-dum that I need to mix it up a little and fighting about nothing is the most economical means to an end.

Take, for instance, The Dinner Headband. My daughter has a lot of wavy, thick hair that naturally falls into her face. At the dinner table she is supposed to wear a head band, but yesterday we forgot and Zoli asked where it was. He feels strongly about it and I feel... um, not so much strongly about it. The next thing I knew we were in a silent standoff. About a headband. Huh? I don't get it either.

In most ways that normal couples fight. we do not. I won't go into the mushy details, they are better saved for an anniversary, but we are pretty excited in our love. Spending 24 hours a day together over the course of a year, however, causes small idiosyncrasies to stick out and trip you up. Damn idiosyncrasies.

But the makeup sex was definitely worth it.

Watch out for tomorrow's entertaining fight: Forks: left side or right?

Niki-néni

2006-11-06T22:17:00.000+01:00

I teach English. I think I metioned it before, but I don't think I told you that I am not a particularly good English teacher. Sure, I can speak the language but, teaching someone words, sentence structure, comprehension, not so much. Each class gives me cold sweats. Yet, I have no excuse not to as it's only three hours a week out of my life.

On Mondays, I have an hour lession with three ten year old girls. They call me Niki-néni (The equivalent to Ma'am, literally auntie-Niki.) I asked them not to call me that and explained that's my mom's name, not mine. They didn't get it. They only speak in the formal tense to me and for an English speaker it can be somewhat confusing to figure out who the hell they're talking about. Third person singular when obviously, I am second person informal, duh.

(btw, this is a picture of an Hungarian-néni...)

These girls are insane in the fidgety, ten year old, I can't stop talking to my friends, girly way. They giggle and talk while I'm talking and they're flunking English. It makes me feel old as I just want to pull my hair while yelling, "THIS IS WHY YOU'RE FLUNKING. SHUT UP ALREADY." But they're also sweet in that naive, no social graces way of children, for example, when discussing age they reassured me by saying, "29 isn't THAT old, Niki-néni."

Thanks, girls, Utah Phillips was right, "kids are assholes!"

knitwit I am

2006-11-05T22:18:00.000+01:00

Breakout the granny panties, it's official: I am the 29 year old equivalent to a grandma. That's right, I learned myself how to knit and I'm addicted. It's this month's drug of choice. Well, that and alcohol, anyway.

I've had been telling myself for ~9 months that I wanted to learn; I had researched it and found free web tutorials. (who better than the internet to teach, right.) I even had the "equiptment" left to my husband by his godmother. I only needed the yarn.

I procured said yarn 3 weeks ago when I broke my toe. (It feels much better by the way, thanks for the wishes. And no, I didn't have to go to the scary hospital, phew.) I practiced non-stop for a week. Well, truthfully, am still practicing non-stop. The yarn is so cheap here, I had no choice but to buy it all and I've started three hopeful gifts and it seems I can't stop.

Is there a rehab program dedicated to knitters who lose track of time whilst knitting? I fear all that's left is needlepoint! Help! I've become my grandma... but it's so. much. fun.

[edit: I just realized that I was in no way being clever nor original with the knitwit as there is actually a knitting/ loom set website called, whatelse: KnitWit Dammit. I thought I was so clever. But if you want encouraging check out the cool digs here]

Microplane essential to foreign life

2006-11-04T21:20:00.000+01:00

I found this shipping list from last year in my recipe book. It's a rather impressive list, no? Hmm, dvd's, clothes, and LOTS of kitchen utensils. Worse yet, the first thing I put on the list is microplane, not clothes and therefore deemed it considerably more important to grate lemon peel than dress myself. (Think of the things I can make. What if they didn't know about grating lemon peel, then what would I have done?)

The measuring cups were actually spoons that measure both tsp/Tbl and that pesky metric system. Therefore completely essential. Whereas, the silicone brush was completely gratuitous and quite stupid frankly, as it was a gift from my mom AND from Sweden and now is the property of some pesky-metric-measuring-Magyar. Yes, that item never made it.

I did ship these things, and a lot of other "important things": it took two months to arrive, and "somehow" a hole formed in my box and the silicone brush and jewelry "fell out". Uh-huh, sure. By "somehow", they meant "an employee" and by "fell out", they meant "taken out". I'm on to you, Magyar Posta. There's always a valid reason as to why amazon won't ship somewhere.

So, why didn't they steal the dvd's you ask? haha, the dvd's were hidden in between vacuum-packed clothing, how smart am I? Actually a bit paranoid is a better summary as they are not the legalest of legal, if you catch my drift...

As for the baking bible, I actually would like to be buried with it and cannot believe I didn't pack it with my carry-on. Playing it fast and dangerous, I tell ya.

2006-11-03T13:23:00.000+01:00

This week is the fall equivalent to spring break. There is no school for a week and we have serious friend withdrawals on our hands. The newest object of my daughter's affections is Patrik. He is her "goodest friend who is a boy." They love each other and shared their first kiss last friday as they were leaving preschool. By Tuesday, Julia was freaking out with Patrik withdrawals and wanted to bake himcookies and invite himover to play. It seems oddly timed these infatuations: a boy-friend and true love = terrible.

Shortbread cookies are quite possibly the world's easiest cookie as well as the best. Julia used her Tupperware kid's set which resulted in the tinyest jam cookies ever.

Shortbread Cookies

1 cup Butter
1/2 cup Powdered Sugar
1/2 cup Cornstarch
1 cup Flour

Cream butter and p. sugar. Add cornstarch and flour, mix well. drop spoonfuls onto cookie sheet, press thumb into center of cookie, and fill with jam, hersey's kisses, etc. Bake at 325 for 10 minutes until bottoms are barely golden. Cool on rack (if patience is your virtue) 10 minutes.

See how easy that was. It may actually take longer/be more painful to read this post than to make these little drops of yummy goodness© .

deeper than God

2006-11-01T17:50:00.000+01:00

Yesterday was November first for most of you, but here it was All Saint's Day, otherwise known as Go To The Cemetery With Flowers, Wreaths, and Candles To Pay Respect To The Dead Day. Maybe they're the same thing, I don't know. I'm American and therefore only pay attention to the selfish holidays like Halloween. Hehe, just kidding. Well, about the selfish part. Kinda, sorta.

Anyhow.

We went, we saw, we attempted to explain to Julia why it is we go to the cemetery if dead people go to heaven (thank you, mom, for instilling a christian attitude from one week at bible school). I himmed and hawed (hemmed/hawed?) through that explanation. It's a weird power, isn't it? Whatever crap I decide she's going to believe as Truth. It's frightening, to be honest. I don't always understand myself why we feel compelled to follow, and then pass on, the traditions: you die and go to heaven (if you're good, otherwise uh-oh), we visit graves to pay remembrance, etc. Yet, I don't actually believe that the departed are hanging out at the cemetery, do you? Can you just imagine: The otherWorldly Sewing Circle... Spirits hanging around discussing this year's candle trends. Do they care whether fresh flowers or plastic are placed, one large candle or many small?

We follow these traditions mainly because it makes US feel good (and in the case of my MIL, provides guilt-trip material as she goes more often than once or twice a year...) not because the spirits give a rat's ass. I don't like these types of traditions as it becomes just another marketed holiday, of which there are already too many. And it is hard for me to make-up bullshit to pacify Julia. I mean, come on, do I look like I know what happens after we die? It's all hearsay.

Luckily, she was attracted to the water well. Having only seen one in her storybooks, her curiousity was piqued. She asked me about it and we discussed the mechanics behind it; the water all the way at the bottom, however, was not close enough to sustain her interest. Then she saw it. It was blue, big, and surrounding by standing water on a day she wore her rain boots: it was perfection. A hand water pump thingy. (That's totally the official name, too.) Something like this but blue:

Well, to be honest she loved the color and that there was water all around, the pump itself, not so much. She started to tap the puddle with her toe, mischeivious grin waiting to be caught and reprimanded by Grandma. She dipped further into the puddle, then further. She called me over to witness the miracle and, wanting to show off, stretched further into the puddle. The water was above her ankle and as she grabbed my hand and plunged even farther she exclaimed, "This water is deeper than God!"

Hamupipőke (Cinderella)

2006-11-01T08:35:00.000+01:00

Translated from the Hungarian...

Z: ...well, if you're not listening then why don't you read me a story.

J: Ok. Cinderella had to work a lot. Cinderella had sisters who made her work. Cinderella had a mom who wouldn't let her go. Cinderella said, "Oh, little mouse, I can't get out of my room," said Cinderella. The mean mommy wouldn't let her out and um, she couldn't go to the... what's it called?

Z: The Ball?

J: Yeah, and Cinderella is having a magical lady and she puts her clothes on. In this story they're not sparkly, but in the other Cinderella, her clothes are bery sparkly.

Z: Well, this book is a little more real and the Disney version is a lot more sparkly.

J: Ok, so Cinderella wants to go, but she doesn't know how to get out of her room. Cinderella says to the little birdy, "I don't know how to get out. Help me." The little birdy doesn't know how to help Cinderella but gets the magical lady. Cinderella goes to the ball, and dances with the Prince... Oh no, is this about true love? Cause I don't like kisses.

(This book is quite a bit more real, written by Grimm, it features this scene where the evil stepsisters try to cut off their feet in order to fit the tiny gold slipper...)

-----------------

While playing with three skeins of yarn, Julia introduces love.

Yarn #1: And then we go-ed to play.
Yarn #2: And we found "true-love", it is sumpting like marriage, but terrible.
Yarn #3: True love and kisses, ooh, terrible.

The meaning of home

2006-10-31T08:43:00.000+01:00

I always thought the generic house we all drew as children was some inherent, life-has-one-door-and-two-windows, a-chimney-and-an-attic typo in our artistic renderings of life. Similar to the stick figure representation of people. Today, if prompted to draw a house, I will infallibly revert to my inner 5 year old and whip out an exact replica of that model and even worse, I will feel compelled to add an apple tree with an owl hole. I've never even seen an owl in real life.

I thought it would be interesting to see how the children would draw "home". In hungarian, when speaking of "your house" you say otthonod or "your home". Not apartment, not house, but rather, home. I like that. But even here, in Hungary, where 2/3* of the population live in communist housing like this:

The children in Jules' class all draw the aforementioned house when asked to draw their homes. Except of course, my George. You knew there had to be a catch, right. She apparently, has changed her mind as to what "home" is: last year it was the requisite house despite never having lived in a house and now it is the sweetest representation of the crazy-14-billion-people-could-totally-fit-if-only-all-our-apartments-were-stacked- on-top-of-each-other, "personal space is for pussies"** type propaganda that has everyone (still!) living, sleeping, and eating in 3 rooms.

But I digress, the point was supposed to be the entertaining rendering of home as perceived by George.

She would make a great pr person for the communist propaganda. "But look, beds in the staircase, beds in the kitchen, beds fit ANYWHERE. The cold is for pussies, y'all. And look how many people fit in each apartment. You only need to eat and sleep there; whaddya need privacy for? You got a front door, close it."

I love that despite the apartment building as "home" (which is an accurate representation of where we live, except for the beds in the hallway.) we still have a kick ass apple tree with an owl hole. And not one attic window, but nine. Nine, read 'em and weep. How many you got?

*I totally made up that statistic, by the way. I have no idea what percentage of the population reside in apartments. Furthermore, I can't be bothered to do more than generalize. But believe me when I say these are everywhere.
**I doubt Stalin's campaign was ever quoted as sayin personal space is for pussies, but I did watch a very convincing propagandist documentary, Budapest Retro regarding this living arrangement. Something about how convenient it is to hang your chairs on the wall because you need to unfold your couch to sleep in your living/dining/bedroom. I understand the theory behind Ikea ever so much better.

hahaha

2006-10-28T18:31:00.000+02:00

I'm in.

I hereby, do solemnly swear to be as unboring and consistent as possible...

a tempera tribute to fall

2006-10-28T17:52:00.000+02:00

Not quite carrot cake

2006-10-26T11:27:00.000+02:00

I've always enjoyed freaking people out with my weirdness. I purposely wore hideous clothes in high school to encite the "normals", I was a vegan for 4 years and lived on a commune in order to shock people, and now in Hungary I shock people every day with my "weird baked goods".

To me, they are the comforts of home but, it gives me great joy to introduce (freak out) people to the American kitchen. I had never really thought about carrot cake as an unusual dessert: it is what it is, it tastes good, and what bake sale is complete without the requisite c.c. muffins?

In my year here, many things have surprised my in-laws but, carrot-y dessert took the cake. (hehe not so punny) They physically cringed when I told them what I was serving but rescinded upon tasting it.

Here is what I consider to be the best carrot cake... (I don't care for nuts but please, feel free to experiment)

Carrot Cake

4 eggs
1.25 cups Safflower oil (veg. oil is fine but I am an oil snob)
2 cups White Sugar
whisk together eggs, oil, and sugar then add:
2 cups Flour
2 tsp. Baking Soda
2 tsp. Baking Powder
1/2 tsp. Salt
2 tsp. Cinnamon
mix together and then fold in:
2 cups Grated Carrots
2 cups finely Diced Apples
and 1 cup nuts/raisins, etc. if desired

Preheat oven to 350/175
Grease and flour 9X13 pan and bake 40-50 min. or until toothpick inserted comes out clean. Cool 10 minutes in the pan and then turn out onto cooling rack.

Now obviously, carrot cake is nothing without cream cheese frosting so here's my recipe for that as well...

8 oz. Cream Cheese
1/2 cup Butter
4 cups Powdered Sugar
1 tsp vanilla
Cream together and frost cake when cool.

I would've posted pictures with it but the husband has gone fishing (again, I know!) and taken the camera with him... anyway, who doesn't know what it looks like.

Ambivalence is the new Happy

2006-10-24T08:15:00.000+02:00

What is wrong with me? Let's check out the contradictions happening over at 5penny's place:

- I don't love living here but, I enjoy living here.
- I don't particularly like parenting but, I love being "Mommy."
- I hate excercising but, I love the results.

I was sure there were more... I'm sure they'll come back to me. However, it would seem that I'm not the only one having a hard time lately. Everywhere I go, virtually anyway, it seems that ambivalence is the autumn happy.

Julia and I have going round and round lately and it's left me too exhausted to give a rat's ass, quite frankly, about life. She's on the cusp of turning 5 and in her heart she's an adult. She wants the same rights as her parents, she wants to be able to talk back in smart-ass tones of condescension, and she wants to mimic us until we physically want to clamp hands over her mouth and never let her speak again.

I actually freaked out yesterday morning, screaming at both husband and child, "why do I always feel at fault; why do you like to make me feel like crap?" And then I immediately started crying. This was over two things: 1. who's at fault for not replenishing the onions (obviously, me) and 2. trying to get Julia to leave her folded bedclothes folded (impossible). A rational person, I was not.

I realized however, that my daughter is playing me like the fool that I am. She's seeking boundaries and I was negotiating them. She works best in a black and white world, where behavior has consequences. She takes advantage of warnings, pushing buttons until you're ready to hit her... She's a kid, she's exploring her world and I just need to be a more consistent part.

I had been courting her; I will be the first to admit my feelings had been hurt and so, I was trying to be her friend. You see, she loves Daddy. He is first and she will cry if she gets stuck with me. It hurts. I know that it's not intentional but, my emotions do not. So, I thought that if I were more enjoyable on a play with me, friendly level than the favoritism would lessen.

Instead, it grew.

Yesterday, Zoli suggested that maybe I stop The Friend Thing and instead hold fast and firm in the discipline/actions have consequences areas. By bedtime things had improved drastically. Phew. He also told Julia that Mommy was off-limits yesterday until she apologized for her behavior: I wasn't allowed to help her, i.e. make breakfast, help her get dressed, etc. She woke up and played in her room, she needed help to find something and Zoli told her she'd have to find it by herself. She got dressed, brushed her teeth, and was generally cool with the Mommy's Not Helping Thing... until she realized she was hungry and can't reach the cupboards. She then gave me a hug and said, "I love you Mommy," and then whispered, "but not a lot."

Awesome. *bangs head against wall, repeatedly*

duh, Mom. Like, Oh. My. God.

My respect for my mother has increased ten-fold. She tells me how similar Julia is to myself as a child, that gentle was just impossible as was calm. She says that, in our family, at least, girl-children are ~~bitchy~~ mean towards their Mommies.

Is this true for anyone else?

Things I miss and some I don't

2006-10-17T09:23:00.000+02:00

Things I Miss:

10. Driving. I'm not advocating that people should drive more but, I've only driven twice since moving here and I miss it. I like walking and riding the rail but, you know, the power of driving, ahhh...

9. I was going to write Target or something, maybe a brand I reconize, but then I realized that I really enjoy the small stores, the nuance of not finding everything in one giant superstore. But there's a lot of quality control issues here also, I don't go anywhere so what do I need with new clothes?

8. Eating out. Thai, Indian, hotdog on a stick, whatever. mmm, something I didn't make and is not breaded and overcooked. Sushi, ahh, unagi.

7. Friends. I was trying to decide if this was closer to no.1, but I'm a recluse by nature and as much as I miss my friends, most of them didn't live anywhere near me before I changed countries...so that's pretty much the same.

6. Family. I miss my family. Alot, actually. But for like a day. I love them but I haven't spent gobs of time with them since I was a teenager. If I could just hop on over for a couple days and then nip on back, it would be perfect.

5. Coffeeshops, even starbucks... ahh, the joy of hazelnut flavored coffee, sitting on someone else's couch, doing the same thing as at home but in public. Oh, gawd. Walking down the street with a paper cup full of my own personal, free to access the public disposable cup.

4. The Lack of Seasons. When we moved here I was excited about seasons. Growing up in California, we never really had any. Seasons, that is. I'm not anymore... At first, I was all ooh, the leaves, so pretty. The changing light, the layering of clothes: too hot for a jacket, too cold for a tanktop. But when it hit a low of 28 degrees, I'm not loving fall anymore. Winter should be the shortest season of the year, not the longest. I already miss my skirts.

3. amazon.com for cheap books, delivered in days, not months. How I long to read something new...

2. A Washer AND a Dryer.

1. Leaving the house without a plan and a quick looksy at the dictionary for words specific to my search. Oh, how I long to walk down the street knowing that my words will defend and define me.

----
Things I don't miss,

1. Working.

2. My cell phone.

soooo not laughing now

2006-10-11T11:04:00.000+02:00

Holy Mother of Crap, my toe still hurts. As in, I may have to go to icky, Hungarian, subpar hospital because I. Cannot. Walk. Teh internets assure me that this is the result of having a broken 1st metatarsal. Which some people don't realize for days when their toe is broken and here I am in bed with an icepack (frozen powdered sugar), elevation, and PAIN!

Who knew that such a small appendage was completely vital to the whole balance thing and could hurt so goddamn much?

Maybe I shouldn't be allowed to write drunk posts any longer, as I don't seem able to multitask while drunk. (e.g. walk with both feet.)But, I can offer a photoessay in honor of paprika.

Discovering Language
A conversation with my mom while strolling through the local farmer's market.

Mom: So, What do they call this?

Photo Courtesy of Meeta A

5penny: Paprika.

Mom: And this?

photo courtesy of Meeta

5penny: Um, paprika.

Mom: Well, what about this?

photo by CedarKnollFarms

5penny: Mom? I'm going to save you a lot of repition. Everything you consider to be: chili, bell pepper, jalapeño, habanero, thai, pasilla, etc. is called paprika. It's the word they use for chili and/or pepper.

Mom: You mean that's what paprika spice is? Just plain ole chili powder?

Photo by Koreni

5penny: Uh. Well, it's just plain ole chili powder from HUNGARY... Marketing's pretty cool, eh?

all(or none?)recipes rant

2006-10-10T21:57:00.000+02:00

To the Powers that Be at Online Recipe Database:

Since when is a recipe that calls for 1 bottle Italian dressing or 1 bottle favorite BBQ sauce, a fucking recipe? (If you clicked through, you feel my ire, yes?) Or, for that matter, one that calls for 3 cans refrigerated biscuit dough.... These are not recipes, but rather Items Which Can be Purchased at the Local Grocery; they are the manufacturer's recipe, which I don't believe they care to share publicly. (By the way, monkey bread I is fantastic.)

Just so we're on the same page, yeah, because as I know it a recipe is comprised of ingredients, i.e. 2 C flour, 1 tsp. salt, 1 T Honey, 2 tsp yeast; they are items that are not necessarily edible in and of themselves. Rather, they require work and complementary ingredients to be transformed into food. I turned to your pages in hopes of a recipe which I can *make from scratch*. A bottle of my fav. BBQ sauce can hardly be considered scratch.

Don't get me wrong, before you f'd up the user compatibility by "changing the face", I frequented your site often; I believe there are a lot of excellent recipes waiting to be found. Unfortunately, they seem to be hiding out behind those that call for readily available items.

You should know that I spend obscene amounts of time planning my meals and your site is one that assists in making me a better chef, when I'm not suffering through those that think adding minced garlic to a bottle of sauce constitutes a recipe.

Upholding the ideal of a recipe,
5penny

(Never fear, the humor I derive from perusing your pages guarantees that I will continue. At least until I find a site more ridiculous than yours.)

(haha, karma is swift 'round these parts. No sooner had I begun my diatribe than the 3 shots of palinka kicked in and caused me to trip over the laptop cord, stub my big toe on the metal coffee table leg, rugburn my toe to the point that it bled, and fall on my face trying to get away from said posessed laptop cord.)

(Check out the homemade bandage my husband rigged up to aliviate the swelling. Should I, who is obviously skating the line of white trash, be allowed to bitch so openly about bottled recipes while sporting a wet rag taped to my foot? hmm... I think that is the real question here.)

You didn't hear it from me

2006-10-09T10:35:00.000+02:00

This little slogan generator came up with the following about 5penny:

The Sweet You Can't Eat Without 5penny.

Go On, Get Your 5penny Out.

Drinka Pinta 5penny A Day.

and my favorite,

Don't Live a Little, Live a 5penny .

little bit of this, pinch of that, whole lotta red

2006-10-07T19:22:00.000+02:00

Since Zoli went to a fly fishing competition in Poland this weekend, his mom invited Julia and me to a Tupperware® party today. Just what evey 4 year old wants: to go to a party full of adult women, oohing and ahhing over the latest Ultra Plus silicone technology. Yesterday, after agreeing to attend, Zoli's mom called to ask me how to make lasagne. I started to explain but she cut me off stating, "it will be easier if you just come over early and make it." Okay, so now I'm the un-hired help, I guess that's better than sitting in a room full of non-English speakers trying to piece together broken Hungarian.

Luckily, I am nothing if not great at making lasagne; the secret's in the sauce. *wink* But how to receive compliments?No clue. I usually just bow my head and don this "oh, shucks" grimace while turning 32 shades of embarassed. Which is cool and all, but Jesus-Christ, I am 29 years old; when am I going to grow up and shed the humiliating blush? I look like the freaking tomato sauce. I get that red.

It started when I was in the third grade. We had the worst substitute teacher ever on the same day school pictures came back. Also, my mom had ~~trimmed~~ butchered my bangs. Mr B. held each envelope up, showed the entire class the portrait and made a rude comment. About 9 yr-olds. He got to mine (which were horrible but still!) and said that it was fitting that my hair-cut was as lopsided as my face. An adult to a class of 35 9 yr-olds. To make matters worse, the love of my young life was in the same class and I died.

Around 13, things just got worse. My first "big" piano recital. I was, I dunno, probably playing Moonlight Sonata - which, to this day, I know by heart; I loved it that much - and in the second movement, which is played both staccato and allegro, I goofed. Despite six intense years of lessons, learning how to mask a mess-up (and not cry), I froze. I withdrew my hands from the keyboard as though the entire thing were ablaze, realized my non-masked error, shoved my fingers back onto the keys, and resumed playing. Iwas certain the audience knew I had goofed and I felt the beginnings of shame and embarassment rise from my neck to my cheeks, finally resting in my ears. It was the worst feeling of my life and with it came a self-realization: my dreams of being a pianist were dashed; I would never again play publicly without recoiling in terror everytime I even thought about messing up.

As a teenager, I often succumbed to daily embarassment: If the teacher asked me a direct question, I gave no answer, just red. If a boy spoke to me: oh my gosh, no words, redder. There was no reason not to suffer embarassment, I might get it wrong otherwise. That single tiny, unimportant glitch in my first recital sent me on a downward spiral of dwindling self-esteem. I knew that I knew [enter whatever subject/conversation], but I was afraid my words would betray me.

Somewhere, somehow, I started to realize that I in fact knew what I was talking about and slowly regained my voice. Although, if you pay me a compliment I WILL stutter, blush, kick at the ground, and tell you how much [complimented item] cost.

I'm cool like that.

gone to hell, will return shortly

2006-10-03T21:57:00.000+02:00

Well, in case anyone is wondering, courtesy of Laid off dad, I've been stuck in the online game version of hell (Warning: do not click unless you are prepared to be sucked in.) for going on three days. It originally made me laugh and kept my interest. That soon turned to bloody knuckles and an addiction that has caused me to google the following: scientology + british bands + karma, Jesus + computer science + poker stars, and levitation + time + statue of liberty. This is not a pretty place people, but I love this fucking game.

new and improved flavor

2006-09-28T09:17:00.000+02:00

For three and a half years my husband has had to answer the following question: I think I'm losing weight, do I look skinnier than yesterday? It wasn't fair to ask him because although, I did in fact lose a lot of weight at one point (working crazy double shifts and living off of coffee, cigarettes, and broccoli) I never actively sought out exercise in an effort to shed unwanted girth. I was and am a huge fan of doing nothing and especially not running and had taken the atkins diet to extremes by refusing my hunger a proper meal.

I used to announce to myself and occasionally, foolishly outloud, my intentions of exercising: join a gym, do situps, go to yoga, etc. And then I would go once or twice over the next month, zero times the following month, way, way too busy to spend time exercising, what are you crazy? by the third month. Inevitably, 6 months later I would give myself a guilt trip trying to imagine what my new in-shape body would have looked like and the vicious cycle would regain momentum. I am my own worst enemy.

Not anymore! Ha! Take that flabby, post-partum, streched-all-to-hell stomach. Who the fuck knew it was so easy to do situps? I sure as hell didn't. (I learned the hard way while living in mexico that situps and I do not get along. I went to an aerobics class where I died in the first class as a result of the warm-up consisting of 150 situps. I know! What kind of freakin' warmup kills you and makes you vow to never, NEVER, do situps again?) I started doing them in June; I was all, OMG, I don't do shit all day, the least I could do are 10 situps. Pish, 10. Such a small amount, takes 45 seconds. The next week it became, pish, 25. 25 takes 1 whole minute out of my day. I can handle 1. Freaking. Minute. I mean, jeez. I can spend 5 minutes eating baked goods, surely I can spend 1 tiny minute exercising. And so, a momentum was begat. A momentum that is on fire now, people. On. Fire. It now takes me about 4 minutes to do situps but that because I do 100. heehee. I'll tell you a little secret about all this. Come closer so I can whisper it in your ear. I feel fucking AWESOME. I no longer have to hold my stomach in, it holds itself. If my shirt reveals a bit of love handle, who cares? Not me, I hardly have any.

Theoretically, I should be doing this for me, right? Self-esteem, yada-yada, important to self image, etc. I get all that. It feels good to feel good about my body, but it is the best present ever (EVAH!) to hear my husband comment on the rising quotient of sexy goin' on at Casa 5penny. So screw you self; the husband's use of sexy in conjunction with my post-partum belly is way more motivating than you are!

it's a sad world but also kinda funny

2006-09-27T08:52:00.000+02:00

After Julia fell asleep last night, we decided to recapture our childhood and watch one of her movies. Specifically, El Dorado. My husband finds every innuendo hysterical; it cracks his shit up! Anyway, we're watching, him laughing spastically and me narrarating. We get to the part where Cortes tells Zekel-Khan, "there is no El Dorado here, you lying heathen," and thus, my diatribe:

Me: Yeah, you lying heathen. Where is our gold? We've come to rape your women, spread disease, steal your gold, and kill you. Jesus said we could, so there.

Z: (doesn't get it at first) yeah, huhhuh. Jesus said so... HAHA, JESUS SAID SO! Ahahahahahaha...

---------
Recently, another person has joined our family. Well, he joined the family 2 years ago, but has only recently moved in with us. His name is Rico and according to Julia, his number is a 4 and a 5 (meaning his age is 45), possibly making him the oldest imaginary friend ever. I hadn't realized he lived with us until I laid down on J's bed and was promptly reprimanded for "squipping" Rico. So, So sorry, Rico.