Goodbyes and Hellos

I know it has been a while. After a couple of couch-to-floor toddler tosses, my laptop’s hard drive experienced an epic fail on the day of my last blog post. This has meant a full year of “baby’s first” photos and videos are gone. And I do mean gone: I hadn’t backed up any of these files, and the highly specialized “drive savers” in California gave me a highly apologetic summary about things collapsing and all files being unretrievable. So I have been in mourning — avoiding the creation of new data — even though my husband replaced the hard drive a few weeks ago. But I think I am finding my way back, and starting to realize the power of backup. And strategic laptop placement.

That’s How I Roll

Every day, my driver waits on top of the hill in a 35-foot stretch vehicle worth as much as a Lamborghini Murcielago. Usually, Baby Gwen and I are alone on our 20 minute journey to the gym, but there’s seating for more than 20 people.

Sure, our chariot has no disco lights, surround sound or even plush leather seating. But with other college students piled in — huzzah! It’s a party.

While we burn through fuel at the rate of 3.2 miles per gallon, I feel environmentally pious — holier-than-thou even — when I ride. And the cost is either nothing, or less than a toasted bagel, depending on where I go.

So, as gas prices start edging back up, hop on the bus. Your tax dollars already pay for it, and maybe it will make our poor Gaia’s fever come down. Yeah, public transportation: That’s how I roll.

I Will Scream

This morning, my husband finally purged our leftover bag of Reese’s Crispy Crunchy Bars from Halloween, but now I am getting word that Amy’s Ice Cream is giving away free scoops today from 2-6 p.m. at all Central Texas stores.

As free as free is, the thought of ingesting even one additional gram of sugar today sounds about as fun as getting cathed. But for the rest of you who didn’t overindulge last weekend, enjoy! And congratulations to a nice, local business on its 25th anniversary in Austin.

Dog Day Afternoon

Despite having our picnic lunch partially consumed by a boisterous black Lab, I think we might have a new Sunday family tradition hiking the Turkey Creek Nature Trail at Emma Long Park.

The winding 2.5-mile trail may be named after our Thanksgiving-Day bird, but it is ruled by family canines who shoot down the path like bobsleds at the Winter Olympics. Today’s dog show included hulking Great Danes, a trembling Yorkie and every size of slobbery mutt in between. Our first grader even noticed a Daschund, saying, “Awesome! I saw a wiener.” Ah, innocence

The dogs were fun, but the swirl of fall color — pale lavender Fall Asters, hot pink clusters of American Beautyberry, rows of golden Zexmenia — was food for the soul. Husband and big girl even got down to petal-level to sniff every butterfly’s favorite fall bloom, the White Mistflower.

The cost for this family adventure was 12 miles worth of gasoline and one cheese quesadilla, which was devoured in about thirty seconds by the aforementioned Lab. By the way, the dog’s owner — who had been chatting on her cell phone — did offer an embarrassed “Sorry” before admonishing him with “Hey, no Mexican food!”

Totally worth it.

Solar Drying

Outside, as raindrops crackle in the gutters, I think about the three-plus loads of laundry in the dryer that need to be folded.

It’s not a terrible chore, really. I enjoy embracing the soft, warm towels — especially right after the timer buzzes — and reuniting ankle socks with their mates. Even with my two little gals shrieking around the coin-operated laundry room, it’s an oddly calming ritual, akin to taking a steaming loaf of bread out of the oven.

But I still want to do the right thing. In my last complex we had a “solar dryer” (aka a communal clothesline) which I would frequently use to hang towels and other bulky items. This allowed me to whittle down the dryer pile and conserve my quarters. Sure, our strong Texas sun made the towels stiff, faded and about as soft as emery boards. But at least I was doing a tad less damage to the Earth and saving a few bucks too. Unfortunately, our new complex has no community clothesline, and my little dorm-room-style drying rack is not getting much play.

Still, an interesting discussion in the New York Times about how to get 21st-century Americans re-acquainted with the practice has inspired me to break out the little white drying rack. Just as soon as it stops raining.

Whole Foods: Why Can’t I Quit You?

Dear Whole Foods,

Because of our frequent visits to your 80,000-square-foot flagship store, you probably are familiar with my family. We are the ones playing hide-and-go-seek among the racks of organic-cotton yoga pants and in your dressing room. We are also harpooning large chunks of golden pineapple with our toothpicks. And we like to rock out in your baking aisle — especially when The Go-Go’s assure us that we got the beat.

Still, I think it might be damaging to my reputation as a frugal mom to be hanging out in a place nicknamed “Whole Paycheck.” What’s more, I find your CEO’s opinions to be as unpalatable as paying $19.99 for a pound of Goat Gouda.

Yet even if I wanted to end our relationship, my kids would never let me; indeed, your rooftop playground, free Quack’n-Bites crackers and spontaneous gifts of sticker dolphins reminding us to “recycle on porpoise” have forever imprinted my children with brand loyalty. Oh, and your recent photo-op-perfect miniature pumpkin patch — you know, the one where my toddler enjoys kissing each 25-pound “Big Mac?” That hasn’t hurt either.

Oh, who am I kidding? You had me at “one-bite brownie sample.” But then you added a free Afro-Cuban music concert, a 99-cent-a-pound organic apple sale and periodic, inexplicable swag. Remember the cherry-red, Egyptian-cotton baby hat that your team member “sampled out” after hearing me explain to my daughter how we couldn’t afford such frivolities?

So we’ll see you later. But if my friends ask, tell them I’m at Costco updating my price book.

Sincerely,

The lady feverishly clipping coupons for organic blueberry waffles.

FREE Kids’ Show + COFFEE

Photo by Jon Sullivan

Just as a ladybug uses her antennae to seek out aphids, I use my listservs to find free kids’ entertainment — particularly the kind that provides a little somethin’ somethin’ for mama as well.

So I think Ruta Maya’s Sunday “Jungle Jill and the Jaybirds” puppet show featuring Bruce Newman might have the two elements in life I so cherish: COFFEE and FREE.

OK, so the coffee’s not free, but the hour-long event — which will include musical stories with puppets, instrumental props for the audience, a kiddie parade, the Cha-Cha Slide and maybe even some hula hoops — is. Plus, mama can enjoy multiple cups of joe. Watch out.

The show will be held on Sept. 27 at 10:30 a.m. at Ruta Maya, 3601 South Congress Avenue. For more information, visit http://rutamaya.net/calendar.php?showCat=1 or call (512) 707-9637.

The Smasher at Story Time

Baby Gwen is more than a year old now, which means she is no longer an opinion-free little bundle in the sling, but rather a cherubic version of The Donald.

With an older sister constantly testing her battle reflexes, she is an able competitor who takes crap from no one. She immediately detonates an earsplitting scream when she is stripped of a sharp pencil. And she doesn’t hesitate to use karate-chop hands if she senses impending proximity to another toddler.

Big girl calls her “the smasher.” Gwen smash!

Recently, I more or less abandoned mama-oriented outings to seek out instead those that will curry her favor. Last week, I had high hopes for story time at the library — especially when I saw many similar-sized tots arriving on the scene.

OK, I’ll admit it: Gwen was not really old enough to attend. The age was supposed to be from 18 months to three years. But I thought, “How much difference could five months make?”

Apparently, a lot. After obtaining special permission to be there, Baby Gwen was soon wriggling out of my arms, knocking into seated kids and then staggering across the quilt shrieking “Hi!” over the “Open and Shut Them” song.

I, in turn, was debating whether I should use any distraction or restraint techniques — and if so what kind? My thoughts then turned to Dr. William Sears, the great sage of attachment parenting. What would he do?

As I looked at the other older children sitting serenely with their mamas, it hit me: Dr. Sears would just leave. Especially since we weren’t even invited there to begin with. A-duh.

So yesterday we tried again, but this time we visited the more age-appropriate “Books and Babies” event. This story time featured very little sitting still and a lot more bouncing on mama’s knees, making animal noises and chasing bubbles.

Much, much better.

Sure, Baby Gwen still swiped a “K-is-for-Kangaroo” story-time square and tried to use it to dust off her neighbor’s hair. She also screamed pretty good when another kid attempted to take her miniature basketball. But hers was like the violin part in an orchestra of anarchy.

In fact, the librarian said that Gwen did wonderfully well and even gave her a shiny red star. My baby responded with several “oooh wows” before wadding it up into a gummy ball and giving it to me.

I guess that means I’m not fired.

Home Slice vs. Home Slice

Home Slice Pizza is a pizzeria in Austin that reminds us of New York City back in the day. It’s got cozy pendant lighting. The loud music is a vintage 45 King flavor. And its pizza has a mighty crust, a basily sauce and plenty of dreamy mozzarella.

Oh, yeah. I’m home. Instantly, it’s midnight, and we’re near NYU, and that hot, crispy slice is covered in garlic powder and drippy orange grease. Fuggedaboutit.

But at Home Slice — unlike at some establishments in Downtown Manhattan — there are no crazy guys outside having shouting matches with themselves, and the place is not covered in handwritten signs saying “No public restroom” and “Don’t ask for free water.”

My kids are fans too. They love coloring in their mustachioed-pizza girl with crayons and seeing the guys toss floppy circles of dough into the air. Sometimes a hipster pizza-server gives Big Girl her own dough ball to squish while we wait. And at the end of the meal, your check arrives in a glass filled with Smarties.

It’s totally fun. We come every year for my birthday and when my mother-in-law is in town. Speaking of which, my MIL’s NYC apartment is just around the corner from the authentic pizzeria with all those charming signs, and she’s hooked on Home Slice as well.

But as good this pizza is, you have to pay for it, friends. Especially if you also want a garlic-knot-bedecked salad and some Mexican Coca-Colas with your large, two-topping pie.

And of course you want that.

Problem is, plenty of other people do too — Great Recession be damned. So this often means a long, sweaty wait out on the patio.

Thus, my frugality and impatience have been enough to transform me into a pizza girl — but without the mustache. And over the years, I have become not too bad. Not Home Slice good, but definitely better than the pizza-pizza guys.

What’s more, at home Big Girl gets to squish the dough ball to make actual pizzas, not just to entertain herself. In our kitchen, she enthusiastically pounds the dough because she knows her final creation will soon go live.

So while you’re hoarding cash in anticipation of a crazy night out with perspiring Mexican Cokes and steaming hot pizza, here’s a recipe to tide you over. As my husband said to his coworkers the day he wore leather motorcycle pants to work, “Enjoy.”

Free Museum Day Sunday

I am a museum-o-phile. To me, heaven would involve an afternoon alone at the Museum of Modern Art in New York City with an uninterrupted audio tour of “Claude Monet: ‘The Japanese Footbridge’” followed by a frothy cappuccino in the cafe. I would gladly pay the $20 admission for this privilege, as unfrugal as that may sound. I mean, it’s ART.

But with two small children who don’t let me go to another room by myself — let alone to New York City — this scenario probably won’t play out for quite some time.

Still, I love sharing museums with my children, especially when it’s gratis.

On the Blanton Museum Of Art’s free Thursdays, Big Girl and I have scooped up handfuls of brilliant copper pennies and taken in Weber’s geometry. We have used a coupon to admire fuchsia winecups at the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center. And I have religiously saved the free family passes for the Austin Museum of Art from my daughter’s school folder.

But for three years, Austin’s free museum day — during which more than 30 cultural institutions participate city-wide — has eluded me. Until now. Thanks to another tip by the Austin Frugal Foodie, tomorrow, the Bob Bullock Texas State History Museum, Austin Children’s Museum and the O. Henry Museum will be our free playground. Don’t let that wily, free day get away. For more information, go to http://www.austinmuseums.org/.