Baby No Name

List of Potential Baby Names

Dana

Dante

Holden

Sebastian

Spencer

Simon

Gianvincent

Rocco

Theodore

Jude

Silas

Dillon

Gabriel

Harrison

Sawyer

Jasper

Greg

Oscar

And there we are. 

Happy?

I'm not sure how I feel about being home.  I am happy that I don't have to get up at the crack every morning and leave my house sometimes before my daughter even wakes up, but it's taking me some time to be okay with that.  Believe me, not working is way better than working.  But for someone who's worked consistently for 14 years, save for 10 weeks around Leah's birth, it's strange that I'm not working.

1-I feel lazy.  I guess because I am such a big proponent for working.  I see people complaining about not having money or not feeling important, and I'm like, Duh, then get a job.  Problem solved. I don't know why I judge value by whether one works or not, but for some reason I feel like I'm lazy or less of a person right now because I'm not working.  And not actively looking for work.  And have pretty much made up my mind that I won't be working again until November.

2-I have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing.  Clearly I shouldn't have free time, right?  I should pack my days with laundry, dusting, and vacuuming, and then I should pack my afternoons with bike rides, park visits, and playdates, and I should know what I'm making for dinner at 9 a.m. so that the meat can defrost, and I should always be in a good mood because hey, the stress of working is now gone, and, well, is this right?  Am I on the right track here?  Because if so, then staying home is sorta just as stressful as not staying home.  Clearly, I've missed something...huh?

3-I am very concerned about us paying our bills for the next five months.  We've never lived without my salary, and I'm pretty much putting our near future in Greg's hands and I am an enormous control freak.  So, this is very hard.  When I am bringing home the money, I know how much is coming in and when and where it's going to go.  And now there's significantly less than that, and I am nervous.

4-If there is not enough money to pay the bills, we are pretty much SOL since there's a very good chance that I couldn't even get a job if I wanted one since I'm 6.5 months pregnant.  So, there's that.

Ok, so other than that, I think I like being home.  I already feel a lot more laid back and I can already see a difference in my relationship with Leah.  I am looking forward to the summer and the time we'll be together. 

And I'm feeling a lot more grateful towards Greg.  I know not every woman has this opportunity, and I would like to really take advantage of it. 

So, for now, I'm using May to get the baby's room ready, declutter my house, and clean every nook and cranny, since Leah's still in school full time. 

And as for the rest of the summer?  Who knows...

A Little Rusty

I'm a week into my new gig of non-working, pregnant mother and I still feel like I need to make sure my day is filled with a list of tasks to complete before I pick up Leah at 3:30.

I'm also having a hard time figuring out what is my job (role, responsibility, whatever) as a SAHM and what, as a pregnant woman, I am justified to ask Greg do...ok, demand Greg do...ok, be disappointed and sigh dramatically when Greg doesn't do it automatically.

Also, if Greg works from home, do I still need to cook dinner if he totally has the time to do it?  If he has a slow day and doesn't have much to do am I still obligated to wash all dishes?  Yes, he's technically the bread winner and I'm technically the homemaker, but does that mean he doesn't touch any task related to homemaking anymore?  Does it really mean that I work from sun up to sun down at my new job while his is over at the end of the workday?

Am I overthinking this?

In other news, yes, I've been gone and this blog has been neglected.  I'm not certain if I'm back for good so forgive me if I don't pretty it up immediately.

A Week of Firsts: Greg

Greg started his new job on Monday, and it's going great!  He is in the training period right now, which apparently requires one to be at work at 11 a.m. and be done for the day at 1:30 p.m.  How nice for Greg, while his wife pulls 12 hours days out of the house! 

He is excited to start the actual selling that the job entails and so am I.  1) I like money, 2) I like to see Greg happy, and 3) I like money. 

When I started this website Greg was all I want my own page, put this picture up of me, oh, get me from his angle, however, recently he's been quite modest and no longer allows me to plaster his picture up all over this place.  So, right about here is where I would plop a picture of Greg in this post, but instead, you get the cartoon character that best sums up Greg.

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While I'm At Work

On Mondays and Fridays Leah spends the day at home with Greg.  I don't know exactly what they do when I'm not around, but periodically I'll get a pic to let me know that the house is still erected and they are both still breathing. 

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Crazytown

There are times when I look at my daughter, my smart, beautiful, wonderful, strong-willed daughter, and think to myself,

Was I ever this strange? 

No, she gets that from her father.

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Cruise in Review

We went on a cruise for nine days. 

 

You haven't lived until you've spent nine days with your husband and three year old in a teeny tiny room on a cruise ship.

Although we ultimately realized that we aren't disciplined enough to keep up with the schedule that cruises present, and Leah used our nine days together to find my last nerve and ride it precipitously the entire time, we had a very nice time.

We visited Puerto Rico.

And St. Thomas.

And Haiti.

And The Dominican Republic.  But I didn't bring my camera on that day.

It's hard enough to remember to bring my shoes; the camera was on the back burner.

We practiced being civilized, by getting dressed up for dinner and not screaming like a banshee when you're told that you can't have any more juice.

And also practiced bringing the TV to dinner, when we realized that three year olds are not civilized.

Meet BoBo, the newest member of our family.

(And for thirty bucks, you too can make a "Pets At Sea" animal and dress it in the polyester outfit of your choice!  Crock.)

And, of course, Leah made a friend.  Her boyfriend, as she refers to him.

(I didn't ask his mom if I could plaster his face on the Internet, as I tend to not mention my dead mother's blog when I meet people and not want them to think I'm a lunatic.  People eventually figure it out on their own--the lunacy, that is.)

All in all, it was so nice to get away with Greg and Leah.  It was such a crazy time in my life: I had left my old job on bad terms, and was so nervous that my new job would turn out to be a mistake.  I knew it was going to take a lot for me to clear my head and have a good time. 

And I did just that.

Until I saw the beverage bill at the end of the week.

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Just Sit On The Toilet Already

Oh, has it been that long?  Sorry about that.  Let's just jump into some lamenting about my life, shall we?

We've been working on discipline with Leah.  I've mentioned before how I am trying to teach her cause and effect, especially with regards to her behavior at daily tasks.  I expect everyday common situations to go effortlessly--teeth brushing, bed time, meals--I mean, we've done these things hundreds if not thousands of times, and I shouldn't still have deal with whining and fooling around and general assy-ness when it comes to those tasks.  I expect a lot from her, but she's almost three, and she should be able to figure out that when I've said not less than forty nights in a row that failure to sit on the toilet before bed will result in no bedtime gels and ointments, that I really mean that. 

Up until recently, she wasn't getting it.  I was dealing with the nightly, "but I don't hafta go pee" lament, and I was following it up with, "if you don't at least try then you don't get teeth medicine" and this was happening every night.  But, last night was wine night, and I needed to get Leah into bed as fast as possible, so that I could get back to my ladies in the dining room (and my wine) as fast as possible, and, since I didn't want Joan and Gab to hear just how loud my voice could really get to, I vowed that I was going to keep it together.

She brushed her teeth.  Refused to sit on the toilet.  I didn't say a thing.  We walked to her room and she said, "So, uh, I can have teeth medicine?" and I said, "No, you can't and you know why." And she said, "Oh, yeah, I hafta go pee!" and she ran back to the bathroom.

I nearly fainted but kept my cool and the rest of bedtime went smoothly.

A similar thing happened on Wednesday night when she kicked me and was forced to go to bed early.  The next morning she apologized, without being prompted, for kicking me and making me sad.

We don't spank, so we are forced to come up with different ways of disciplining her, and I'd be lying if I didn't admit to sometimes wanting to kick in the face whoever invented the Time Out.  I spend an inordinate amount of time talking to Leah and explaining, and I have no qualms about painting the picture of life exactly how it is: sometimes unfair and not always roses.  So, when she picks up on a lesson like Post-Teeth Brushing Pee Effort=Hand Lotion In Bed, it makes me feel like I'm getting my point across.  That my parenting choices might just be pretty good ones.  That I'm not messing up this kid too much.




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The Life I Signed Up For

If my mother had died before I was pregnant, I probably wouldn't have had a child.  I wanted a baby, and my mother was going to help me raise it.  Package deal.

If my mother hadn't died, Greg and I would have probably taken several weekend trips by now, and maybe even one that lasted five days.  Instead of no weekend trips, and nothing close to five days.  I don't trust anyone to watch Leah; there's nothing like the trust you have in your mom.   We would have been able to do more things with each other, without Leah.  Maybe go out to eat more...Christmas shop together...take more trips into NYC.

If my mother was still alive, I probably would have had more children by now.  She would have been my house every day in the summer, when she wasn't working, and probably would have used up more of her sick and personal days to spend time with her grandchildren.  My nights wouldn't have been parenting solo while Greg worked, and my weekends would not have been attempting to run an errand with a toddler and feeling like I got nothing accomplished.

There would have been more gifts and treats and a lot more spoiling.  My children would have run to her when they saw her, got excited when she arrived, and threw fits when she left.  They might have even liked spending time with her more than with me.

I never would have been stuck with no sitter.  Never would have had to say no to something that I wanted to do because I felt guilty leaving Leah.  Never would have felt that all-too-familiar hesitation when I dial a number to request some babysitting. 

I never wanted to be a mother if I didn't have my mother with me.  I never would have entered into what is the most difficult job I've ever held without her.  Never would have created this situation while living 40 minutes away from my closest family, with only one parent who's my dad, while my in-laws live several states away.

And I would have never written this post.

If I seem different to you, uncomfortable, unhappy, and unsettled, you must forgive me.  I'm not living the life I signed up for.



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The Absence of Suck

I was most concerned with not being able to stretch before the race began.  I have never been a morning runner, especially a cold morning runner, so I thought that if anything was going to go wrong, I didn't want it to be something that could have been avoided with stretched-out muscles. 

I didn't hear any sort of fanfare marking the official start of the race.  I thought I'd hear a gun shot, or a horn, but nothing.  This could have been because I had my ear buds in.  There were over 1500 runners and for a minute or so after the race began we all just moved forward in a herd.  I thought for a second that the entire race might be like this:  that maybe there were too many people and not enough road and we'd all just shuffle in a big group for three miles. 

Then the crowd began to open up.  People started taking off ahead of the group.  I remember running for a minute or so in line with my sister.  I remember her running with her hands in her pockets and wondering how the hell she was able to do that.  I remember my friend Lisa being a few feet ahead of us and looking back several times.  I remember when both of them began pulling farther and farther apart from me.  And I remember when I couldn't see either of them anymore.  And then there was me.  And I took a deep breath and fixed my ear buds again, and began the long lonely 3.1 mile journey.  As it's always been.  As I've grown accustomed to. 

A lot of people passed me.  People who weren't even jogging passed me.  But, as my sister had informed me the night before, my jog speed was slower than most people's walk speed, so I was expecting this.  A few minutes into the run I began seeing people on their way back.  I tried to get real close to the center line to attempt to make eye contact with the guy who had come in 60th place in the NY Marathon and was predicted to run the Sparta Turkey Trot in record time.  He zipped by me; I smiled at him, but he never saw me.  It would have been inspiring to catch his eye, but he has personal records and qualifying races on his mind.  He didn't have time for me.

The halfway point took forever to get to.  By the time I finally reached it, I had seen Gab, Lisa, and Adj zip by on their way back.  I could tell I was far behind them based on how long it took me to get halfway through, but I didn't care.  I wasn't doing this for time.  I was just doing this to run.  I kept my eyes on the road and rallied through.

The course had hills.  I didn't know this beforehand.  I'm sure it was for the best, since I would have been much more intimidated if I had known that hills were part of this challenge.  Welcome to the Black Parade played on the steepest one. 

At one point I found myself slowing down, each step becoming harder and harder to take.  My jog slowed and slowed and I felt my right leg fall into what I can only describe as a walk-step.  And my knee immediately locked up, and it jolted my body back to attention, and I continued to run.

I was so lonely at some parts.  Or maybe just bored.  Alone.  No one was on the side of the road cheering us on; I had no idea how much farther I had to go.  All I know is that it sucked.  It totally sucked.

And then I saw it.  Mile Marker 3.  And Florence and the Machine began.  And then Flo Rida followed.  And the wooden 3 sign grew larger as I got closer.  And I started running.  And I moved to the middle of the road.  And I didn't feel a thing.  Nothing hurt.  Nothing was hard about what I was doing.  I was sprinting down East Shore Trail all by myself early on Thanksgiving morning and I felt great.  I felt wonderful!  I was so happy.  Happy to be finishing.  Happy to be running.  Happy to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

And then.   Oh my god.  And then.  I saw my family.  I saw my husband and I saw my daughter and they were cheering for me.  FOR ME.  Leah ran to me and I stopped.  In the middle of the road before I hit the finish line, I stopped short.  And I grabbed her hand.  We started to run and she fell.  I picked her up and asked her if she was ok, and she said yes.  So, we held hands again and we ran to the finish line.  And it was perfect!  Gab and Adj and Lisa and Lan were all there.  Everyone was waiting for me.  And I crossed the line holding my daughter's hand.  And I was so happy.

And then the suck came back.  And it hurt.  My feel felt like they weren't mine.  I couldn't stop moving.  I had sprained my ankle when I stopped to get Leah.  I was trying to drink water.  I could barely talk.  Old Dana was back.  The Dana that is not athletic and can't run and doesn't do very well in sports and is fat, slow, and finds new gray hairs every week.

But, for a few minutes, when Mile Marker 3 came into view, I was someone else.  I was that person I used to remember.  It was awesome.   And I loved it.   And it didn't suck entirely.


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The Big Fish Bowl in the Sky

I put Leah to bed 30 minutes ago.  We followed the same routine as we do every night:

1) She puts her finger out and I apply "teeth medicine" (Ambesol) for her to apply to her gums.

2) She puts her finger out and I allow her to dip her finger into the "lip gloss" (Vaseline) to which she applies to her lips.

3) She then looks at me and says, "Ooh, my beddy (belly) hurts.  I need some beddy medicine." And then I open the Vicks and let her take a dab to put on her belly. 

Editor's note: I would let her apply the Vicks without the pretend pain, but I love hearing her pretend, night after night, that her belly starts to hurt at the exact moment that we complete the lip gloss routine.  I play into too.  "Oh, your belly hurts?  Well, then we better get some medicine for that!" 

And then while she situates herself amongst her 40 blankets and NumNum (a stuffed Snoopy) I feed Fishy, her blue beta fish that I have hated taken care of since my wonderful sister gave Leah the fish back in June. 

Except tonight, Fishy was not swimming amongst his plastic cave and vegitation. 

Because Fishy is dead.

Just floating there on the top of the bowl, sideways.  I made a face when I noticed and flung my head back a bit, to which Eagle Eyes over there said, "What happened Mom?  What happened?" 

To which I replied, "Oh, Fishy is so hungry tonight!  He surprised me!" 

And, for once in her life she just accepted that and didn't ask to witness the event. 

So, I left dead Fishy in the bowl and continued with the bedtime routine and texted Greg the minute I got out of there that he had a funeral to hold tomorrow morning.

So, what exactly should we tell her?  This isn't our first pet that has died, but this is the first pet that has died in the house.  This will certainly be the first pet that is flushed down the toilet, and, considering that it's very difficult to do anything in this house behind a locked door, she might very well witness the event.  She is older now than she was when we lost Doozer.  She remembers things now.  She talks in full sentences now.  She tells me when I have boogers in my nose and when I dribble food down my shirt.  Things are different now and I'd rather not scar her this early in life.  There will be many times in the future for that.

Should we say that Fishy is in heaven?  That's what we say about Doozer.  Also, about Grandma Pat.  However, I don't think she really knows what heaven means, as a couple of weeks ago she screamed, "Grandma Pat!  Grandma Pat!" as a woman who lives around the block and has the same hair cut as my mother did, drove by.

I was like, "What?!  That's not Grandma Pat!  That's ____________ (I'm protecting the innocent.)!  Grandma Pat?  Wha?  She's in heaven.  Do you remember that?  That means that she's not driving down our street in her Camry.  Really?  Grandma Pat?  I uh, here, have a lollipop."

So, anyway, back to Fishy.  If there is anyone reading who has been in this situation, how do you suggest we do this?  Comments welcome!
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Some Hypotheticals...

Some of us wake up at ye ole' butt crack and get dressed in the dark so as not to wake up our husbands.  What we really don't need is for our new shirt to have, not only a tag, but a sticker, an XL sticker, that isn't noticed until 9 hours later in our work bathroom mirror.  Oh, gee, has this enormous extra-large sticker been on my back all day?  Wow.  Thanks, Kohls. 

Some people think that, because they want peanut butter on their cracker immediately-right-this-minute-not-a-minute-later, it's totally acceptable to scream at their mom in her face and expect that cracker, with peanut butter-don't-you-dare-forget-that-lady, post haste.  Those people would be wrong.  Very, very wrong.  Those people also find themselves in bed a half hour early.

Some husbands think that, after spending their day off tending to their daughter, retreating to the couch the second their wife gets home from work and not moving from that position for the rest of the night, thereby leaving their wife to clean up dinner, the house, and the kid alone, after she left the house 11 hours previously to go and work all day at her job, is going to be received well.  The husbands that do that don't get lucky...not that it matters, since they've been sleeping on the couch since 6:30 p.m. anyway. 

Some women cannot get into their heads that they are only one person and find themselves overbooking their weekends to the point that bathroom breaks are going to be a tight squeeze.  I have to sit down and write out a game plan for tomorrow in order to fit in everything that I need to do.  I never learn.   Luckily I don't have to put out tonight.

Have a good one, folks.  Cheers!
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Brought To You By Coffee

Sometimes having kids feels like doing time for a crime you didn't commit.  I mean, yes, technically, with regards to Leah, I did "commit the crime."  I mean, we wanted her, and she's here due to us.  But, there are times when taking care of her seems really exhaustive and heavy and just plain tough.

I was talking to a co worker who is child-free, by choice.  He spent the weekend babysitting his 5 year-old neice, and today, Wednesday, he's still recuperating from the weekend.  He just doesn't understand how people can do this day in and day out, like deal with kids, all the time.  And, he's right.  I don't know how I do it.

We spend a lot of time in the car.  And Leah must talk, question, comment, and narrate the entire time she's in the car.  There's a lot of "Look, Mommy"s too.  It's non-stop.  When I pick her up from my sister's house on Wednesdays and am in the thick of a 45-minute commute in rush hour traffic after working for 9 straight hours, the last thing I want to do is "Look at my knee, Mommy!  Look at my sock!  Oh, man!  There's a bus!"  And if she doesn't get a reaction she will keep going, louder and louder, until she does.  So, we have a conversation for the duration of the entire ride.  Every ride.  Every day. 

Now, I don't want you all to think that I'm complaining about parenthood, because I'm not.  Much.  I knew it would be tough and challenging.  Not as tough and challenging as it actually is, but still, I had an idea.  What I'm saying is that despite the challenges, we still do it.  We still have kids.  We still run ourselves ragged taking care of them and tending to their needs.  We still think about them and worry about them.  We kiss, hug, cuddle, and snuggle them.   We love them to pieces.  More than we ever thought possible.  It's worth it.  It must be, right?

Despite being woken up at 5 a.m. this morning to the words, "I want pancakes now!" I never regret the day Greg and I decided to become parents.  I can't even remember life without Cha Cha.  And I don't want to...because I was probably well rested and energetic and richer.  And, really, who wants to think about that?

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Leah's Gonna Flip Out...

...when she sees who her father knows.

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Myrtle Beach Wrap Up

While down in the low country, Leah found a new best friend: her Pop Pop John.

Mama Ba Ba was a suitable replacement when Pop Pop wasn't around, since she would drag Leah around the perimeter of the house on a boogie board.  But, Pop Pop was just the bees knees.

I might have made fun of Myrtle Beach because of all of its fried food, and I totally disappointed myself by not running, but all in all, this was a great trip.  We really had a good time.

From our wait in the airport...

To our time at the condo on the Isle of Palms...

To questionable shoe choices...

To interesting packing techniques...

 

We had a dang good time in the South.  Thank you, John and Barbara, for being such gracious hosts.  And thank you, Greg and Leah, for being such wonderful traveling buddies.  May our future continue to take us on awesome adventures.

 

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Vacation Update

We’ve been to Myrtle Beach twice now. Greg’s parents live there, and we stay at their home a few minutes from the beach, shopping, food, a pool. Everything really.

Each time we’ve gone, we done both the touristy thing and the local thing and try to keep everyone happy.

I, for one, think that outlet shopping is the bees knees. There is a Coach outlet near my in laws house that I will dream of for years to come. I’m sorry, but when you walk into a store where everything is 50% off, and then upon entering you are handed an additional 20% off coupon, well, you die. I died.

Both times I went.

Dana: boosting Myrtle Beach’s economy, one handbag at a time. (And a wallet. Maybe a couple of wristlets.)

We also went to a place called Broadway at the Beach, which, if you ask me, can best be described as A Boardwalk. Greg and I can’t figure out why it’s called what it’s called…it’s neither Broadway-themed nor at the Beach, but, there you have it. No worries, though, there is shopping (yay for me) and drinking (yay for Greg.) Win, win.

I guess the best part of this trip is that Leah was old enough to enjoy it. She loved the sand, the ocean, the pool, the restaurants. When we were getting ready to go somewhere, I would say to her, “Leah we are going to go to lunch now.” And she would say, “I come?” And when I would tell her yes, her excitement went through the roof! As if we normally go out and just leave her home. She was just so excited to be included.

So, we are slowly getting back into the swing of things. The weekend before we left was a whirlwind of weddings, friends, and some big life decisions. And now we are just trying to get back to normal, let things calm down, and see where the dust settles.



And do laundry, of course. There’s always laundry.

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Life Lessons

Every once in a while, when Leah isn't redecorating, making bedtime a nightmare, or killing me with her entertainment selections, she is a pretty cool kid.

She is turning into a person who gets it, really understands life, and we've been working on the concept of cause and effect a lot lately.

At first I was really against giving her gifts or prizes during our potty training period, but, since we've started, it's been really rewarding to both her and us to give her a treat if she has a good day with it.  And I'm not talking about a pony or anything; sometimes the gift is a package of underpants.  But, it's a treat nonetheless.

There are days in which she'll go in the potty several times, and at the end of the day, she gets a pat on the back and "good job, kid."  And there are days where she goes once, and I'll come home with a little gift for her.  We are not consistent with it, and I'm beginning to think that this concept is the right concept to teach.

You can compare it to your job: there will be times that you spend a lot of time and energy on a particular project and you'll get nary an acknowledgement upon its completion, and there are times that you might get more recognition than you expected, for doing something that you didn't think was making much of a difference. 

Thus is life.  You aren't always going to get what you think you deserve and sometimes you get something that you weren't expecting. 

So, when Greg informed me earlier in the week that Leah was having some setbacks on the potty and there had been much effort but not a lot of achievement, I thought, maybe we could give her a little something to let her know we are recognizing her effort, and, although it's not reaching the ultimate goal, it's not going  unnoticed.  Maybe boost her esteem a bit.  I can only imagine that peeing oneself four times in a day can really wreak havoc on your self esteem.  Especially since she was making trips to the bathroom...they were just usually not at the right times. 

So, I brought home some nail polish.  She's never had nail polish on so it was kind of a big deal. 

I'll keep you posted!
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Quickie

Hello! We are back from Vermont! We had a blast with our good friends Catherine and Andy, and their sons Matthew and Brendan.



There will be lots of pictures this week highlighting some of the things we did, but, for now, you must enjoy these two and wait patiently for the rest.


I am up to my eyeballs in laundry, work, and unpacking. I am NOT up to my eyeballs in milk, eggs, or any other necessary groceries. Which is making our menu at home a little sleek.


Let’s re-group tomorrow, shall we?

 
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Leah at the Lake

Over the weekend we attended a BBQ at a lake house.  I was nervous on how Leah would be in the lake, as we are pool people.

Scratch that, I am pool people.  Greg is lake and pool people.

And, as it turns out, so is Leah.

She loved the lake!  Spent hours in there with Greg and all of the kids at the party.

And after she spent all those hours in the lake, she came home and slept a whole lot of hours that night! 

Which I enjoyed.  So, maybe I, too, am lake people.

Probably not, though.

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Greg's Garden

Back in March, I wrote a post about Greg's gardening.  In it, I showed pictures of some of the cups of dirt and seeds that Greg had planted around the house.  Back then, that's exactly what it looked like to me: a lot of dirt and seeds.

But, not anymore.  I am happy to report that all of the cups have officially moved out of the house, and our yard looks like this:

Looks like organized chaos to me, but Greg spends HOURS out there working on his garden.  He brings things inside each day and we cook them for dinner.  He's very proud of that garden, and visitors get a tour each time they come over.  I'm not complaining, because I enjoy eating fruits and veggies that come from our very own backyard. 

Here's a picture of some chicken legs he made on our fire pit over the weekend. 

When it comes to matters of cooking and gardening, Greg is much better at it than me.  I do enjoy eating it, though.

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