It's only me

Home Sweet Home v. 2.0

2009-06-01T00:14:00.003-05:00

We are finally moved into the new house. There are boxes everywhere and all of us are dead-dog tired, but we are in.

I love it. It's fabulous. Not to toot my own horn, but this house kicks ass. It's pretty, it's functional, I like most of the choices that we've made, and am able to file the ones I don't like under Lessons Learned and move on. It's going to be a cool place to live.

It's weird actually moving in and moving through something that has taken shape slowly over 6 months' time. I think it's like meeting an Internet boyfriend for the first time (or what I imagine it would be like anyway). You have an image in your head of what it should look like and be like and feel like, but the reality is both better and worse than what you had imagined. It's a surreal place where elation and disappointment meet - kind of a funky feeling, but luckily more elation than disappointment in my case. The funkiness is taking a few days to wear off. I think once I stop getting de ja vu when I walk down the hall because I've done it so many times in my mind it will feel more normal.

We have So. Much. Shit. that it feels like it will be forever until we have the place in order. The Little Man is pushing for a Grand Opening Celebration (which more normal households call an Open House) though, so maybe we'll whip it into shape quickly just to get him off our butts. Nothing motivates like a persistant 5-year-old.

Five Today

2009-03-01T22:33:00.003-06:00

My Little Man

On the Eve of Five

2009-02-28T22:55:00.003-06:00

My Little Man turns 5 tomorrow. He is so excited - it's quite the thing to witness him being so stoked about his birthday. New Toys! Cake! A Party! With Friends! And Cousins! And he'll finally be 5, like ALL the other kids in the Red Room (his room at school). It makes him wiggle like a puppy in excitement - it's a wonder he hasn't piddled on the floor. In fact, when we got home this evening he wanted to shower and crawl into bed immediately so his birthday would come even FASTER.

And me? Well, I'm astonished, but I'm having some mixed emotions. My eldest baby has no baby left in him. He continues to be tall - he comes up to about mid-sternum on me now. He weighs in at a flat 50 pounds, and some of his size 6 jeans have hit the highwater stage. And he has SUCH an imagination. The child loves to build, and tell jokes, and play tricks, and read books, and sing. And (note that this is IN WRITING) he really likes to play with his sister. And he's doing well in school - knows how to read, write and sound out most letters, and he's been working hard to say his "L" sounds properly. Which will come in handy when he starts KINDERGARTEN this fall (Lord help me). This all adds up to him being a big boy now. Eeeek.

He did bestow a bit of consolation this morning. He crawled into bed with us when he woke up this morning and said "Mommy, one more sleep and I'll be FIVE!" I told him that was right, and he was getting to be a big boy. He said "Don't worry, mom, I'll still be your baby when I get to be 5. I Love you."

Little Man, I love you too. Happy Birthday.

Hola!

2009-02-19T23:59:00.005-06:00

Wow, I knew it had been a bit since I had dusted off the ol' blog, but September? Yikes.

Sadly, I think the timing corresponds with my daughter's decisions that a) she's a night owl and doesn't like to go to sleep before 10-10:30, and b) that she must go to sleep, and sleep all night, touching her mom. As this leaves me with precious little time to spend on stuff *I* want to do at night, the blog has been kicked to the curb in favor of the occasional tweet, paying bills and reading news. I know, my priorities are wack.

The short update to the house is that it's coming along nicely. After all the slow-pokiness in the beginning, once they broke ground the builders have really kicked it into gear. I guess that's what they do best - actually BUILD, vs. doing the building paperwork. Who knew.

I must say that the time we took in doing research on the bank and the builders up front is paying off. I've heard a couple of horror stories lately about builders absconding with people's money or using shoddy materials, and I'm confident we won't have anything like that with our guys. I've been really happy with the builder, all of the subcontractors they're using, and the bank's oversight of the budget. Except for Mr. Me's occasional propensity to have an opinion that's just plain wrong - wrong I say! - about finish choices, it's been a good experience.

Eventually I'll publish an entire series of photos of the house construction, but for now here it is in current form.

Voila! Its got walls! And a basement! And a great maw of a garage. And look - new roof!

And the inside is . . . drafty. But we're gaining on it. (shown here - the Little Man's bedroom, of which he is so proud)

In other shocking news, selling a house is a pain in the ass. It's only been on the market 3 weeks and I'm already tired of keeping a spotless house. Especially as the Little Miss likes to have a bit of chaos around her at all times, and she's currently into diapers and diapering things. Which leads to many a morning of picking this up off the floor.

Maybe it's mummification she's into, we're not quite sure.

Moving Nowhere

2008-09-30T22:51:00.003-05:00

We are slowly passing milestones in this housebuilding business. Is it done, you ask? What colors did you pick, you say?

Let's not get ahead of ourselves here.

Slowly passing milestones equals more that the paperwork is *almost* done, and we might start building in the foreseeable future, than that any actual work has been done.

Here's what's gone on:
County zoning requirements met - check
Houseplans complete - check
Building bids sought - check
Building bids obtained - three, painfully slowly
Builder procured - check
Houseplans revised - check
Houseplans revised again (by me so I didn't have to see the fucking houseplan lady again) - check
Financing pre-approved - check
Building contract finalized - check
Land contract finalized - check
Site plan completed - check
Financing finalized- check (oh my god we are now so poor)
Site plan provided to flood people even though our land isn't in a flood plain - check
Land purchased - check (almost - I don't have the deed in hand yet)
Perk test - in progress
Building permit - later this week

For those of you who have not yet had a crash-course in septic - or "where poo-poo go" - a perk test is where they test your land to see if water absorbs into the land at a rate that will work with a normal septic system, or if we have to use a funky expensive septic solution. We're so hoping for absorbent land. Like, Bounty absorbent. Funky and expensive is not in the budget.

The pathetic little list above represents seven months of work. And frustration. And watching things ever-so-slowly grind forwards. And second-guessing the wisdom of this project as we've watched the economy start circling the bottom of the toilet, faster and faster as the months go by.

And they haven't even started, oh, BUILDING THE FUCKING HOUSE YET. But we're close enough that I'd better get in gear and get my 'before' pictures taken.

P.S. The title of this post refers both to the state of the project and that the place we're moving has no address yet. Literally, we're moving to slightly North of nowhere.

The "I Love You" Song

2008-09-06T22:51:00.003-05:00

The Little Man was helping me wrap a birthday present this morning for one of his buddies. His sparkling, happy eyes and general overall cuteness inspired me to sing "I love you" in a big, operatic voice.
He didn't miss a beat, singing right back "I love you too!"
to which I replied " I love you more!"
then he sang, with a nice melody, "I love you most!"
and I belted (in a this-is-the-finale sort of way) "I love you up to the moon!"
to which he came back with a very loud "I love you more than McDonald's!"

And . . . I had nothin'. His love truly knows no bounds.

P.S. Yes, when daddy's not around, we communicate in song sometimes. Mostly with an opera feel. It's what we do. Stop judging, but feel free to be happy you're not around when it's going on.

Oh Meme

2008-08-18T22:08:00.002-05:00

I haven't done a meme here in oh, EVER, but this one that Average Jane did the other day looked kind of fun.

The rules are to post my answers to a quiz. There are no wrong answers because it’s all about me. Unless I lie to look cooler or smarter than I am.

So, here goes:

A. Attached or single? Married
B. Best friend? My Hubby
C. Cake or pie? Lemon Meringue Pie (but only if it's tart enough)
D. Day of choice? Sunday
E. Essential item? Internet Access
F. Favorite color? Blue
G. Gummy bears or worms? Worms
H. Hometown? Byers, KS
I. Indulgence? Pedicures
J. January or July? January (I abhor hot weather)
K. Kids? 4-year old Little Man, and almost 2 Little Miss
L. Life isn’t complete without? Family
M. Marriage date? September 20, 1997
N. Number of brothers & sisters? 2 brothers - one older, one younger
O. Oranges or apples? Apples in the fall, oranges in the winter
P. Phobias? Claustrophobia if there is no airflow
Q. Quotes? More Cowbell.
R. Reasons to smile? My kiddos (and seeing them go to grandma's for the weekend)
S. Season of choice? Fall
T. Tag seven peeps! Meme if you must - no assignments here
U. Unknown fact about me? I had a huge crush on Jean Luc Picard in high school.
V. Vegetable? Cucumbers
W. Worst habits? Procrastination
X. X-ray or ultrasound? Ultrasound 'cause usually there's a baby involved!
Y. Your favorite food? Mexican
Z. Zodiac sign? Aries

Building a House: The saga continues

2008-08-13T21:57:00.003-05:00

I've been silent about the house building project for a while because it's going so. damn. slowly. There's not been much to report besides my intense frustration with the whole process.

When last I left you, I was waiting for the final bid to come in so I could decide on a builder. The final bid came in 3 weeks after the others, and it was $60,000 higher than the next closest bid.

I was SO pissed off that I wasted 3 weeks waiting for a bid that we clearly couldn't work with. I had expected the guy to be higher, but $60,000? Fucking robber barron.

So. It took us an additional couple of weeks to get all our ducks in a row and choose between the remaining contenders. We finally did make a decision. And here we are, 4 weeks later, still dicking around without a builder's contract. Breaking ground isn't even on the distant horizon.

Sigh.

I'm hoping to have the last change the builder is requiring to the house plan done tomorrow. Then, when the mood strikes him, he might actually draw up a contract that we can haggle over for a week or so before we sign. Then it's off to play with the bank, title company and (God forbid) the county for another few weeks. If we're lucky, by the time the ground freezes we'll have a backhoe in place to sit and wait like everything else.

Fucking delays.

The only glimmer of progress is that we got flags put in the ground marking the corners of the house. It's weird - it looks really small, like it barely takes up any ground at all. At the same time it looks enormous.

I got to stand in the place where my screened porch will be. I daydreamed a little about sitting and sipping a daiquiri on it, watching the sun set. It was SWEET.

My Condolences

2008-08-11T22:03:00.003-05:00

It's been a sad few days. It seems that it's a funerary year - one in which I am destined to attend many funerals.

So far this year I've said good-bye to my grandmother and aunt. This past weekend my aunt's husband passed as well - an expected loss, but hard on the family nevertheless.

I opted out of traveling 3 states away to attend his funeral for a myriad of reasons, but I got another dose today anyhow.

A bad, bad dose.

I found out yesterday that a co-worker's husband died in a hiking accident late last week. He was 31.

THIRTY-ONE.

He was a very talented, vibrant person, as is his wife. She and I were pregnant at the same time last year - she with her first and me with my second child. I helped throw a baby shower for her. The girls are 2 months apart.

It just makes me ill to think about it. To think about a little girl just the age of my Little Miss having to grow up without her daddy. Of her mom suddenly being a single working mother whose best friend is gone just like that.

It breaks my heart.

I went to the memorial service today along with a number of other co-workers. It was nice to see the hefty turnout - the line was about half a block long to sign the book at the door when we got there, and the service was standing room only. Even though I was crammed with about 25 other attendees in a hot entry way craning to hear the service through an open door, I'm glad I went. The service was well done, and my co-worker did one of the bravest things I've ever seen. She got up and read a letter to her husband. It was superbly written - poignant, funny, and real. Perfect. And she read it flawlessly - didn't break down once. I am proud of her, and in awe of her.

I am sleeping with both of my kids and my darling husband tonight. And holding on to all of them tightly while I can.

Mentally Random (Randomly mental?)

2008-07-19T23:50:00.002-05:00

The last month I've felt insanely busy and like I'm not accomplishing anything at the same time. It's a weird dichotomoy, one I can't quite wrap my mind around.

There are an endless supply of household chores to do or boxes to pack or cleaning out closets or cleaning up messes or house repairs calling my name. The kids constantly want something or need juice or want me to play with them or have hurt themselves and need a cuddle and kiss. Work is just getting busier in the coming months. And in between there are builders to call and quotes to compare and bankers to question and choices to make. Tons and tons of choices to make.

Yet it seems that I'm doing nothing. We're slowly getting things crossed off both the "selling the house" and "building the house" lists, but my internal housebuilding clock (yes, it's there already) says we're running late, and we keep having to cut crap out to afford the payments. I'm not advancing my career (because the efforts of the part-time don't count). I don't have any new hobbies. No vacations planned. No realization of life goals on the horizon.

It's annoying.

Things will probably loosen up once we get the new house built, but that's another 6 + months out. Which leaves a gaping chasm of time in which I'm still going to have this feeling that makes my eyelids itch. It seems that the easiest thing to spice things up would be to schedule a vacation. So maybe I'll do that.

In other news, in anticipation of her upcoming birthday, the Little Miss has donned the mantle of a "terrible two" and is all of a sudden opinionated, stubborn, defiant, pouty and generally hard to get along with. She has, however perfected a fist-bump, high five combo secret greeting with her brother that is absolutely adorable. We've decided that we'll still keep her for now.

I have been wondering - how long do you think until the fist bump makes it to the list of developmental milestones? Maybe if Obama is elected?

My Ass is Getting Kicked by Someone Whose Foot Doesn't Reach That High

2008-06-12T21:25:00.006-05:00

So you know how I said how much I missed the Little Miss and was so very happy to have her home?

That really hasn't changed so much, except that I'm ready for her to go back to Grandma's now.

It's the sleeping, you see. She doesn't do it. And I miss it, oh how I miss the sweet uninterrupted nights of scream-less slumber that I knew, lo, these many days ago.

We have been doing battle every night over this sleep thing. That's seven in a row, folks. I want her to sleep, and she doesn't feel the need. I want her to sleep in her bed, she wants to sleep in mine, with me, right next to me with her feet up my nose. I want her to go to sleep when I put her to bed. She feels I should rock her, or at least sit in her rocker, for the hour plus that she languorously takes to drift off. 2-3 times Every Single Night.

I. Am. So. Sick. Of. This.

We have both been wearily rolling out of bed in the morning like boxers in the fourth or fifth round - bleary-eyed, wearing down, but still willing to dodge a few more punches. She's got an unfair advantage in the form of 2 1/2 hour naps every afternoon, while I have to make do with whatever caffeine I can suck down and the toothpicks that prop open my eyelids.

In spite of this, I've been making slight progress with a newish tactic, which I call Shutting the Door and Ignoring What Happens Within. The crying has decreased from 40 minutes the first night, to 30 minuets the next, and last night at 2:30 it was only 7 minutes. Granted, I think she's been sleeping in a crumpled heap on the other side of the door, but you know, she's sleeping. And her bed is in there should she choose to use it.

I get that it sounds positively barbaric, but I tell you, it's probably a better tactic than, say, leaving her on the neighbor's doorstep, or shipping her to Tanzania. Which have both crossed my mind.

Today while I was doing the only thing I was able to focus on at work - surfing - I discovered that the lack of sleep is not only making me dumber, and older, it's also making me fatter. Oh my Lord I hope that this shakes out before I'm 350 pounds and sitting in the corner sucking my thumb and rocking.

My good friend Dorothy writes that Sleep is for the Weak. Well, sign my weak ass up.

The Little Miss Looms Large

2008-06-07T22:58:00.004-05:00

It's been a kind of weird week. The Little Miss's daycare was closed this week, so we packed her up and shipped her off to spend the week at Grandma's on Sunday. We didn't get her back until Friday, and I discovered that's a really long time to go without your Little Miss.

Don't get me wrong. It was nice to have some extra time with the Little Man and to just parent one child - who can wipe his own ass! - for a change. I got to sleep straight through four nights in a row . . .bliss! And while I was sleeping I didn't have two little feet trying their best to to kick me out of bed. I had 40 extra minutes every evening by not having to put her to bed, and mornings were quicker as well not having to get her ready and constantly talk her out of being picked up.

But.

I didn't have her to cuddle. I couldn't sniff the baby smell that lingers in her hair. She wasn't there to say "hi mama!" 26 times and wave when I got home at night. I didn't get to see her cuddle her babies and then drag them down the hall by the foot, head bouncing along on the floor. I didn't get to argue with her about her outfit in the morning (ok, I secretly like that she's so strong willed, even though it's a pain.) I missed out on her fabulous bed-head in the morning (she really does get some spectacular hair going in the morning for it being thin and stick-straight). I didn't get to hear her growl, or belly-laugh. I didn't get to watch her play with cars and say "vroom vroom!" I missed her.

I don't think I was the only one. Though the Little Man staunchly denied it, I caught him more than once hiding something up high so she couldn't get it, and looking through the house for her. His dad took the same tone - mouthing that he didn't notice she wasn't around, but I caught some forlorn looks in the direction of her bedroom.

Her personality has been blossoming since she turned one, and she's been becoming more and more herself every day. Turns out, she's also become a very big part of our household. You always think these things, but it's kind of nice to have it confirmed.

It's also nice to have her back.

And now, drum roll please . . .

drrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

Today, 19 months to the day after she was born, she finally smiled at a camera. And yes, she's covered in chocolate cake batter.

And not wearing any pants.

Rolling Along On the House

2008-06-03T22:39:00.005-05:00

And now, for another house update.

We are eeking ever closer to actually starting to build a house.

Yes, that sentence is an accurate portrayal of the amount of action happening with this project.
I'm telling you, this building process is like being towed by snails through a sea of molasses. It is G-O-I-N-G S-O S-L-O-W.

There has been progress. Some progress. We have final - FINAL! - house plans. That's pretty damn exciting. We've been working on them since flippin' March, but I tell you it was worth it. I luv them. I can walk through the entire house in my head, and it becomes more real with each choice of outlet height and plumbing fixture we make.

We've also gone in front of the County Commission and squeaked through a 2/1 vote to allow us to zone. After listening to 2 1/2 hours of meeting, they made this decision. After talking about our case for one ENTIRE HOUR of that time, the two meeker commissioners finally found their cojones and voted down the stronger commissioner to give us what we need. I had no idea it was such a big deal.

We MAY even be able to go straight to applying for a building permit, though no telling when the zoning department will make up their minds about that. It is fascinating to watch the wheels of local government work. They're digging back 10-20 years on our title to find out the answer to a question that I'm not convinced is relevant in the first place. I guess they need to stay busy so they can keep their phony baloney jobs. Harrumph!

We're also talking to builders. We have bids out to 4 guys, and another that wants to bid it. There are 2 front-runners at this point, but we're still trying to understand all the details well enough to know if the bids are apples to apples or not. Likely, they won't be, but I would still like to understand if the difference is made up of supplies or their margin. It would make the decision a little easier.

Any way we put it, we're going to be spending kind of a scary amount of money on the house. I don't think it's anything we can't handle, but the raw numbers are a bit shocking. Kind of scary exciting, this house building stuff.

The Little Man is pretty stoked about the new house too. He knows where his room is on the plans, and what all the other rooms are too. In the midst of this, he's started to get interested in the concept of money, but doesn't really understand dollar values yet.

"Mommy, how much is our house"

"Two dollars"

"Wow! Two dollars." He pauses for a minute. "Mom, our new house is going to be five dollars. It's going to be so awesome."

Yes, yes it is.

Not a Fan of Precious Moments, but I'll Keep These

2008-05-20T23:21:00.003-05:00

The Little Miss has finally figured out how to slither out of her toddler bed by herself. She's been in her big girl bed for a couple of months, but has, till now, lacked the confidence to leave it herself. Which was cool by me, because I wasn't quite as ready as Mr. Me to do away with the crib. But that's all gone now and she's mobile, baby.

With her new found skilz she has decided that when she wakes up in the middle of the night she needs to tootle on into our room, pat me on the ass and say "mama" loudly until I pick her up and plop her between her dad and I.

Then she curls up and goes back to sleep.

This has happened 4 nights in a row now at 3:10AM. I realize that stricter parenting could make this stop, but 3:10AM is a particularly weak time of day for me. Every morning I resolve to fix it tomorrow night, and every night I reach over and pick her up and tuck her in so we can GO TO SLEEP ALREADY. So, much to my disgruntlement, she sleeps half the night with us, the middle bar to our capital H (feet must be on mom, head and patting hands on dad).

This morning was particularly awesome because the Little Man had a night terror about 4:45, so he wanted in too. So I slept sandwiched between the two little moochers until 6:45, when I think someone kicked me in the head? stomach? both simultaneously? and I decided to get up.

I managed to sneak out from between them and into the bathroom for a shower without disturbing them. Or so I thought. As it turns out, I woke the Little Miss, who in turn screamed for me and woke her brother,. He patted her on the head and sang her songs -"Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star", "Rock-a-bye Baby" and the Transformer's Theme Song - until she went back to sleep. I'm so SO mad I missed it.

Cut to this afternoon, on the swing set out back. I was pushing the Little Man on his swing, and trying to simultaneously play catch with the Little Miss. It was sort of working - catch with the Little Miss doesn't require much movement on my part - but the Little Man was in a whiny mood anyway and went into Full Scale Whine-o-rama when he realized he did not have my undivided attention. He whined that I was pushing too hard. Then not hard enough. Then too high. I finally told him that I wouldn't play with him any more because the whining was making my ears bleed, and immediately there was whine-induced fake crying. Upon seeing his (fake - did I mention he was so faking it?) dismay, his little sis dropped her ball, walked over to him and patted his back and muttered at him, trying to console him.

They are SO UNBELIEVABLY CUTE together I almost can't stand it. It causes huge goofy smiles to spread across my face every time I see them being so sweet to each other. Then I remember they likely won't be able to stand each other in a few short years, and that I'll be able to drag out gooey stories like this and watch them stare at me in shock and horror.

And then the smiles spread from ear to ear.

Wa-hooie!

2008-05-16T22:50:00.004-05:00

There has been a lot of good things going on the last week. A refreshing change from the Charlie Brown sentiments that too often make up the posts here, eh?

For starters - our house plans are done. In case you didn't catch that: OUR HOUSE PLANS ARE DONE! The dance I did as I leaped from my chair when Yahoo revealed the final sketches was likely not attractive, but it was done with gusto! I can completely walk through the thing in my head - I've dreamt about it a couple of times. It will fit our family just perfectly, and it's exactly what I was looking for.

Huzzah! Now on to finding a builder.

Then, yesterday I found out my friend Rita's book is available for pre-sale! She has worked her ass off for over TWO YEARS on this book, and it's been amazing to hear in snippets what all she's gone through to make this childhood dream of hers come true. (You could read about her journey to publishing here.) The book - Sleep is for the Weak - is a compilation of blog posts from a rock star roster of mommybloggers, and I can't wait to read it. It's amazing to see someone work and sweat and strain and finally achieve a childhood dream. Rita, you are now officially one of my honest-to-God heroes.

Buy it.

And finally, just this afternoon, I helped the Little Man to catch his very first fish! We were at a local community farmstead which has fishing available for the kids. "Fishing" consists of a tin bucket of 4 fat worms and the rental of a bamboo stick with a line and a hook that you can dip in their pond filled with Sunfish for the bargain price of $3. It's very sophisticated.

Of course, my son thinks it's awesome. He threw over his first horse ride on a horse named for his sister for the bucket of damn dirty worms. I will give him credit for gusto - he reaches right in there for the worms without a grumble, just a few comments on any extra-ordinary squirming as he's trying to hand them to me so I can skewer them on the hook. *shudder* The fourth worm won us our prize from the pond, though much to my relief it managed to wiggle itself off the hook and back into the pond right after I shot the photos. I try not to be too girly of a mom, but I'd just as soon not touch worms, fish, snakes and most bugs if I can get away with it.

My proud fisherman (the fish, it's a bigun)

It's so nice that there's so much going right to think about when other areas of my life are not going quite the way I'd prefer.

Living With Bugs Bunny

2008-05-07T23:32:00.005-05:00

I was trying to explain my son's personality to a co-worker, and the best I could come up with was he was like living with Bugs Bunny.

My Little Man is a trickster. He loves to play jokes - to hop in your seat right before you sit down, and to tell you the opposite answer to the question you asked, and to steal something (usually food) right out from under your nose. He is quick - physically and mentally - and has a very active and well-used imagination. This combined with the endless amounts of energy this busy little boy possesses gives you - Bugs Bunny.

Case in point: Yesterday morning I asked him to go downstairs to our fridge and get me an iced coffee (I love me some Caribou Iced Coffee, though apparently they don't think so much of it as it has no home on their site). Pretty soon I hear his little voice, bursting with laughter, say

"Mom-my, I've got your coff-ee."

"Great - where is it?"

"It's behind my ba-ack." (giggle giggle)

"OK, well give it to me."

"Here it is!" And he busts out laughing as he brings forth a Gatorade.

"It's a Gatorade!" This he barely gets out as he's laughing hysterically.

I chuckled at him and told him to take it back and bring me my coffee.
He disappears back down the stairs, and proceeds to repeat his little joke with a bottle of water, a different flavor of Gatorade, a pop, and a gallon of milk. (He did complain bitterly about having to haul the gallon of milk back down two flights of stairs. The price of comedy is steep.)

Can't you just see this child leading Elmer Fudd on a wild goose chase all over the forest?

Some Things

2008-05-03T22:34:00.005-05:00

No one thing to write about, just a bunch of little ones.

My report on the house is that there's NOTHING TO REPORT. The house plan lady has gone AWOL since Wed when we were supposed to see new sketches. The zoning department has not received the letter which kicks off the next part of the process, though it was sent over a week ago. This all pisses me off, but I'm trying to take a Zen approach and pretend like it doesn't.

I'm also making little progress on all the little projects we need to finish to get the current house ready to sell, which ALSO pisses me off. I think the fault lies somewhere between me being inefficient with time and Mr. Me's obsession with World of Warcraft. Probably doesn't help that we're both sitting here on laptops this evening instead of doing our chores.

The Little Man is doing extremely well at preschool, and has been pretty good lately in general, knock on wood. He's growing up pretty fast; in his mind it's even faster. He got up this morning and was stark naked but for a pull-up. I could have sworn that he had PJs on when he went to bed, but my mind, it does play tricks. When I asked him about it he said "I sleep naked now, Mom. I'm almost 5." I'm really having to get good control over my laugh reflexes around him these days.

The Little Miss is a pacifier addict. She LOVES them. She will find a stash of them and sit for 15 or 20 minutes, holding as many as she can in her pudgy little hands and rotate them through her mouth, happy as can be. We literally have about 50 of them in the house, but I can never find any because she ratholes them. I've started to catch on to some of her hotspots, and will periodically raid the big one behind her bed to snag 6 or 7. There's normally one or two in her little push car and among her stuffed animals as well, but lately she's started to try more exotic locations like the fridge and the canned goods shelves. (I'll have to remember these things when she's a teenager and I suspect she's hiding something . . .)

Since she's going on 18 months, I'm trying to slow down the paci use. I really would prefer that she didn't look like Bugs Bunny at age 5, so we now have a rule that she can only have a paci at naptime or bedtime. Man, it's hard. She screams like she's being murdered when I take them away, and I have to be constantly vigilant because she pops up with one from a hidey-holes about every 30 minutes. She's slowly getting used to it, and getting easier to distract. Maybe I'll be able to transition her off of them easier than I thought. Then again, maybe I'll have to invent the Patch for Paci.

Moving Along

2008-04-25T19:51:00.003-05:00

The house building is sluggishly moving forward again. We finally have completed a few steps in the zoning process, and have gotten to the point where we're waiting for an appointment to go in front of the County Commission. Hopefully then we will get permission to zone the land, after which we have to have it surveyed, platted, and go BACK in front of the Zoning Commission so they can approve the way we have it drawn up.

Bah. Seems like much ado for a few lines on a map.

On another front, the houseplans are at long last almost finished. I'm pretty excited - I think it will be a good place to live. Three bedrooms, 2 1/2 baths, kitchen, greatroom , dining room, mudroom, a screened porch and a basement. I'm really looking forward to the screened porch.

Though we're building a larger house than we currently live in, we're losing 2 rooms, unless we can afford to finish a room in the basement. So I'm trying to think of the best way to make up for that space - it could get tricky.

After the plans are completely nailed down we'll give them to 2 or 3 of the builders we've met over the last 2 months and get estimates. Hopefully the estimate will be close to what we've projected and we'll acutally be able to afford the thing. I'm so very ready to get actual numbers and budgets and finally get rolling.

That's all I've got for now. Here's to hoping it's not long before I have another installment!

Farewell

2008-04-16T20:55:00.007-05:00

My grandma died on April 4th.

This is the grandma who taught me to bake yeast breads. Who taught me to sew. Who I picked green beans and strawberries with, and cooked and cooked and cooked and cooked meals with at harvest time.

She taught me a new knit stitch at her 91st birthday party February 16th.

She and my grandpa ran a dairy farm 2 miles down the road from where I grew up, which made us next-door neighbors. We spent a lot of time with them, helping with farm chores and eating my grandma's fabulous full-o'-fat farm cooking. They always came to our school plays and ball games, and my brothers and I helped them show the Brown Swiss cattle they were so proud of at the State Fair every September.

Grandma had moved away from the farm six years ago after my grandfather passed away, and I admired the way she embraced such a big lifestyle change at the age of 85. She always kept herself busy - exercising every morning, knitting and quilting for mission projects, playing bridge, going to church and singing in the choir. She even played in a bell choir, though I don't really know how she was able to lift the bells.

I wish I had seen her more - she only lived 1 hour away but I was seldom able to get to her house for a visit. I did get to see her the night before she died, though, which I'm very grateful for. And she knew my kids, for which I'm also grateful.

I know she was ready when she went. It was a pretty spring day when she died, and her hospital room had a rather rural view of a large bank of grain elevators, which I think she would have liked.

It doesn't make me miss her any less though. Goodbye, Grandma. I love you.

Proof of Easter Cuteness

2008-04-15T00:03:00.003-05:00

I finally got my camera back from my mom's house and downloaded Easter photos. You are warned - there is almost too much cuteness!

Little Man and Little Miss posing on Grandma's piano. Cheesy smiles from the one, a hint of amusement from the other. Frankly, she looks a little long-suffering. Speaking from experience as a little sister, that won't be changing any time soon.

The Little Miss, she likes her new shoes.

My favorite Easter photo this year. Kids, eggs and jellybeans. Is there a better combination? I also love that the paci was very apparently thrown over for a jellybean. Fickle kid.

Zone This

2008-03-24T21:04:00.004-05:00

I have downgraded the house building experience from merely Pain In the Ass to Gigantic, Flaming Pain In the Ass. I knew that my posterior was in for a rough bit with this process, but never did I imagine the rigmarole involved, and we're only the teeniest way into the thing.

We had an appointment with the Planning and Zoning Department in our county-to-be last week. I set the appointment with one guy, and figured it would be about 30 minutes, wham-bam, we're out of there. After an hour and a half in a little room with three of the county's finest zoners and planners (watching them for the most part figure out how to use their new mapping software), I now know I must plead with the County Commission for zoning mercy, and, if my pardon comes through, plead again with the Planning and Zoning Department and then AGAIN with the Planning and Zoning Board (the Board, of course, not to be confused with the Department). There shall be much zoning, and even more planning!

All this, to build this little orange rectangle here (note the the general lack of houses, trees, or really anyfuckingthing around):

I guess the coyotes give a fuck if your easements are planned in. Little bastards.

I also met with 3 builders last week and talked with 2 more over the phone. I feel like I'm making progress there, though after walking through so many model homes I'm sure when I get my allowances for floors and counter tops I'll be so sad to find I can afford only linoleum and other plastic products instead of the lovely granite and slate I've been seeing. And then I will pout.

In non-house related news, the Little Miss is one hell of an Easter Egg hunter. She was up before any of the other kids and found every one of the eggs hidden under two feet. She then quickly learned to squirrel the jellybeans out of each and every one. My girl, she likes her some jellybeans. She was absolutely adorable in her little yellow polka-dot Easter dress. It was so cute that, in a stunning feat of suburban housewifery, I made everyone else in the family wear yellow to match her yesterday. It was like the Von Trapp family, but with less whistles.

The Little Man had his four-year-old checkup last week. He was so excited to go because he wanted the doctor to tell him how tall he is. He's been obsessed with his height and his "long legs" lately. And for good reason. The child is 43 1/4" tall! And weighs 40 pounds. Did I mention, it was his FOUR year old checkup? He is kind of an Amazon stick person, and proud of it. The scary thing is that he's only a few inches (for him, a couple of months) from riding all the big kid rides at the amusement park. Yowza.

It Really is Me

2008-03-15T22:46:00.003-05:00

Damn, but the dust is thick around here. Actually, according to the History channel, if I had left a building neglected like this for 6 months the vegetation and vermin would have made serious inroads towards completely demolishing the sucker.

Thank goodness the Internet is a vegetation and vermin-free environment. (At least the vermin are mostly not the bitey, house devouring types)

While I was hiatus-ing, both of the kiddos had birthdays (birthday party planning is over for another 9 months YEAH), the Little Man started pre-school and LOVES it, and the Little Miss is walking, talking (some) and showing her true personality and will any day be running the house. My, but she's a bossy little thing. For someone whose vocabulary consists of "mama", "dada", "hi", "bye" and "ball," she makes it crystal-clear exactly what she wants and browbeats her live-in servants (aka Mom, Dad and Big Brother) into getting it for her. But, she's adorable, so we don't chafe at her rule so very much.

In addition, two family members and a good friend's mom have been fending off cancer, another close friend had a miscarriage and it seems that every time I talk to someone I learn of new, funky, health-related issue that someone is dealing with. It's enough to make me want to stick my head deeply into the sand and wait for 2008 to pass on by.

Not that these stories (and more!) wouldn't have served as great blog-fodder, but quite frankly, I just haven't felt like it. However, a combination of events has made me want to tell stories again:
1. The Little Miss has decided that entire nights of sleep are now ok with her (THANK GOD)
2. My current knitting project is full of holes and I don't want to start over tonight (oh yes, I've started with the knitting)
3. I think I made a major breakthrough this week on a project I'd like to chronicle - building our new house!

I'm very excited about actually having made progress on the house. We decided FEBRUARY 2007 that we were going to do it. Since then, we've been looking at house plans (I swear I've seen at least 1,500 of them) and talking to builders, kind of getting our toes wet. We are finally at a point where we need to make a move and things did start churning this past week.

We found someone in a neighboring town to draw us up some house plans. She's going to put the pieces and parts of the plans we like together into something uber-cool (and that we can afford to build). I've also talked to a banker and builder that I liked. We may end up not using them, but they didn't prove themselves to be idiots immediately, which was refreshing.

This process promises to be one wild ride, so stay tuned.

Who do You Look Like?

2007-09-17T23:10:00.000-05:00

I find it interesting that people automatically try to determine who babies look like. Does he look like mommy? or daddy? Great Aunt Agnes maybe? Really, how do you tell? Especially with the little ones because their faces tend to be kind of mushed. Yet, people always look for it, and almost always offer an opinion.

Resemblances become clearer as the child ages, though - my son tends to favor me, and the Little Miss is definitely daddy's girl. (See, I look for it too) Interestingly, the Little Man acts like his dad and Little Miss is displaying some of my traits.

My entire life I've been told I look like my dad's side of the family, specifically my aunt. The spitting image, or so people always said. She and I neither one saw it, but there must have been something to it because I even had teachers in high school call me by her name more than once by mistake.

Lately, the story has changed. Comments have tapered off about my resemblance to my aunt , and I've been told more than once recently that I look and sound just like my mom. It's kind of thrown me for a loop things have done a 180 like that.

It's kind of made me think . . . Is it normal for a person to morph from looking like one parent to looking like the other as they age? Or is it perhaps more like when people get to look more like their dogs after years of living together? And could that actually happen to me - am I eventually going to look like Mr Me? Any thoughts on this?

Hope for Improvement

2007-09-12T21:52:00.000-05:00

It's been a rather icky day. It caught me rather by surprise - it's the week before our anniversary vacation, and this week was supposed to be busy, but steeped in the anticipation of fun. Unfortunately, the ick just kind of oozed its way in around the edges.

I had some projects at work go south - 3 to be exact. They've been heading in a southerly direction for a few weeks now for one reason and another, but today seemed to have been the day the floodgates let loose. Never fun, and leads to "painful" discussions with clients. You know, the kind where you and the client keep from yelling at each other by using four-syllable Business Speak words in ultra-long compound sentences. Really not my favorite thing.

Today was also my first weigh-in day of my 3rd installment of Joining Weight Watchers - again! I thought I had had a great week - you know it's going well when you're able to feel like you're starving half the time and yet resist eating anything. I've also exercised almost every day as well. I was excited to weigh in and lost a grand total of . . . .2 lbs. That's POINT two, folks. WTF?

I also was assigned a new computer at work. This seems to be a good thing, until you realize that the tech geeks never reload your machine exactly as you had it. I will be weeks getting all the software and passwords and settings that I have been used to using located and reloaded and tweaked to my liking on the new machine. Argh.

Then I got home to the fam, and the Little Man - who is coming off his first fight at daycare yesterday - was feeling ill.

Oh, you want to hear about the fight thing? The fight in which my 3 1/2 year-old THREW A PUNCH at another kid? And got punched back? Yeah, that was a special moment in parenting, getting to hear about that from the daycare provider. It may have also contributed to today's malaise - we spent the entire evening last evening punishing and lecturing.

Back to my story . . .

So, my Little Muhammad Ali was feeling ill this evening. He had had some diarrhea today, and mid-way through the evening he blew chunks all over the living room. He hasn't done that for a year or so, and man, does the volume and consistency of vomit NOT improve as kids age. The silver lining here is that I was rocking the Little Miss at the time and thus Mr. Me got clean-up duty. Still, we had to light candles all over the house to get rid of the stench. Ick.

I'll be staying home with him tomorrow. Which may be a good thing, with work going the way it is. And my stomach starting to feel ooky.

Three-year-olds Rock

2007-08-27T21:24:00.000-05:00

I love the Little Man at three. He has his annoying habits, but he's really become damn funny.

Like the other day when we were going to the mall to get photos taken. By the time his hair was combed and he had on decent clothes (and his sister's hair was combed and she had on decent clothes) he decided he no longer wanted to go. I threw him in the car along with his sister and he did his screaming and carrying on bit until I offered a "treat" if he would be a good boy while getting his pictures taken. As he is a sucker for a bribe (even a vague one), he immediately switched gears and agreed, still snuffling from his fit. And we had this conversation:

"So, you're going to be a good boy the whole time at the studio?"
"Yep."
"And that means no screaming."
"Nope."
"And no running around."
"Nope."
"And no back talking"
"Nope."
"And you will mind everything your mommy says, right."
"Yep. That's the problem."

Or last weekend, when we were packing to go see the grandparents. The Little Man has recently started to pack himself for trips. The packing is a little suspect; his last overnight trip the bag included:
5 shirts
1 pair of shorts
1 dirty sock
1 roll of tape
2 tinkertoys
3 matchbox cars
1 Spiderman DVD (which he has never seen, and we do not allow him to watch)

Still, we applaud the initiative and encourage him in his packing efforts.

He came up last weekend and informed me that he was packed and ready to leave. I had not yet inspected the bag, but I knew he didn't have any underwear in there as we were waiting on the underwear load to dry. I told him that he wasn't ready yet because he didn't have any underwear in his bag, and that we'd have to wait on the drier to pack them.

Two minutes later he comes wheeling his bag down the hall
"Mommy, I'm ready. Get your shoes on."
"No, you're not, you haven't packed your underwear yet"
"I just already did!"

And I looked at him, and noticed his little bare bottom peeking from below his shirt, which minutes before had been clad in underwear and shorts. Those same underwear that were now trailing out the zipper of his bag.

You see why I love three? I hope four is even better.

The Worst Knock-Knock Joke

2007-08-27T21:17:00.000-05:00

As we were cuddling before bed this evening the Little Man tells me this joke:

LM: Knock-knock

Me: Who's there?

LM: Peanut butter jelly sandwich

Me: Peanut butter jelly sandwich who? (say this 3 times fast, I dare you)

LM: Don't eat that peanut butter jelly sandwich, that peanut butter sandwich has mud on it.

As you can tell, he writes his own material. I laughed my ass off anyway.

Medical Malady

2007-08-15T21:41:00.000-05:00

I am sick again. My sinuses hate me. And I hate them right back. I keep getting this thing where my ears, throat, sinuses and jaw hurt so bad that I want to saw my head off. This is the sixth time in six months that I've had it and I am SO very sick of being sick.

I went to the doc to see if there was anything to do other than saw my head off (the thought did finally occur that this may not be the best way to handle it). Unfortunately, my regular doctor was on vacation so I went to see one of her partners. And wow! What an asshole.

I get in the room, he doesn't introduce himself, but just starts right in reading notes & my chart. He asks decent questions, does a little exam, NOT including feeling lymph nodes. We get to kind of a deciding point in the conversation, and he says, "Well, what do you want to do?"

I wish I had said "You went to school for 10 years to learn to ask that question?" or "I got an A in freshman Biology, but I'm frightened that you need my opinion" or "So this is what happens to the lower half of the med school class" or "If I have to provide the diagnosis I want my co-pay back"

Sadly I stuck more with "Um, wellllll" and "I don't know," which isn't nearly as satisfying upon later reflection.

He ended up ordering me CAT scan and bloodwork. However, instead of helping me navigate through the amazing maze that is healthcare by maybe setting up an appointment or giving a recommendation of facility for the tests, he handed me two prescriptions for the tests and took off, without even a "See ya'" or "Don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out".

Yikes. I can't believe this jackass has regular patients. I pity them, these people who do not know the meaning of "bedside manner".

So now, instead of being merely sick, as I was when I went in, I'm also pissed off and cranky. Way to go, lousy bastard doctor. I hate you, man.

Busted

2007-07-18T21:49:00.000-05:00

Before I go to bed every night I check on the kids. Just a little peek, to see if they need covered, or have chucked their pacifier out of their beds, or look as if they need a mommy kiss right on their little angel cheeks. If the evening has gone as evenings should, they have been asleep for a couple of hours and have reached that "a freight train running through my room couldn't wake me" stage of sleep.

Unfortunately, sometimes they don't.

Last night I snuck in to check on the Little Miss. Right as I walked up to her crib her little head popped up, her eyes bright and shiny. I immediately ducked behind the side of her crib before I was spotted. I stayed there, listening to her, surreptitiously peeking around the side of the crib to see if maybe she would pass out again. Of course, she didn't, instead pounding on her matress, wiggling around and fussing.

With a quick look I discovered that as per the norm, the pacifier I had put in her bed had gone. Doh! I couldn't tell if it had been tossed behind the crib with its bretheren in the Pacifier Graveyard, or if I had caught a break and she'd tossed it up front. I had only a short window in which she would put herself back to sleep. If I let her fuss too long, she would completely wake up and we'd be rocking for half an hour. But, she wouldn't put herself back to sleep without her paci.

So, like any rational adult, I dropped to the ground and started army crawling by the front of her crib to see if I could locate a pacifier. The idea was that I'd find one and slip it through the slats of the crib, so she'd just discover it & pacify herself to sleep.As I slowly made my way along the carpet, I started silently giggling to myself. AT myself. I mean, really.

I must have not kept the giggling so silent to myself, because after a few moments I looked up to see two little bright eyes staring, accompanied by the widest, most delighted smile known to man. So. Busted.

And there was rocking that night. But, I didn't mind much. She did catch me fair and square.

A Different Type of Sunbeam

2007-06-27T21:40:00.000-05:00

Do any of you watch Big Love? I tell you, I love that show, but there was a scene in Monday's eposide (which I saw tonight) that, well, DAMN. It creeped my shit out. I get that the show is supposed to be shocking, but making love to the wife - ok, 2nd wife - while serenading her with . . . "Jesus Wants You for a Sunbeam"??!!?!?!!? That's just fucked up, that is.

Little Man, Little Miss

2007-06-25T21:19:00.000-05:00

My children are being really fun right now. The younger, she just learned within the last week to:

Sit up for 30+ minutes at a time

Transfer items from one hand to another

Eat graham crackers (good starter food, grandma!)

Put EVERYTHING into her mouth
Say "da da da da da", every time in a whisper

She's had an eventful week! In addition, she went to the local minor-league baseball game with me and her grandmother and was an angel, even through the fireworks after the game. She was also recently given a completely clean bill of health from her cardiologist and surgeon. She's just been a lovely Little Miss.

Her brother is becoming a big boy right in front of my eyes. He is very close to being completely potty trained - diapers only at night! He carries on a decent conversation, has a crazy, well-used imagination, and has been a pretty good boy in general for the last couple of weeks. He even said 'Thank you for the dinner, mom!' before he trotted off to wash his hands after his meal. Polite every now and again, too!

The Little Man has recently become very interested in mufflers. Every time we're near the car I find him crouched behind it, trying to peer up the tailpipe. He asked me what comes from the tailpipe, so I explained that when the engine runs it makes exhaust and that's what comes out the muffler. He now will tell anyone who will listen - including perfect strangers! - all about this.

Little Man, Little Miss, how did we ever get on without you?

Mysterious Ways

2007-06-22T21:45:00.000-05:00

I just learned that my cousin's baby died. She was less than 24 hours old. I don't even know how to react to this.

This was her second child. She found out late in her pregnancy that the baby's heart was not developing properly. She and her boyfriend were dealing with the news well, and made plans to deliver in a hospital with a great pediatric department on site. She had a c-section as scheduled yesterday, and they rushed the baby straight into heart surgery. Surgery went well, but the baby started to bleed out in recovery, and they couldn't get it stopped.

My cousin never got to see her daughter alive.

My heart breaks for her. She went through nine months of the hormone roller coaster, the physical pain and exhaustion, the excitement, the worry, and the expectation of pregnancy. She dealt with the blow of finding out about the baby's physical problems, and had started to make plans like not going back to work so she could take care of the baby's special needs. She went through major surgery to deliver the baby. Now she's planning a funeral, and explaining to her 7-year-old why the baby isn't coming home.

Her situation echoes so much of what we went through with the Little Miss that it scares the shit out of me. I have no idea why I have a lovely, perfectly healthy pink-cheeked bundle of giggles and my cousin has to pick out caskets while she recovers from major surgery. There but by the grace of God go I. And there, for some reason, goes she.

Farewell, Jada. We will miss welcoming you into our family.

Sunshine

2007-05-21T20:32:00.000-05:00

I sat in the bathroom drying and lotioning the Little Miss this evening after her bath. As usual, the Little Man had crashed our girl-bonding time and was in the bathroom with us, playing, chattering and generally getting into everything.

He said "Mommy, I need go potty. I use my potty chair." Before I could get "you're too big for your potty chair" out of my mouth, he had picked the potty chair up and put it on his head as a hat. Gahhhh! I exploded with the grossness of it all, ordering the potty chair off his chair and quickly went into scold/lecture mode about germs and the general nastiness of putting your head anywhere near anything potty related. I was getting into full swing, carrying on over "Mommy, be happy" and incessant whining. Then, I stopped to get up and take the baby into her room, and he said "Mommy, be my sunshine!"

Really, how could I not? You only get offers like that so often, even if you are in mid-lecture.

Shorts

2007-04-16T21:47:00.000-05:00

So many swirling thoughts with no meat for actual posts. So you get: Shorts.

Drop Him

I would pay a lot of money right now for good way to administer eye drops. I have almost exhausted my meager cache of WWE tricks in pinning down and prying open the eyes of the Little Man for those two precious drops three times a day. And we have four days left to go

G-U-I-L-T

I went to work today while Mr. Me stayed home with our two still-feverish spawn. The Little Man has been insanely attached to me since he's been sick, so he didn't take well to the news that Dad was staying home instead of me. He tried every sneaky wile he could think of to make me stay, and I finally had to pry him off my leg and leave him in a soggy, wailing heap screaming "Mommeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey! Don' go! I neeeeeed you!" Yeesh. The guilt. It is smothering.

And then, there's a second helping.

When I arrived home, the Little Man opened the door from the house as soon as I opened my car door. "Gee, Mom, I sure was lonely without you today." It took him a couple of times to get it out right, complete with his unique Elmer Fudd-like twang, but this was his own sentence, without coaching from dad. *Sob* I'm never leaving the house again.

Curses!
Tylenol Cold with pseudoephedrine has been my highly-preferred method of cure for the common cold for years. I am appalled to discover that they're discontinuing it! The damn government passed a law to make you sign at the pharmacy counter to purchase products containing pseudoephedrine, with some sort of meth-related good intentions. That must have tanked the market for it, because Tylenol put some wussy, third-class drug in its place, slapped 'New!' on the label, stuck it on the shelves and poof! The good stuff is gone.

Waaahhhhh! Damn meddling government! Damn meth-heads! Damn corporate pharmaceutical company!

Damn stuffy nose that won't go away.

Lashing Out

The Little Man came up to me the other day with the nail clippers and said "Mom, clip my eyes." Uhhh . . . As I explained that we never use sharp things like nail clippers on eyes until we become an opthalmologist and are trained to do so, it occurred to me that he was probably referring to his eyelashes. They are insanely long and adorable. To him? Probably really annoying. And you clip hair when it gets too long, and nails. Why not these? What a BOY.

His sister, I'm sure, will immediately appreciate her good fortune in the lash department. At least I hope the Little Miss gets a little of what he's packin'. Because, seriously. . .

Pink Eye, Among Other Things

2007-04-14T22:17:00.000-05:00

I just took my first ever eye drops for pink eye. Whee! There's a milestone I could have lived without.

I've been sick with an icky sore throat/head cold/chest cold thing for going on 4 weeks, which has completely sucked, but the pink eye thing is new. Adds something, feeling like you have gravel in your eyes all the time. Takes your mind off of struggling for breath through a solidly-clogged nose and trying to keep your lungs from flying out in a coughing fit. And swallowing through the ring of fire in your throat. Eye gravel! New! Annoying! Different!

I caught the pink eye from the kiddies, of course. The Little Miss succumbed to her first-ever cold last Wednesday, complete with copious goop issuing out of her eyes and nose. Being the loving little girl that she is, she shared with her brother and by Friday we were quite the snotty, itchy, coughy, cranky little group. Poor Mr. Me, he's had to come home to all us goopy crabby-ass people at night, and he's been pitching right in. He even took night duty last night so I could finally get a full night of sleep. That, of course, is not happening tonight as he went to bed at 5, but at least I got one night.

The kids are actually holding up pretty well. The Little Miss has been a trooper - she has barely been fussy, just looks pathetic with her little red watery eyes and nose. Occasionally she gets frustrated because she can't breathe and eat at the same time, but can ya' blame her? She finally appears to be on the mend, so I've been changing and washing linens like mad, and Clorox wiping everything that stands still because I DON'T want her or anyone else to get reinfected. It would be double super nice if Mr. Me doesn't get infected at all. He has bad eyesight and only wears contacts, so if he gets pink eye he'll essentially be blind for a week. *shudder* I don't even want to contemplate that.

The Little Man has been doing ok too, but, as the resident drama king, he must make the most of every situation. There has been a lot of "Mommy, hold me like a baby" and over-dramatic tantrums for spectacularly stupid reasons. He has been funny - he has to go "Check on Little Miss, check on her pink eye." When he gets over to her, he takes a look and says "Yep, still pink!" And, he gets mad when I tell him he has pink eye, because his eye is NOT pink, it's black. I guess it sounds more manly or something.

I worry about him, though, because he's had two or three nosebleeds every day since he got this cold. He is prone to nosebleeds, but this is kind of ridiculous. When his nose is stuffed up already, then starts bleeding, it's hard to figure out if he should blow then try to get it to clot, or not blow. It's also hard to keep those antsy little fingers out of the nose when it's bothering him which, of course, causes more bleeding. The nosebleed he had tonight lasted for an hour and a half - I was just about to call Ask a Nurse when it finally died down. If this keeps up it's definitely another call to the doctor come Monday morning. I'm going to have to put them on speed-dial.

Eh. These are the weeks where you really earn your mother's day gift.

A Foolish Day

2007-04-04T22:09:00.000-05:00

Ahh, another April Fool's Day has past, and again, I'm older. I used to hate my birthdate, but now I think it's cool. It's on a fun minor holiday, so it doesn't interfere with any other celebration, yet it's easy for people to remember. And, I don't end up getting punked as much as you might think, even being a Fool and all.

This year, the birthday was particularly lovely. Wonderful Mr. Me took pity on me and the cold I've ended up with - and also expanded my 'queen for a day' into the whole weekend -and took the kiddies out to my folks' house Saturday evening. So I got to eat Old Shawnee Pizza with canadian bacon and sauerkraut and salad (mmmmmmmmmmmm) to my heart's content and watch chick movies before I crashed into my nice, clean, snore-free bed. AND I did not have to waken until the first birthday call at 8:30. Bliss!

I got up, threw on some clothes, and headed out to eat breakfast with the family. It was a lovely drive. I tell you, a Starbucks Cinnamon Dolce Latte, awesome tunes belting from the iPod, and perfect spring weather are the recipe for a great trip. Couple that with special birthday luck - literally, no red lights, no traffic the entire drive - and flowers and trees just blooming, hell, even baby calves cavorting in the pasture, and you have an hour of pure perfection, right there.

As I pulled up to the house the Little Man came shooting out the door. "Hey, Mom, it's your Birthday!" He drug me into the house, showed me my presents, and promptly opened them for me - a shake mixer and pack of Silpats. Yeah! He's such a good helper, especially where presents are concerned.

The Little Miss greeted me with a big ol' smile on her chubby face too, and was very cuddly. I swear the little chicken fuzz on her head grew just overnight! I had just enough time to feed her before my dad's famous biscuits & gravy appeared on the table.

After breakfast the Little Man and I went outside to play. He insisted that we go down to Grandma's pond and see Nemo, the giant koi that keeps not being dead, even though it lays on its side most of the time and lists mightily to the right when it does attemt to swim. We also discovered a huge bullfrog that we christened Finnigan that the Little Man thought was too cool. Finnigan was promptly added to the pond visitation list for the rest of the day.

The entire day enfolded along the same vein - relaxed, nice family, great food, beautiful weather, and lots of kid participation. The Little Man ended up riding home with me, and he sang me songs all the way home.

I can't wait to be 29 again next year!

Facelift

2007-03-24T23:41:00.000-05:00

The three of you that visit probably notice that I gave the site yet ANOTHER facelift tonight. I had problems with the old design not working properly in my browser, so I decided to change it again.

I used the new Blogger template tools, courtesy, I'm sure, of the Great Gaggle of Google money being injected into the site. I must say that the tools completely rock out! Makes it SO easy to update the look of the site, and even add what few features I have. I didn't even have to look at the code!

Go Google Go!

Lovely Little Girl

2007-03-24T22:00:00.000-05:00

It has been four and a half months, and I've yet to do a dedicated post about my Little Miss. Not her problems, not my issues with them, just her. Shame on me! How am I going to remember her infancy if I don't write it down? Lord knows, the second kid has all but wiped out my remaining few brain cells, so memory is out of the question.

The Little Miss is a delightful child, truly. She's the most easy-going baby ever, though I hate to say it for fear of jinxing myself. She's extremely laid back and easily soothed. I swear, you can talk the kid out of eating for an hour if you need to with a pacifier and a smile.

She's a very social little thing too. Putting her in her room alone is one of the few things that almost always upsets her. She prefers to be where the action is, even for naps. And, with her brother around, there's always plenty of action around.

She's currently hitting the development milestones of a 3-month old. This puts her a little ahead for a preemie, but a little behind for her actual age. She's smiling, giggling, and "ga ga"ing all over the place, which is so cute. She loves to move and kick, and has started to recognize her dad and me. Her little smile pops onto her face as soon as she sees my face over her crib, which makes me finally understand why some moms just want to eat their babies up! She has yet to roll over, but I imagine it's only a matter of time. Her neck, back and arms are really getting strong.

Surprisingly, she seems to have almost no ill effect from all the surgery. You can barely find the scars on her belly, and she rarely throws up, which is contrary to the surgeon's telling us she'd be a "spitter." The only digestive weirdness she has is in the pooping department - it's always a major accomplishment when the poopies happen, and they're very colorful for a breast-fed baby. We are extremely fortunate that she's done so well.

The Little Man LOVES his sis. I'm actually amazed at how well he likes her. He is constantly running by and petting her head, and if she starts crying and we're not immediately at her side he comes running. "Mom, Dad, baby's crying! Think she's sad! Think she needs her massifier!" He has even laid down beside her on the floor a couple of times and said "You're my best friend." Do I expect this to last? Uh, no. But, it's nice that he likes her now, at least.

All this to say, I can't imagine life without our Little Miss. I mean, look at that face!

Three!

2007-03-05T21:39:00.000-06:00

Last Thursday was the amazing day of threes - the Little Man turned three, and the Little Miss turned three months and three days. On the same day, the first day of the third month! It was threelific! And kind of creepy.

The day started with a trip to the pediatrician for the Little Miss, at which we discovered that she's finally hit the growth charts! Woo hoo! She's in the 25th percentile for height and weight, and 10th percentile for head circumference. She's square, with a half-size head. Whatever. I'll take it!

The Little Man's birthday didn't start out so hot. I had been playing up the fact that we were going to have a fun-filled day, just him and mom. I kind of left out the part that he'd be staying with Grandma during the appointment that morning. And even though Grandma brought him a book and a brownie (which of course I let him eat at 8:30 in the morning, dammit! It was his birthday!) he was super pissed that I was leaving. So, I left my poor, poor son in a puddle of tears and chocolate on the floor on his birthday. If that doesn't make you feel like an ass, nothing can.

Eventually his tears dried and the day turned around. When I returned, we left little sis with Grandma and had a train-filled, lovely day. I took him to a local mall and it was off to the toy store, where he played with a Thomas set in the toy store for 45 minutes and got to pick out a few toys for his birthday. Then we ate at a little diner where a train delivers your meal, while other trains cavort about and keep the kiddies occupied hunting for them. Afterward we went to a local children's museum and he got to climb all over an engine and several cars they have on display there, the only low spot being when he realized that when he was driving the engine it wasn't actually going anywhere. That, and also the giant flaming tantrum he threw when we had to leave. In the middle of the huge, echoing, marble-encased foyer. That echoed. And had snickering strangers all around.

All told, though, a wonderful 3rd Happy Birthday for my Little Man. Let's hope his birthday party next week goes as well.

Back in the Saddle

2007-02-25T22:37:00.000-06:00

So my dreams of writing all the stories from labor and my daughter's hospital stay are fading. They've been prohibiting me from writing anything at all here, so I think I'll shelve them for a while and get back to writing something. She'll be eighteen before I know it, so I better get what I can on the books now and worry about the history later, eh?

I had forgotten how exhausting it is to get no sleep with a new baby! Man. After three-and-a-half months of getting up at least twice every night, I'm finally kind of getting used to it. As long as my caffeine balance is right and happens very early in the day, I can function fairly normally.

Which is great as I'm back to work again too. I've been back for a month now, and am finally used to getting myself and the kiddos ready in the morning. My brain is slowly turning from mush to something I can think with during the day.

It's been a busy week at our house. My dad went into the hospital last Sunday with chest pains, which turned out to be a heart attack. Three days later my daughter had surgery again, this time to repair her humongous belly-button hernia. All is well - my dad is doing great, as is my daughter. All the same, I prefer weeks in which I don't have to juggle which hospital I'm going to!

More soon - the Little Man's birthday is this week, after all! Three years old - gads!

Catching Up

2006-12-14T23:19:00.000-06:00

As life would have it, I gave birth to my lovely daughter five days after my last post here. She decided to put in her appearance on November 7, at 4:22 AM, at only 33 weeks and 3 days old. She was big for a preemie - 5 pounds, 6 ounces, 18 1/2 inches long, and had tons of dark hair.

The Reader's Digest version of the past month: my daughter is gorgeous, and such a good baby I can hardly say that out loud for fear of jinxing myself. She spent three weeks in the children's hospital for surgery and complications from being early, but as of today, after 2 1/2 weeks of being at home, she's doing great.

I have many stories about the past month, but I have been too busy living through things to chronicle them. Thus, I've decided do a time warp and write some non-chronological posts to cover the highlights. So look for more birthing and baby-related stories to come.

Oh, and the winner of the bet is she who chose option "F" - the flood waters broke on the hospital room floor.

Care to Weigh In?

2006-11-02T21:19:00.000-06:00

Yet another doctor's appointment today. It went well - the baby is doing well, moving around like a crazy girl. And, a bonus - I lost, LOST!, a pound after several weeks of gaining at every appointment. Always nice to hear.

It got a little weird when my doc said "Oh, wow!" when he saw my belly, then proceeded to compare its size with other patients who were having twins. I have achieved belly size of someone who is over full-term at not quite 33 weeks. Yippy for me. He said I was a ways off of his "record" patient who got up to 50 cm with her EIGHT POUND TWINS. Which, thank God. I'm sorry, I really wasn't out to set any records, especially as the man has been in practice for over 20 years and has delivered over 3,000 babies. I'm fine with being somewhere in the middle, thank you.

He then went on to tell me about the delivery of another patient who had polyhydramnios. He said "Yeah, there was a lot of water. It flooded the delivery room."

Translation: I am fucked. The man is going to have to sit in a boat to deliver Little Miss.

The reason - my doc tends to be very reserved, so in most cases you can multiply the severity of what he says by about 5. Also, he told me that the other patient didn't start having fluid buildup until very late in her pregnancy - I started earlier and likely will be gallons ahead of her.

Oh, yeah. F-U-C-K-E-D

And so, for the class involvement. Mr. Me and I have a bet on what we will get to replace when my water breaks and I flood my immediate surroundings

A. Our bed
B. Our couch
C. My car, or at least a seat
D. Some miscellaneous section of carpet
E. My office chair
F. Some other random place/thing that I've not thought of

Any guesses? Mr. Me is most frightened for the bed, while I am scared to death of something happening at work (though, I can't think of a better way to get away with destroying office property, hee hee.)

Spousal Support

2006-11-01T21:44:00.000-06:00

I gotta give it to Mr. Me. He's been awesome through all of our recent trials - very supportive, and volunteering to take over a lot more of the housework and Little Man care than before. He does daycare pickup in the evening, and has dinner on the table almost every night when I get home from work. He also does bedtime duty way more than his allotted 50%. He coddles me appropriately and deals with all my moans and groans and flatulence and irritability like a champ.

Tonight, though, he was off his game. He was irritable, both with me and the Little Man. He called before I left the office to request I pick up some KFC so he didn't have to cook. He didn't get very far with the house cleaning project we had lined up for the evening. He whined for hours about the temperature in the house - which we do keep a little on the cool side due to my unstoppable heat flashes, but still.

This pattern continued into the evening, with him falling asleep on the floor and snoring loudly, but refusing to go to bed and getting angry with the Little Man for his occasional loud outburst. The pinnacle of the evening was when he opened the fridge to get a drink and a container of spinach fell to the floor and splattered all over. He ranted and raved for probably five minutes and stormed off to the bedroom.

And though he was acting like our two-year-old, I got it. He had had a bad night. He had had it with being the steady and supportive one. He needed a little love back. So, I cleaned up the mess, and I put the Little Man to bed. And I listened - without laughing - to him bitch and moan about the fact that Spinach! Got on his socks! Which was the only thing keeping him warm! The horror!

And afterwards he was in a much better mood. Which just goes to show that a little love and a big spinach cleanup can work wonders.

Er, Happy Halloween

2006-10-30T23:21:00.000-06:00

Love, Sad Mickey

Update

2006-10-30T22:20:00.000-06:00

I must say, the doctor's appointments have been going decently the last couple of weeks. No new surprises, and tests last week showed that there is no longer baby's blood in mine, so if there was a hemorrhage, it's likely now stopped. We also get to skip a week of sonogram because the blood-flow readings went down as well, hooray!

At my second appointment last week, I did find out that I'll get a physical exam TWICE a week, instead of just once, which I thought was bad enough. Me and that car-jack, we're going to get real friendly. My Doc also told me subtly, because he doesn't say these things directly, that my belly is humongous and that I'll be lucky to make it to Thanksgiving, a month before my due date! As my co-worker suggested, I'll be crossing my legs for the next month.

We did find out that our daughter is already an overachiever. She's huge for her age - over 5 pounds at 32 weeks, when babies normally aren't quite 4. She's also a bit of a prankster - during the fetal stress tests she plays hide-and-seek with the nurse when she's trying to find the heartbeat. It took the nurse 15 minutes today to set it up because every time she'd locate the heartbeat, Little Miss would swim away.

Oh, and there's this.

Really, from our last sonogram - Jane can vouch for authenticity, as she was kind enough to scan it for me. Little Miss says give peace a chance, man.

A Little Note about Little Hands

2006-10-30T21:54:00.000-06:00

Some nights when I lay down with the Little Man to settle him for bed, he puts his little hand up to my cheek, sighs, and says "Mom, I wuv you", or takes a hold of my hand and says "Mommy, can I talk a you?" It makes his mom's heart melt. His little hands are perfect - never dry, but not sweaty, just slightly damp, gentle little boy hands that manage to smell like corn dog and soap and banana and fishing reel oil all at the same time. Those little boy hands, I love them.

Pregnancy Side Effects

2006-10-22T22:27:00.000-05:00

I'm just into my 31st week of pregnancy and unfortunately most of the related side-effects are already in full-swing. Insomnia? Check. Heartburn? Check. Wild mood swings? Check. The pregnancy waddle (coupled with the general maneuverability of a whale)? Oh hell yeah. Oh, and I almost forgot, forgetfulness. Check that one too.

Friday we had our carpet cleaned because it really needed to happen (and I think the nesting phase is starting too). The guy was super nice and did a great job on our house, even with all the stairs (we have a split-level). So, the cleaning guy and Mr. Me told me about 154 times to be careful because the stairs were wet. And now you can totally see where this is going, right?

Pregnancy Clumsiness hit just as Cleaner Guy and Mr. Me called me out for final carpet inspection. I slipped on the first stair and glided with all the grace of a listing blimp (color commentary provided lovingly by my husband) to land on my rump on the bottom stair. I had, trying to be careful and all, kept a firm grip on the banister and it pulled my shoulder out of socket. I have thrown my right shoulder out periodically since eighth-grade basketball, so this isn't a new thing for me, but I still screamed like some creature out of Alien (again, with the color commentary) because it. hurts. like. a. motherfucker.

Those poor men. They were as white as ghosts - even the black Cleaner Guy. He was on my right side and tried to pull me up by my arm which earned him another alien-like scream (and I almost passed out). Mr. Me, thankfully, has helped my put my shoulder back in before, so they traded sides and he helped me manipulate it to the banister so I could put it back in. (Tip: if you ever throw your shoulder out, find the nearest wall/other vertical surface and slowly walk your index and middle fingers up it as far as you can reach - puts it back in place every time).

They took me outside and hovered over me for a while, which was very sweet. Mr. Me actually wouldn't let me re-enter the house and finished packing everything for our weekend trip himself. Thankfully, Little Miss started kicking really softly right after I landed, which I interpreted at the time as her way of asking if I was ok and telling me she was there. (but it may have been more of a "yo, cut it out with the adrenaline rushes, babe)

So, now we can add Various Aching Parts over 90% of the Body, and Clumsy to the list. Check, and check.

Doctors-'O-Rama

2006-10-22T13:42:00.000-05:00

I am now looking forward to two fun-filled months of thrice-weekly doctor appointments, yee-flippin'-haw. For your entertainment and amusement (and in case you care) here's nauseating detail of my schedule .

On Mondays I have my weekly appointment with my OB, at which I have alarmingly learned that we will be doing a physical exam EVERY WEEK, complete with a date with the Vaginal Car Jack (yeah, you know what I'm talking about). For those of you who haven't tried this whole Having a Child thing, this isn't normal. Normal weekly appointments consist of a few questions, blood pressure, measurements, poke on the belly, then you're gone. This, it sucks.

We will also do a fetal non-stress test at that visit as well, where they hook you up with monitors and you lay around and listen to the baby's heart beat and movements and watch contractions on a line graph for a while.

The second appointment is another fetal non-stress test on Thursdays. These are actually not so bad except that they're time consuming. The Little Miss is a mover and a shaker and at my last appointment I was laying in there for over 20 minutes because they kept having to reset the monitors to keep a bead on her heartbeat.

On Fridays, it's a Level-2 sonogram with the specialist OB group across town. They're keeping an eye on my fluid levels - which they charmingly referred to the baby's "olympic-size swimming pool" last week - and her bloodflow levels for the anemia. They don't think she's acting anemic, but are still keeping an eye on it because her numbers are going up and are now just under the scary "really anemic" line. Eh.

Can I just say, thank God for good insurance? We got the bill for the first sonogram and, well, damn. This is just prenatal care - can't wait for those surgical bills. You know they're impressive when your OB tells you to take your checkbook.

Friday the 13th Doesn't Scare Me!

2006-10-13T21:40:00.000-05:00

Today was Friday the 13th. We had multiple Doctor Appointments today. Given our recent medical luck on days that aren't superstitiously charged, can you blame me for being nervous when I awoke this morning?

I must say, though, my nervousness was unwarranted. After today I'm not quite so superstitious any more. It wasn't necessarily an awesome day, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been, so I'm calling that a win.

Firstly, I only have ugly bruises in 2 of the 6 spots that the lady in the lab stuck me in on Wednesday. She normally bruises me with every stick, so I figured I'd look like I'd been beaten by someone who hates arms this morning, but she must have had a good day. Or a miracle occurred. Either way, I only have the WT bruises on my right arm and hand, which works for me.

Secondly, we got lab results back and I don't have gestational diabetes. Thus, I don't have to stick myself with a needle 3 times a day and avoid pie, THANK THE LORD. This baby, she loves the pie.

Thirdly, the re-do of the results-never-come-back-positive-on-this-blood-test test was positive again, but with lower levels than the first test, which is a good thing.

Fourthly (can there be a fourthly?), we had a great meeting with the neonatologist. He was awesome (awesome enough that I got over the scary '70s porn-'stache thing that he had going on within the first few minutes). He took all the information we had, laid it out very clearly about what was being treated and why for all of our issues, and what some of the treatments for complications would be. He also explained very clearly what the baby's treatment would be after delivery and how the surgery would work, and offered to set up a meeting with the surgeon and a tour of the neonatal part of the hospital where the surgery would take place. AND offered to answer any questions we might have at any time. Actually told us to KEEP his number, and call if we got more information and needed to discuss it. He talked with Mr. Me and I for over an hour, just consulting. He was a peach.

Unfortunately, the fun stops there. The ass-master doc who oversaw the sono did confirm (as much as he'd "confirm" anything) that Little Miss has mild anemia. This means weekly Level-2 sonograms to monitor it and see if it gets better or worse. (And, a nice game of Russian roulette as to whether we have to see the ass-master doc or get one of the nice ones, because we have to see whoever is staffing the sono unit that day). It also may mean that, depending on the severity of the anemia, even if she doesn't have to have an in-utero transfusion, she may need a transfusion after she's born. The thought of someone else's blood trucking around my teeny baby's body is NOT so appealing, but I guess whatever they have to do to make her healthy will have to be fine by me.

All in all, Friday the 13th has lost its hold over me. It only brought what has come to be "normal" news around our house, scary enough, but not too terrifying.

Note: Jane's comment brought to mind a funny comment that the doctor made. I asked about using blood donated from someone we chose - it's called directed donation - and he said it was possible if we had 3 or 4 days for processing by the blood bank. He basically warned us to be careful what we asked for, because apparently many people find out about skeletons in the closets of family and friends when they don't pass the blood center screening. As I know Jane has earned over her gallon pin for donation, I'm sure her blood-related skeletons are well under control, but it just made me chuckle wondering news some people found out . . .

And, There's More

2006-10-11T23:06:00.000-05:00

Went to the Doc again today and he had more fun news. One of the "just in case" tests that I've been volunteering as a human pincushion to take came back positive. This is a test that is uncommon enough that the lab technicians couldn't even pronounce it. It's negative NINETY PERCENT 0f the time - the Doc actually had the lab repeat it, then had me go in for a second test to confirm. The result basically means that the baby's blood has seeped into my bloodstream, indicating some level of hemorrhage (fetomaternal transfusion causing fetal anemia, to those playing the "learn a new medical term" home game). So, on top of everything else, the baby may be anemic and may require a blood transfusion IN UTERO.

ARRRGGGGHHHHHHHHH!

So, more worry and angst, and more TESTS. I have FIVE doctor's appointments and tests scheduled in the next couple of weeks. That's after the two tests and appointment I had today. I'm grateful for my awesome doctor and the level of care I'm getting, but yowza, I wish I didn't need all these tests! I've been stuck with a needle 6 times today. Enough already!

He also measured my belly today and I'm measuring the size of someone at 36 weeks, even though I'm only at 30. No wonder I feel as big as a barn - I AM!

This little girl is either going to be a perfect angel after she's born, or God's just preparing us for many more years of worrying about our little hell raiser. Damn.

State of Mind

2006-10-08T23:21:00.000-05:00

I'm feeling better, thanks to all of you for all your kind comments and concern. It's taken a bit, but I'm not quite as shaky as I was. I'm at least able to think about and actually talk about the medical issues without breaking down. A few people have come back with positive stories about friend-of-a-friends, which have helped too (though, honestly, one little pessimistic voice in the back of my head wonders if that makes our odds worse...). I do get insanely pissed off when I have talked to the few people who seem to think "it's no big deal," But mostly everyone has been lovely and supportive.

We've been doing quite a bit of research, both online and by talking to doctors. I'm the type that has to know everything I possibly can before making big decisions, so it's soothing to find every new nugget we can, even though sometimes they're unpleasant. I think we've settled on a delivery hospital and transferring the baby for surgery, but I still need to talk to the neonatologist and surgical office before we make the final decisions.

I've now become a human lab rat-my wonderful doctor is being overly cautious, so I'm scheduled for tests upon tests upon appointments upon tests. I think there will be a permanent bruise on my arm from the vampires in the lab.

I am noticing the effects of the polyhydramnios because I don't recall the 7th month of my last pregnancy being nearly this arduous. Oh, and I feel as big as a barn already - which means I'll maybe feel like an airplane hanger before this is all done with? I'm carrying the Little Miss differently than I did the Little Man, but that can't be the reason that a 45-minute walk can put me down for the rest of the day, if not an entire weekend. Or that I'm already having to sleep with 5-6 pillows at night to support all the various aching body parts. I was looking forward to those lovely perks to start in a month or so, instead of now.

Damn, pregnancy is fun!

Boy's Got Taste

2006-10-06T21:35:00.000-05:00

The Little Man and I were driving down the road the other day and, though the radio was on, I started to try to sing John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt to him. As per the norm, 4-5 words into the song he says "Mom, stop it! Stop singing!". Since he was in the back seat, at least I was saved the requisite attempt to hit me in the mouth.

I stopped trying to entertain my hostile audience, and noticed that The Roof is on Fire by the Bloodhound Gang was playing on the radio. So we drove along, enjoying the song, and I start hearing "The roof, the roof, the roof on fire" coming from the back seat. The best part was that the rearview showed him head banging along with the beat. We sang along with the chorus the rest of the song, and may I just say Thank You FCC for the bleeping of "motherfucker," 'cause THAT would have gone over well at daycare.

He still sings it sometimes, all the while head banging to the beat in his head, but the roof is now under water instead of on fire. I have no idea why, but whatever works for him, it's damn funny either way.

I Fix It

2006-10-01T22:46:00.000-05:00

Today was the first day we've had the Little Man home for a while, and it was a good day. My mental state has stabailzed somewhat - at least my face is no longer randomly leaking - and it was nice to have him running around the house again (my wonderful parents had him for much of last week after we got the news).

He and I were rocking and talking before his nap this afternoon, and he had slowed his normal pace and was being cuddly and sweet. He had been complaining about his head being 'broken' the moment before, so I kissed it and he said "Thanks, Mom, it's fixed".

He started tracing my eyebrows and forehead with his finger and said "Mom, you head broken too?" When I told him yes, I thought it was, he said "It's ok Mom. I fix it."

I like his confidence. I bet he actually can.

What a Crap Week

2006-09-28T14:13:00.000-05:00

Monday started out great. The Little Man woke up in a decent mood and we watched Mickey! in the morning while snuggling and drinking apple juice. Went to work, and I actually felt as if I had a bit of a handle on my job, which has been out-of-control stress for a month. It was a lovely day to boot.

At 3:00 all hell broke loose. Things at work fell out of the sky and onto my head and I spent until 8:00 that evening scrambling to put them right again.

And, mentally, I snapped.

I spent much of that night having insomnia and mentally raging against The Man. In the morning, I had an hour-long meeting with a project manager, much of which I spent BAWLING UNCONTROLLABLY. (Don't you want to hire me? I'm such a professional.) And I went home for the day because I was such a gawd-awful mess.

Wednesday morning we had a doctor's appointment, a Level-2 sonogram. We had to be there at 7:00 AM, I woke at 4. Insomnia-rage-against-the-man wash, rinse, repeat, with an extra helping of worrying about the baby. So my wonderful hubby woke early too & we went to breakfast at 5:30 before the appointment, you know, to beat the rush.

The sonogram confirmed a couple of problems that the doc had found the previous week. Turns out I have polyhydramnios, and the baby, she has duodenal atresia. Neither is fatal with proper treatment. It could be so much worse - both are correctable. Yadda Yadda Yadda.

But.

All of a sudden I have a high-risk pregnancy and have to "take it easy" with a 2 1/2-year-old. All of a sudden, I have to choose a hospital based on whether they have a Level 3 critical care unit, not in case of emergency, but because I know she'll need it when she's born. I have to find, not a pediatrician, but a pediatric SURGEON and anesthesiologist and neonatal specialist because she'll be in surgery within 24 hours of her birth, and be invaded with tubes and such the minute she's born. All of a sudden I have to be constantly hyper-aware of her movements as there's a greater chance that her cord will wrap around her neck. All of a sudden I have to prepare my maternity leave around the possibility I could go into labor a month or more early and that my precious little girl will spend her first weeks, if not months in the hospital instead of her crib with the new pink sheets. All of a sudden. . .

It is a fluke and a miracle that we caught it - a nurse scheduled me for a sonogram last week that I wasn't supposed to have, thank God. We also, thank God, live in an area where we have choice about surgeons and specialists and specialty hospitals. And, catching it early lets me have my mental breakdown now with just normal pregnancy hormones to deal with and not the crazy post-partum stuff. But can I just say, all thankfulness aside, I'm not dealing with this well.

Went in to work after the appointment for an ill-advised and way-too-frank meeting with my supervisor (you REALLY want to hire me now, I can tell), then went home to work for the week. Because I am a walking disaster that spurts tears at the drop of a hat and spends 2-3 hours in the dead of every night alternately cursing my job and worrying about my baby. Because I can't actually deal with people right now. Because I'm actually hiding in my house until my face stops leaking already.

I wonder when that will happen?

Not for the Faint of Stomach

2006-09-26T18:47:00.000-05:00

I put the Little Man down for his nap last Friday, as usual. Also as usual, he didn't go down easily, or quietly, and was still protesting when I shut the door and told him I'd see him when he woke up. Not usual - but pivotal - was that he was wearing only a diaper at the time. Not because he suddenly had a need to go a little WT, but because he had totally trashed his clothes at the park.

After a bit I heard actual crying intermixed with the whining and protesting that was trickling from his room, so I went up to investigate. And, oh my. OH my. Ewwwww doesn't even come close. (and those with a weak stomach, you'll want to stop reading RIGHT HERE)

I walked into the room, which reeked. The Little Man was laying in his big boy bed, crying, covered in crap. Oh yes, literally (shudder). I actually had to grab him by the shoulder for the march to the tub because it was one of the few clean spots I could find.

As much as I can piece together, he decided that it was time for a nice BM, and that going in his diaper was overrated. So, he stripped down and did his thing in the corner. On the carpet. Then, because hey, why not, he RAN A GIANT DUMP TRUCK THROUGH IT. Apparently he then tried to clean it (or himself) off with his hands, climbed the ladder and got into the top bunk of his bed, came back down and crawled under the covers in the lower bunk. And then, only then, did he decide that he did not like being covered in poo so much and began to cry.

WHAT THE FUCK.

All I can say is thank God for Clorox wipes, carpet shampooers and washing machines. If it weren't for them I would have had to cut his room off the house and let it just fall into the yard. 'Cause, DAMN people. Cleaning little boy crap out of the treads of a giant dump truck is NOT for the weak-kneed.

I truly hope this is a one-time-only precursor to interest in potty training. There just HAS to be a silver lining.

Fall!!

2006-09-23T09:45:00.000-05:00

Temperatures have been bearable around these parts for a couple of weeks. A few of the over-achieving trees have started to turn. Yes, there are hints that my favorite, favorite season is here. And THANK GOD, I didn't think summer would ever end already. Fall, winter, spring, these are all fine by me. Summer, with its breath-stealing humidity and skin-burning death rays, and, perhaps worst of all, shorts, is completely for the birds. I always look forward to its end with glee.

I really know Fall's officially here, however, because I've had my very first Pumpkin Spice Latte of the season, accompanied by the mandatory slice of pumpkin bread. Mmmmm-mmmm, damn tasty stuff.

Caught With My Parenting Pants Down

2006-08-25T12:44:00.000-05:00

I'm shell-shocked. I just attempted to take the Little Man to his first class. And it went oh-so-badly. SO badly.

I chose a play/gymnastics class at My Gym, thinking that he would enjoy the physicality of it and benefit from someone teaching him how to control his ever-lengthening body (the kid is over 38" tall at 2 1/2 and has the wingspan of a condor - I'd like to give him at least a shot at coordination!) We got there for our free trial class a few minutes early. And the Little Man went apeshit. There was all this stuff to play with - ladders, slides, a ball pit (SURELY cleaner than McDonalds) a basketball goal at which he could dunk, and lo, other children! He ran around happily from one thing to the other, diving, climbing, sliding and generally laughing like a madman. And he didn't push, he didn't hit, he didn't make any negative contact whatsoever with another child. I was so proud!

Then class started. The teacher sat down for Circle Time. And all the other little kiddies dutifully sat on their mommies' laps and patted the ground. Except for me, who was trying to figure out what the hell was going on and keep an eye on the Little Man, who was having no part of these silly people who were sitting when you could be running and playing! I finally pulled my head out and went and grabbed the boy and carried him, protesting loudly, over to the circle. And I made the stupid mistake of sitting beside the teacher to the left, so I got over to the circle just in time for the "question of the day": What is your name, and what is your Mommy's name?

Oh my.

My son knows his name. He says it when he wants to point out that something is unequivocally his, or to say "I not a boy. I Little Man!". When I ask him what his name is, his reply is always "Darwin" (our cat) or "No-No" (our former cat) or sometimes Mommy, accompanied by a giggle. He is a smartass, you see (I have NO idea where he gets that from). And I don't think he has a clue what my name is. He calls me various forms of Mommy, and sometimes Honey, which is what his dad uses most of the time.

Fortunately/unfortunately when she posed the questions to my son who I knew had no answers, he was still wrestling with me trying to get back to the playing. All she actually got out of him was an "I stuck!" At which, you know, they chuckled. However, the chuckling stopped as the wrestling billowed into a full-blown temper tantrum while the next polite, socially-apt child was giving his well-formed answer to the teacher.

I gave the Little man a hushed lecture, a series of choices and an ultimatum, but finally we got up and left. After a sum-total of about 5 minutes in the room. My kid is clearly not down with the Circle Time, or any other structured activity for that matter.

How is it that 10 other kids in the same general age group (ok, he IS on the younger end) can manage to sit and participate in a group activity and mine is the only one that acts like he was raised in the wild by hyenas? Do you have to start at 6-mos with the expensive-ass Gymboree classes to instill this behavior in your kid? Or maybe this is my penance for not attending church regularly (or at all). And are they really supposed to know their mom's real name at 2 1/2? I read Parenting - how could I be missing out on such vital knowledge as "your son is socially incapable AND he doesn't know your name, shame, shame".

The Little Man has been behaving really well for the past month, minding and learning new phrases like crazy. He's polite - says please, thank you, no, thank you, you're welcome and blesses people when they sneeze. Last weekend we put up his big-boy bed in his new room and he's slept in it fine every night except the first (besides rolling out of it onto the toddler mattress on the floor occasionally). And he can get up and down the ladder to the top bunk safely (yes, we taught him this for fear of him getting up to the top bunk some non-safe way like climbing up a pile of pillows, which he attempted, and not knowing how to get down). And he's started helping with chores around the house. I thought he was a little ahead for his age!

This is the first time in about 6 months I've felt like a completely inept parent. Help me, Internets! How do you give a bright, active, independent kid group social skills? Because I obviously sure as hell don't know. At this rate he'll be the kid in kindergarten that's running laps around the room while class is going on. I can see a lot of principal time in my future.

Eh.

Worlds Collide

2006-08-18T02:14:00.000-05:00

I've been tossing around in bed tonight with pregnancy-induced insomnia and heartburn, playing an endless loop of "what went wrong at work today" in my head to the theme song of Higglytown Heroes. As I had a horrid week at work, hate having insomnia and the ever-present heartburn, and double-hate Higglytown Heroes (and that I was up to watch it at 6:30 AM), I dub this montage "Things I Hate the Most About My Lives".

The end.

An Announcement

2006-08-13T21:51:00.000-05:00

Being the spotty poster that I am, I've failed to write about a fairly significant thing going on: I'm pregnant. Yep, you'd think that this would trickle into a post faster than, say, a comma key, but then you'd be mistaken. This is because I'm looking out for your best interest. Because I care for my readers, the both of you. You skipped the whining about months and months of fertility angst, the crazed rantings from the weeks of hormonal insanity (courtesy of Chlomid's first cousin), and all bitchy posts from the first-trimester ickiness. You're just in time for stories from the 2nd trimester. Of which there are none. Well, at least not many.

Except that I'm growing out of my clothes ALREADY at 5 months. These second babies really do blossom out early, so I've alreay broken out the always-attractive Pregnancy Pants. Bleh.

And that, along with insomnia and ever-present heartburn and the weird joint pain that I get, I now have some sort of weird pain in my lower abdomen that wakes me up when I turn over in bed. (Love my doc, but "just ligaments stretching", my ass. I think I pulled a muscle.)

Oh, and my kids are already abusing each other. The Little Man has gotten in several pretty good head-butts in the belly despite the constant "be careful of Mommy's belly!" warnings. And the little one kicks him in the head whenever he lays down on my belly, generating confused looks from the abuse-ee.

And we found out we're having a girl. :-) The Little Man seems excited and will say "Yes, I having Baby Sister", but if you ask him where she is, the answer is always "in the car" or "downstairs". And when I go downstairs and get in the car, he's right.

Welcome to the blog, Little Sis.

A Lesson in Self-Editing, Brought to you by Dell

2006-08-01T20:15:00.000-05:00

My comma key just fell off. FELL OFF! I realize that I type probably 72% more commas than are strictly necessary, and leave at least 30% more than are needed after editing. However. It's a bit harsh to have the key actually try to flee for its life after a little over-exertion. Maybe it's a pre-set by Dell - after so many commas, the key is set to just pop off.

I wonder how many "a"s I have left.

An Addendum - I must say many thanks to those who said a few words at the reported demise of my comma key. However, the following evening, courtesy of a long 30 minutes with tweezers and a magnifying glass, it lives again! Take that, Dell!

And even milk!

2006-08-01T19:39:00.000-05:00

The Little Man is becoming quite the little card. He's getting more articulate, and (likely thanks to the massive amount of TV he imbibes) tries out a lot of things and phrases daily that I have no recollection teaching him. Thank God we haven't started him on the Cheech & Chong or hard-core Sci-Fi yet, so mostly when he tries out new material it cracks my ass up.

A sampling:

He practiced pratfalls in the living room the other day. Falling on the edge of the couch cushion to the floor, over and over and over. For no apparent reason, and not necessarily even looking up to see audience response.
He randomly picked this line up out of a train documentary "[Trains haul] gas, oil and even milk!" He spent the rest of the day coming up to me and saying, "Even milk, Mommy! Even milk!"
I was changing him out of his pajamas and the shirt got stuck half-way over his head. He looked at me with his little face sticking out of the middle of his bunched up yellow shirt and said, "Mommy! A sunflower!"
This morning right after rising, he started tugging at his full, saggy-wet diper. I asked him, "Are you wet? Do we need to change your pants?" "No, Mommy, I have gas." "You have gas?" I asked him, starting to giggle. "Yes, Mommy, gas, oil, and even milk!"
We're in the car and I hear this little voice pipe up from the back seat in an adoring tone,"Fuck!" My mind instantly went into overdrive about where he learned this - was it me? Mr. Me? My parents? And, wherever he got it, he hasn't been using that term nearly long enough to be actually fond of it. I looked in the rear-view and finally saw him staring lovingly at his truck. You know, when you're two that "tr" sound can be awfully hard to pronounce.

We've Got Gas

2006-07-19T08:03:00.000-05:00

Mr. Me and I have been enjoying a baby-free week due to daycare being closed and oh-so-generous grandparents taking the Little Man for the week. The Week! It's been glorious.

We went out on our first night to ourselves to dinner and a movie - predictable date, but such a treat these days. We got home at 11:00 and my plans included falling into bed literally the minute I got home. But. When we got upstairs for pajamas/bed, we noticed this horrible smell coming from the air conditioning vents. It smelled like farts. Like our house was farting out the vents. It had started to smell the night previous, but I wrote it down to the cat pooping in an inappropriate place that I would locate later. It had gotten stronger overnight, though, to almost uncomfortable levels. I thought to myself that I REALLY needed to make an effort to find that pile of poo, but first thing tomorrow because Dear God I'm exhausted.

Mr. Me, however, had more energy and went down to the basement in search of the source. He came bounding up the stairs "Honey, we have a gas leak. Let's call the fire department!"

Now, I know what gas smells like and this smelled like a whole different type of gas, but I also know that if I didn't put this gas-smell thing to bed he would be bugging me half the night and I would get no sleep. And calling the fire department? Pshaw. So I trekked down to the little room in the basement where the heater & hot water heater live and I smelled something too. It smelled odd, kind of like gas, but if it was gas it wasn't a lot.

Mr. Me took this as confirmation that the house was completely full of gas and started throwing open the windows of my nice, cool house to the muggy 95 degree night air. And he called my dad - our local handyman - who said that if we had a gas leak we needed to get out of the house and call someone.

"Honey, we need to get out of the house NOW and call 911". Apparently talking with my father had shot him right into "our house is going to blow up any second" orbit. Sigh. Our house is full of running electronics - if it had a blowing-up amount of gas in it, it would have blown up already. And, you'd be smelling natural gas throughout the whole house, which I wasn't necessarily convinced we had any gas even in the utility room. I tried arguing, but to no avail. I at least talked him into calling the gas company instead of 911, but he nagged me to hurry and leave the entire time I was going to the bathroom and changing fom my pajamas.

Sitting on the stairs in front of the house was not good enough for my protector, so I ended up sitting on the curb in the dead of a swamp-hot night with pebbles digging into my ass getting madder by the minute. All the while my worry-wart husband paced back and forth, back and forth across the drive, insisting that he's made the right decision.

Finally, FINALLY, the gas guy arrives. And informs us that we have sewer gas coming up through the drain in the basement. And that it can be fixed with a few gallons of bleach water.

This will provide me with YEARS of material for snark-laden commentary. YEARS, I tell you.

Swimmin'

2006-06-02T21:45:00.000-05:00

The Little Man and I ventured out to our local city pool for the first time this week. We live in a little suburban town adjacent to The City, one of the many towns clustered around and clinging to its coattails. Frankly, I live within 10 minutes of the pools in 3 different cities, but we chose the one of the town where we actually live because

It was cheaper - they give you a discount for being a resident, and
Sometimes the other city pools check ID and actually won't let you enter if your driver's license doesn't say you're from that town.

I wasn't sure what to expect at the pool - would the Little Man have a huge cow and run screaming from the building after I paid the fee? Is there just one big swimmin' hole there, or would there be a wading pool for the little guys? If there is a wading pool, will the water be visibly green from all the pee, or will it at least appear to circulate enough to dip a toe in?

Turns out we had a lovely time. The pool had a wonderful kiddy pool, completely separate from the main pool. It had all sorts of cool squirty things and fountains, and was complete with a big water slide for the under 4-ft set! (Oh, and proper circulation - the water appeared to be lovely and fresh, even though with that many little guys in it it was most assuredly not). The Little Man loved it! He shivered for the entire 2.5 hours that we were there, but he had a grand old time squirting the squirters, splashing all over the place, and oh the slide, the SLIDE! He couldn't get enough of the slide, even though he kept getting in trouble for going down on his belly (he discovered early on that you go faster that way). He actually begged to go down the really big story-tall covered curly slide in the big-kid pool, but the lifeguards and mommy have rules about that sort of thing.

The only alarming thing about the pool was actually the other swimmers. The copious ink covering the flesh of too many mommies and daddies. The number of 2-and-3-year-old boys wearing actual BLING with their swimsuits. And there were some missing teeth, on people older than 7. Maybe I should have gone to some other city's pool because my neighbors run a little towards the W-T.

Bonus points of the pool - swimming makes little boys really hungry, so he ate a great dinner. And, swimming makes little boys really tired, so the Little Man crashed on the couch right after we put his jammies on. Methinks we're going to be frequent fliers at the pool this summer.

Perspective

2006-05-30T21:36:00.000-05:00

A post by my friend Dorothy got me to thinking the other day about how different a story can be if the characters are changed.

I won't bore you with repeating her version - she says it so much better herself. Here's how things would have gone down if it had been the Little Man and I.

For starters, he would definitely be the instigator of the running to throw pennies in the fountain. (I think he's actually forgotten how to walk. He never walks when he can run! and get there fast!) I would be doing the Mommy Shuffle in his wake, but I'd be more apt to want to join up with the Starbucks ladies and covet their beverages than to chastize them into Shuffling themselves.

Before the Penny Throwing, we'd have an added scene of Fountain Splashing (unless Mommy's Shuffle was shuffling faster than normal and I caught up with him before Splashing could ensue). After another added scene of Tantrum Throwing because geez, woman, you only have FIVE PENNIES!!!, he would automatically start running back to the other side of the mall.

I'd finally catch up with him near Target, where he'd be running circles around me as I stood gasping with a stitch in my side. Then he'd carry me back to the car.

And he's never even heard the word "workout".

I'm firmly convinced that God has this mom/kid personality matching figured out. Dorothy will continue to be a wonderful role model for her Little Angel, and the Little Man will undoubtedly end up being one for me.

Back in the Saddle

2006-05-10T19:13:00.000-05:00

I'm going to kick my own ass sometime next year, I'm sure of it. One of my favorite things about my blog is going through old posts to see what I and, more importantly, the Little Man was up to in months past. It's going to be much, much harder to go back through the ones that AREN'T THERE for the past couple of months.

I just haven't felt like writing anything lately. No idea why I've been in such a funk, or slump, or whatever, just haven't. I've actually had decent material too, like Mr. Me shattering our back door with a screw, or finding out I have a new nephew who is two years old. But nothing's sparked the writing bug.

So, in an effort to climb back on that horse, here's some of Mr. Me's latest cutenesses:

If he needs to go somewhere, he says "a han!", grabs your finger and pulls. If you won't get out of the chair fast enough, he says "Pull! Pull! Pull!". That means he's pulling hard.
Since the day we dug up worms under a rock, he is obsessed with them. " A Vurm! A Vurm! A Vurm in my han!" (and yes, he also has a German accent) Unfortunately, he is not very nice to Vurms, with the throwing and trying to squish them and all.
As you can surmise, the Little Man is talking a LOT. Much of it we still can't understand, but he adds more and more discernable words every day, my favorites of which are "Dude!" and "Burgundy".
He now has favorite movies. He will sit all the way through "Wallace and Gromit: the Curse of the WereRabbit" and "Robots", and requests them so much more frequently than his mom will allow the viewing.
Driving! is still a favorite. He now requests to "drive Mommy car" every evening. He has also developed the habit of having his daily constitutional while he's driving, as if he's some little old man that requires his Sunday drive to loosen things up. Like clockwork, if the kid is driving my car for more than 5 minutes there will be a subsequent poopy to change - and more than once it's leaked onto my leather (ewww!).

That's it for a first day back in the saddle. And even with this short little thing my keister will probably be sore in the morning.

2006-03-27T22:20:00.000-06:00

Happy Birthday, Little Man

Two Years and Three Feet

2006-03-01T20:37:00.000-06:00

Today is the Little Man's Happy 2nd Birthday. The past five days have been a flurry of parties and presents and Cake! He loves Cake! And cookies - kee-kees - but mostly Cake! (and it's always said with an exclamation point, even if his mouth is full of Cake!)

He's getting so big, and funny, and cute I can hardly stand it. He is a quarter-inch shy of three feet tall, which gets him into pretty much everything he wants to get into. Light switches, doorknobs, cats snoozing on the bed - nothing is safe from his massive wingspan. Every day he adds new words to his repretoire - sometimes surprising me with things I've tried and tried to get him say and he stubbornly won't.

His two-year-old temperment is in full bloom as well. He has his "angry eyes" down pat, can throw a full-blown tantrum at the drop of a hat and, dear God, has started whining. It's gotten so bad that we've already had discussions about adjusting his attitude, and he's been threatened (successfully!) with loss of priviledge if said attitude is not improved. The best threat to date is not getting to go to lunch with/go see Gama and Papa. Produces immediate sunshiney happiness and instant minding, I tell you.

He is a wonderous and wonderful Little Man. I can't be prouder of him, and couldn't love him more. Happy Birthday, Little Man.

Six Hours I Will Never Get Back

2006-02-18T22:42:00.000-06:00

I just arrived home in a formal dress and heels with a Sonic bag swinging from my hand and a wine headache as big as Texas. I attended our local advertising club awards show this evening for the first time, which I have since concluded is naught but a communal circle-jerk for the local ad agencies in my metro area. Needless to day, I was not really impressed.

I decided to go because I worked my ass off on a project last year that was entered in the competition. We know it won, just not what level of award it won, and I wanted to be there to see it win big. Also, because I had never been before and I thought it would be fun. HA, ha ha ha ha, silly girl.

Acting on information (as it turns out, erroneous information) that this was a black-tie event, I started suiting up about 4:30. Hair, makeup, layers of restrictive undergarments, heels - it's been a while since my toilette has been this extensive. The Little Man wasn't sure quite what to make of it. At one point he walked in the bathroom when I was standing in undergarments with a mask on my face. He got this look of horror on his little mug, left the room, then reappeared in seconds with a pair of my pajama pants that he tried to hand to me. "If you're going to look this scary, woman, at least put on some pants!"

I left for The Event around 6:00, all gussied up with my Little Man in tears because Mommy was leaving, and Mommy didn't want him touching her or her clothing just then for fear of ick tranfer to her clothes. Poor guy.

I arrived at the Event completely uncomfortable and overdressed, displaying cleavage out to here which my boss's boss and my boss's boss's boss were privy to - not the most comfortable feeling. And without a buddy. This was my critical mistake. I didn't ensure that at least ONE of my cohorts was going, consequently, I ended up being on my own most of the evening. There were plenty of people from the agency I worked for there, but I didn't really know any of them & they seemed disinclined to take in a fledgling. At least they gave us $20 apiece for booze, so the wine headache was free.

The awards started, the MC did his shtick, and they slowly started through the categories. Finally they got to Interactive. They went through all the winners - not ONE was a project I worked on, and we had submitted FIVE! Shut out. Damn.

A few more categories in, our VP came up to the table with our award. Apparently one of our projects actually did win, but they FORGOT TO ANNOUNCE IT. The awards themselves don't have the specific name of the project on it, so I still don't know which of the five it was. Even if it was the one I poured sweat and tears into and completely railroaded through to deadline myself, whoever sent in the nomination form listed me as the assistant producer instead of the lead producer anyway. Sigh.

Oh yeah, the Sonic. There I was, in a rotten mood, being slowly strangled to death by my clothing, and slightly drunk, and they KEPT PLAYING SONIC COMMERCIALS because the Sonic creative was a big winner. So, I left early and stopped by for a small burger and tots. It was the least I could do for myself, right?

And in answer to your invitation to go to that upcoming awards show or fancy-dress party, HELL NO.

I'm It!

2006-02-17T22:15:00.000-06:00

I've been Tagged by Average Jane! So, a meme for you.

What were you doing 10 years ago?
I was a senior in college, desperately sick of school and working two part-time jobs and just trying to GET OUT. I was dating my husband, and living in an old apartment with a co-worker and her boyfriend. As I recall, I was a receptionist at a plastics manufacturing plant by day and a mutual teller at the local dog track by night.

What were you doing 1 year ago?
I had just agreed to work an extra day a week to meet deadline on a huge client project. I was also preparing for the Little Man's first birthday party. And, according to the blog, I was sick and whining about Mr. Me's lack of helpfulness. Yuck. Glad this is this year and not last!

Five snacks you enjoy:

Kettlecorn
Pears
Dannon Yogurt Smoothies
Rice Krispy Treats
Ice Cream, currently non-fat items

(gee, the dieting doesn't show, does it?)

Five songs to which you know all the lyrics

Hush, Little Baby
Margaritaville by Jimmy Buffet
You are my Sunshine
Banana Pancakes by Jack Johnson
Amazing Grace

Five things you would do if you were a millionaire

Build a really cool house
Pay off all our debts
Pay off our parents' debts
Travel with family
Send our kid to whatever college he likes

Five bad habits

Procrastination
Running my car too low on gas before refilling
Not pushing the drawers back in my bureau after I get something from them
Not giving my son enough time to transition between activities
Letting our laundry go until we are almost out of clothes

Five things you like doing

Playing with the Little Man
Reading
Hanging out with my friends & family
Singing in the car
Playing volleyball

Five things you would never wear again

Legwarmers (shudder)
Mall bangs
Tube tops
A perm - poodle, anyone?
A bikini

Five favorite toys

Palm Treo phone - love it!
Video iPod
Dell laptop
TiVo
Bobble-head velveteen moose that I bought in New Hampshire

More and Less

2006-02-17T21:57:00.000-06:00

The medication seems to be doing the trick for the kitty. Mojo begs for food constantly, has a little more flesh on her bones, and, boy oh boy has the volume in the cat box gone nuts. Yick. Thank you , my wonderful vet, for having the guts to try something that, at least for now, is working out great.

I, on the other hand, am becoming less of myself daily. I joined Weight Watchers mid-January so far it's working pretty well. I've been losing steadily at a pretty good clip, and it's not been as hard as I thought it would be. I don't really like to talk about weight loss efforts because it seems to ensure that they tank. Feeling pretty optimistic about this one, though, so maybe it's safe to proclaim that next year, though I doubt I'm a super model, at least there should be much less of me and hopefully more energy to go around!

Poor Kitty

2006-02-05T21:06:00.000-06:00

My poor little kitty Mojo (or No-No, if you're the Little Man) is sick. She won't eat. She used to pork out on just about any cat food in range of her snout. Last summer she had gotten so hefty that she could barely squeeze her way through the banisters on our stairs to escape pursuit by the Little Man. Now, she can go through without touching.

Her weight loss was pretty gradual - I finally became concerned about it in November. When I took her to the kitty doc, she had lost 5 pounds - a lot for a 14-lb. cat. The doc did her exam thing, and the super-expensive blood test and the result was that hey! she's not eating! and it was causing her liver to start eating itself. So the answer was that I needed to feed her! Which I'm thinking I could have figured out without the $150 blood test, but I guess it's nice to know it wasn't something else.

We started plying her with a variety of wet cat foods, and discovered that she had become extremely finicky. We finally found some treats & food she would nibble at, but have to keep rotating them because all of a sudden the pick of the week will fall out of favor. We kept an eye on her and thought she was eating the appropriate amount, and maybe gaining a little weight. But I got worried again and took her in again last week, and she had lost an additional 2 pounds. And now has a heart murmur. After an x-ray and additional blood tests, we still know that Hey! She's still not eating! And they can't find anything wrong, so maybe it's irritable bowl, and maybe it's cancer. And for $2,500 in additional tests we can find out for sure.

I love my kitty, but I'm enough of a farm girl that it's hard for me to spend that kind of money on an pet. Especially since my vet told me that they may or may not find out for sure, and if it is cancer we could spend several more thousands of dollars for treatment to maybe extend her life for 15 months. With either diagnosis the treatment was the same medication - dosage was the only question.

So, we've decided to go with the pills without the tests. There's a chance they will kill her, and a chance they will make her better, and a chance they'll make her better for a little while and then she'll die anyway. I'm starting to get paranoid that I'll walk into my room and find her dead on my bed. I'm not sure how I'll deal with that.

She's sitting on my lap now, keeping warm. All bones and fur, curled up in a little ball, purring. I truly, truly hope she gets better soon.

Fantasy vs. Reality

2006-02-03T20:21:00.000-06:00

I've been re-reading the Setephanie Plum series by Janet Evanovich the past week. I love it. It is book candy - not much substance, but addictive and as fun as fiction gets. I found the series when we went on a trip to Florida. I was so hooked that I actually ended up buying every book in the series at airport bookshops and what Barnes & Nobles we could locate with our tourist navigational skills. I ended up hauling seven books home in my carry-on. Now THAT'S addiction.

When I read a series like this, sometimes I find myself slightly sucked into the "world" of the books in every-day life. I've noticed that every now and again I unconsciously try to make my internal dialogue funnier, like the main character's. Probably I'll end up starting a sentence with "probably," like the author does constantly. (d'oh!) Re-reading this post, my sentences are even a little choppier than normal, again, a la Evanovich. Yikes!

Does this ever happen to you, oh readers? Have you ever gotten sucked in by fiction?

Hummer

2006-01-23T22:35:00.000-06:00

The Little Man is doing a fabulous job trying to learn new words. He's been repeating about everything we say, with varied success with pronunciation. (And no, this is not where I talk about the huge cursing rant I just had. Even though I just did. But he gets bored with those words.)

Friday we were playing on the floor and all of a sudden he says "Hum-mer. Hum-mer." Completely out of the blue. He was playing with a truck at the time, so it wasn't a stretch to go the "vehicle" route with the meaning. Instead my mind went the "have you been watching pron at daycare again?" route**. Sadly enough, that's the first place his dad's mind went when I told him about our Word of the Day after work. Great minds and all.

Luckily, I wasn't left in the dark long (nor forced to set the parental controls on Tivo). Saturday I was fixing lunch and he looked up at me and said "Hummer! Hummer!" A bulb finally flipped on and I asked if he was hungry and he said "Mmmmm, hmmmmm. Hummer!" And I laughed that shaky, relieved laugh. I can see his new word having a long life in our family.

Hummer, anyone?

**Those of you who don't "get" this post, God bless you. I'm happy there are still folks like you around.

What are you teaching that kid?

2006-01-10T23:29:00.000-06:00

The Little Man has been jabbering up a storm for several months now. He's actually the most vocally adept member of his little daycare (I'm not thinking that means anything necessarily, but it sounds cool). His skill level varies day to day - the words go in and out, sometimes he'll add 2 or 3 words in a day and actually use words for many of the things he wants. The next day, he promptly forget them all and goes back to his standard of using "ba" for all nouns but Mommy and Daddy.

In a vain attempt to coax my child into talking before he's good and ready, I tried a little home schooling the other night. The Little Man pointed to a cat in the book we were reading and said "Ba! Ba!" Now I KNOW he can say 'cat' because he is obsessed with our cats and he has been saying it for months. So I said "No, 'cat', 'ca-ca-cat'". And he laughed and repeated "Ca-ca-cat!" And then turned the page and said "du-du-duck."

And now he stutters about 70% of the time. Damn. With me providing the parental education, I'll have to slip the teacher a $50 to get the poor kid into kindergarten.

Little Critic

2006-01-07T22:24:00.000-06:00

Last week, my cousin-in-law's father passed away. This is my cousin's wife's father - no actual relation, but I'm close to her, so I wanted to go to the funeral even though I'd never actaully met him. Try explaining that to co-workers - "So it's your cousin's father . . . your uncle, then? No? How did that go again?" They were gracious enough to let me off, and even use berevement leave for the day, but I'm not sure any of them understood the relationship.

ANYWAY, I attended a funeral and got to play with my cousin's twins (extra bonus) and sing in the service (not so much of a bonus, especially for the listeners).

Our family - my folks and my brothers - have always been "the musical family". The quotes here indicate that though other family members think we're the Von Trapps, or maybe the Partridge family, it's so not true. My mom made sure we all had piano lessons (and trumpet and cello and saxaphone and singing for me). We've all done our stint singing in church, and mom's always a pianist or organist in whatever church she's in. My older brother can play any instrument he meets, and plays some local clubs from time to time. He and my mom are both quite talented. My younger brother spent a year singing with Up With People, but I've never actually heard him sing so the jury's still out there. My dad and I are normally passable enough to not deserve to be yanked off stage by a giant hook as long as the genre doesn't steer far from a hymnal. I guess we must not be as bad as I think, because this was the 3rd or 4th funeral I've sung in and I haven't been blacklisted yet.

So we start practicing the night before the service. Mom starts cranking at the piano, and my dad and I start wailing away at The Old Rugged Cross. In the middle of the first verse, in races the Little Man. Screaming. I picked him up, he starts hitting me in the face to get me to stop Stop STOP!!!

We paused, and I explained to him that it was just a rehearsal and that it really would get better. He calmed down. We started back up. And so did he. Going to each of us in turn - putting his little hands under Grandma's bottom to Get Up, and trying to hit Grandpa and I to get us to Shut Up. His dad eventually made him stay in the basement to play because the Music Critic showed up every time we started singing.

He stopped letting me sing lullabyes to him about 6 months ago with similar violent tactics, but I didn't figure he'd do the same thing to his grandparents who he ADORES. Alas, The Critic was more prominent than I had thought.

As we practiced, it became more and more evident that we hadn't sung together for several years. We ended the night sounding ok though my dad's voice was failing and my mom's cold was getting the better of her. The next morning, we didn't have a chance to practice before the service and, though my folks got several compliments on the "lovely music", and I'm sure the family appreciated our effort, I'm inclined to think that the Little Man has a better ear than I gave him credit for.

Posts You've Missed

2006-01-01T11:54:00.000-06:00

Here are reports of posts you've missed, primarily because they were written only in my head. If I actually posted as much as I think about posting, this would be a much more interesting place to visit.

FIRST BLOOD

The story of the Little Man's first wound. Chock-full of all the things that make a good drama great - loss of balance, weeping, lots and lots of blood, crying mothers, and grandpas who save the day and make it all better. Notable quotes: "I've finally found something in parenting that instantly makes me lose it - blood on pastel footie pajamas." and "Ironically, the Little Man couldn't have chosen a more boyish wound. It's strategically placed and timed so that he'll look like he has a boogie hanging out of his nose in all of the Christmas photos."

CHRISTMAS FUN

An enchanting pictorial of a giant, noisy, confusing lovely family Christmas. Replete with tales of all five Christmas adventures we undertook, with an in-depth look at the one at my parents' where the living room ended up filled with people, and gifts, and torn paper, and excited kids and babies, just the way I like it. Includes some commentary on "the Little Man received metric tons of toys" and "Where are we going to put all this crap?"

FLOATIES

Commentary on the Little Man's recent predilection for pooing in the tub. Includes thoughts on 'Mommy doesn't think she should be the one to clean and sterilize after each instance even though she ends up doing it.' and 'How, if you know what you're looking for, this can be good practice for pooing in the potty if you can whisk the kid out of the tub and onto the potty fast enough' Notable quote "And then from the bathroom I hear the little brother say 'Why are there little brown things floating in the tub?'"

A Happy New Year to you all, and here's to my blog being more entertaining in the year to come.

Hee Hee Hee, Ho Ho Ho

2005-12-12T20:54:00.000-06:00

And lo, holidays are upon us. For some reason I am more seasonally inspired than normal. I'm actually ready for the shopping and the decorating and the baking and the parties and the parades and parades of family. Surprisingly I'm not exhausted by the five holiday parties I've attended in the last seven days, nor am I daunted by the five family Christmas celebrations I'll be attending in the next seven. I have no idea why this is, but I'm certainly enjoying it.

I've been trying to indoctrinate the Little Man in the traditions of winter and Christmas, but with limited success. He likes (read: demands) to have the tree lit, and MUST have a certain drum ornament in his hot little hand NOW if he catches sight of it. Beyond that and playing with my giant 2-foot nutcracker, he could care less about the decorations. Christmas books are shut as soon as they are opened, unread, and pronounced "The End". Santa merited a hug the first time they met, and a screaming fit the second. Sledding is ok, but watching mommy slide down the hill alone and almost land in the drainage ditch is worth doubled-up peals of laughter. (he is JUST like his dad)

Baking is a hit. He likes cookie dough. He likes cookies. He likes banging on all unused (and in-use) bowls. He likes the hand mixer. He likes the stacking and the knocking down of various ingredient bottles, boxes and tubs. And he likes eating cookies. Really. Likes. Eating. Cookies.

His best holiday skill, though, is one that he came up with himself. I don't know if Elmo showed him this, or daycare, or Daddy, or Grandma, or if he just invented it out of his little head. When you say "Hee hee hee" he will reply "Ho, ho, ho", and vice-versa, to infinity. I don't care who taught him, I just care that I can get him to do it over and over and over until I bust out laughing. Ho, ho, ho.

10 Lovely Things

2005-11-28T21:42:00.000-06:00

Reviewing my past few posts, I notice that you poor readers end up being fed fountains of negativity, primarily as a result of my unwillingness to poney up for actual counseling. So in the spirit of the holidays, a happy post!

My Little Man gets more and more fun the older he gets. Here are 10 lovely things that he's been doing lately to make his mama giggle.

10. He nests at night. He takes every cover in his room (last count: 6) and piles them on one end of the bed, then plows into the huge nest of fluff until he gets comfortable and goes to sleep.

9. His favorite TV show is Little Einsteins, which he watches with rapt attention. He has the sense to not care about horrid drek like the Doodlebops and the Wiggles. Boy's got taste!

8. He loves to drum. Everything is a "bum," as he calls it: pots, pans, walls, tables, plates, glasses, mommy, the cat, even his tummy.

8b. A direct effect of this obsession is that all the grown people around him end up saying words like "bum" "bumstick" "bumming" and "the little bummer boy" with a straight face (except for me, who is sniggering in the background).

7. He body-tackles the cat to give him hugs.

6. He LOVES his new fake Crocs, and they look so cute.

5. He's surprisingly good with babies. He saw his one-month-old twin cousins this weekend, and he didn't get at all jealous of them. He'd cruise by and pat or kiss them on the head occasionally, and even lean into their crib and say "Bye!" when he'd leave the room.

4. Sometimes he sits beside me, pats my arm, and says "Mommm-uheeeeeee", over and over and over. It melts the heart, it does.

3. Every time he enters a room with people in it, he says "Oh, Hi!" with a big ol' grin on his face.

2. He blew kisses to me over the speakerphone when he stayed at his grandma's.

1. If something really strikes his funny bone, he laughs the best deep belly laugh ever.

I sure love that Little Man. Who wouldn't?

My Life Could Be a Country Song

2005-11-24T00:04:00.000-06:00

There's a lot of steel guitar in this one, and a seriously tinny, nasally voice involved as well. Oh, and grammar has been appropriately crucified for the occasion.

I'm sick - sinus infection got me down;

My kid's sick - fevers and tummy aches is goin' round;

My cat's sick - stopped eating for no reason and lost 3 pounds;

My husband whines - don't want to get sick.

My brother's hurt - he's ankle's twisted;

My dad's morose - job's gone all wicked;

My other brother's freaked - work's not going as intended;

My cousin's in shock about her new babies' health.

And my damn property taxes went up AGAIN.

I didn't say it was any GOOD, just genre appropriate. I'm thinking I'll start walking around backwards and see if things improve.

P.S. Even though things could be going better right now, I am still thankful, especially at this time of year, for my family and all that is going right. Happy Thanksgiving, y'all.

Halloween Hijinx

2005-11-01T21:27:00.000-06:00

We took a very reluctant pirate to a local mall to trick-or-treat on Halloween. The Little Man got into his costume and underlying garb with a minimum of tears. He flat-out refused to wear the hat for most of the evening, though. So much so that I have only a series of ten blurry, uncentered photos to commemmorate the occasion. He didn't really get the concept of trick-or-treat - when one nice lady handed him the candy instead of plunking it in his pumpkin, he tried to hide it in a CD rack. He did, however, understand the end result because he begged us all the way home for Tootsie Rolls.

(I finally did catch him with the hat, but only from the side)

The Little Pirate

Work 'N' Stuff

2005-10-28T21:59:00.000-05:00

Housekeeping item: It seems that my blog is a bitch in heat to the comment spammer dogs of the world. Grrr. I hate those guys. I hate them A LOT. I'm seriously considering taking comments off entirely. Anyone else with this problem? Does it help to actually have a Typepad account? Anybody?

Now that that's off my chest, on to work-related news. The "big change" in the air a couple of weeks ago was the purchase of my small, beloved 18-person new media shop by a gargantuan 300-person Ad Agency. We attended seminars the first couple of days at the new joint that drove home to me that all of a suddon I'm now an Ad Man. I actually changed majors in college because I didn't want to be That Guy - the Ad Man. And yet, by default, here I am. I've been working for dot-bomb startups for 6 years, so my self-view is full of scrappy and underdog-ish images. And now I feel like I'm really working for The Man. Philosophically, this is a BIG shift.

It's not that the Big Bad Ad Agency is really that bad, or that big for that matter. They have taken on all of our staff in the purchase, including me at my part-time status, and at the same salaries. They are able to afford things like company retreats and have an actual pub on premesis. They have FIVE DEPARTMENTS of people who split out the job I have been doing. I'll be able to do better, cooler things, I'm sure.

But, I'm stuck in the I-don't-wanna phase. I've tried the head-in-the-sand-and-maybe-it'll-go-away tactic. No dice. I've also clicked my ruby slippers. Kansas has yet to appear. Yet every time I try to pull myself into a happy frame of mind about the change, something happens to cause backsliding. I guess the best thing is that it IS happening. Like a black hole coming inexorably closer. I just have to stick around, get sucked in, and see where it goes.

Besides, it might be refreshing to work for a company that could still be in business when I might eventually leave. The last five - yes five - companies that I've worked for are no longer around. For a variety of reasons. Really! It's not just me. I swear.

Verklempt

2005-09-30T20:37:00.000-05:00

I'm quite sure that's not how you actually spell that, but it applies anyway. There are some major changes happening at my work that are making me uber depressed. My workplace is changing significantly, and, for all intents and purposes, I'll be getting a new job, even though I didn't feel finished with the old one yet.

I like my job. I like the people I work with, and the stuff I do, and the environment in which I do it. My workplace has been through several significant periods of change in the last couple of years and it had recently (I thought) settled down again. But alas, no. More big changes. And I don't wanna!

Maybe if I try the Little Man's tactic of screaming, carefully laying down and banging my head against the floor repeatedly, I'll make it all stop. It never works for him, but for me? Maybe.

I'll let you know how it goes.

I See Stain People

2005-09-30T00:05:00.000-05:00

I can't remember a time when I didn't see people in the stain on doors. It's kind of like seeing shapes in clouds, only with wood grain its easier because it doesn't change shape and there are some doors that you end up staring at a lot (bathrooms . . .)

When I was growing up our bathroom door had what looked like a man in a hooded cloak imbedded in it. Over the years he was a monk, a wizard, the grim reaper - whatever I happened to be into at the time. My bedroom door housed a couple of gorillas.

I find it oddly comforting to be able to see images in the wood grain. That's one reason why I prefer houses with stained wood. It gives a place personality.

I still see weird things in doors- in the bathroom door at work there is a cartoon goat in the corner of the door, and right smack dab in the middle is what appears to be a woman in labor (or as Mr. Me would say, "waiting for a bus"). I have to admit, it's a bit unsettling to have to stare at that every time you sit down for a tinkle.

Next time you see a stained door, stare at it for a minute. What do you see?

More Tidbits

2005-09-29T21:45:00.000-05:00

I'm so very out of vacation mode. So the promised vacation stories, they're not coming. I live in the here and now, baby, and since I didn't write them down at the time, they're lost. The end.

Oh, my Little Man. What a character. He grew at least 3 feet when we were gone, and aged 5 years. I swear! I wouldn't exaggerate these things to you. When we saw him for the first time after our trip I actually didn't recognize him for a moment or two. And when I did, my internal monologue was saying Really? Surely not. That looks like someone else's kid.

Happily, it was our adorable little guy. He did cool things for the grandparents, like climbing into the full bathtub fully clothed, and bringing Grandpa his shoes every morning.

Since he's gotten home he's developed an intense fascination with my chest. Especially when I'm wearing only a bra. He pokes, and prods, and pinches until mommy says "stop! that hurts Mommy's boobies" This morning, he morphed his new word of the day - happy! - into boobie! And now he wanders around saying "Happy! Boobie! Happy! Boobie!" I don't think he remembers nursing, but if he does, the memories are fond ones.

Addendum

2005-09-22T21:06:00.000-05:00

In addendum to yesterday's post:

1. As was so handily pointed out by Cagey, I stand corrected - the Caribbean is a sea, and the Gulf of Mexico is, well, a gulf. The Atlantic and Pacific are the only REAL oceans on my list. They're salty and watery and big, so in my uneducated world they count, dammit!

2. Note to self: when you feel like "writing" stop immediately! There is no need to torture readers like that.

3. Note to readers: previously threatened additional torturous "writing" has been permanently cancelled. Come back! There will be less bleeding from your eyes caused by future posts. Promise!

The Old Men

2005-09-21T21:29:00.000-05:00

Hey, we're back! Had a fabulous time. Turns out that if the Little Man isn't around, vacations inspire me to write things in my head. So, here's the first of several posts courtesy of North Carolina.

We visited the beach several times because, hey! We were on an island, and it was close. Being a white girl - key word WHITE - I don't tend to be much of a beach bunny. Just looking at the summer sun causes my skin to crisp and, conversely, I hate the smell and feel of sun tan lotion. So I tend to hibernate in the air conditioning in the summer, waiting for the blessed other three seasons where a girl can go out-of-doors without being baked alive.

Our first trip to the beach was supposed to be a sunset stroll through the surf. It was sunset, and we did walk through the surf, but the Atlantic had other ideas than to just docilely tickle our ankles. By the time we were done with our little walk we'd both been splashed up to chest level by several rogue waves. The sea seemed just a bit pissy that evening, roiling and choppy and petulantly slapping the shore with strong waves now and again. Showing its muscle to the Island that it just missed getting the smackdown from hurricane Ophelia.

Subsequent trips were in the morning. Being a water lover (and not a sun worshipper) Mr. Me and I spent the entire time playing in the shallows. The Atlantic was feeling more benevolent, maybe a little playful. Like my Grandpa playing "Eee-hawww" (his version of 'gotcha'). We walked around in the water, picking up shells, standing up to the surf. I stopped counting the number of times the Old Man in the Sea knocked me on my ass. He would catch me just off guard and send an extra strong wave to push me into the sand. We ended up soaking and wet and exhausted and exhilarated, with suits full of boulder-sized grains of sands. Man, I love playing with the ocean.

To me, oceans have distinct personalities. Hailing from a landlocked state, I'm not much the expert, but I've visited four and whenever I visit an ocean I just can't keep personifying adjectives from springing into my head. I must say, I'm not a huge fan of the Atlantic. So much anger, and crappy Florida beaches. The North Carolina beach was lovely, but the Florida Atlantic beaches are harsh, with course sand and choppy, cold water for the most part. I like Florida beaches on the Gulf side much better. Water so laid back you can envision Jimmy Buffet staring out over it and writing Grapefruit, and lovely, soft beaches. I've only been to the Pacific once, but I think Neptune must live there. It's very powerful and stern. (Neptune's younger, less straight-laced brother must live in the Atlantic - same feel, less "umph")

My very favorite ocean is the Caribbean. It's beautiful and clear and blue, and it could very well be run by mermaids. The surf is low-key, and the beaches are breathtaking, dazzling white and soft as the Little Man's behind.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. . .

All this ocean talk is making me want to go back Right Now! So I'm stopping. Stay tuned for more vacation snippits!

Vacation

2005-09-15T16:23:00.000-05:00

I'm not the smartest of people, that I freely admit. Take for instance that I scheduled 2, yes TWO, vacations in September. Turns out they are less than 1 week apart. Doh! I didn't mean to. Really, it just seems to have happened. But this error has left me poorer. And weary of cleaning the house and doing mountains and mountains of laundry for vacation. And, yes, tired of vacations.

And then there's the location of Vacation 2. We're going to Kitty Hawk, NC. Beautiful wilderness location in the barrier islands. Yes, the ones that are currently being pummelled by hurricane Ophelia. And, you guessed it, it's not refundable. Wheee! This should be fun! Motion sickness girl in stormy airplane ride.

So, we are in preparation. Packing. Cleaning. Laundering. Finding suitable (read: willing, reliable and breathing) cat sitters. Dropping off the Little Man with the pre-arranged sitters (there are higher qualifications for the Little Man sitting): the Grandparents. Supposedly Ophelia will have taken her leave when we get there on Friday. Supposedly it will be hot and humid the entire time (SIGH) Here's hoping that the Weather Channel is right, even with the hot and humid part.

I'm so not ready for this. I guess I'd better call the resort and see if they're still there. Cross your fingers for me!

At least one line is inspired by Monte Python

2005-09-12T22:31:00.000-05:00

Hard to post the regular blather when Katrina is top-of-mind, yet so many others have said it so much better, and so much more. Bottom line is, give and pray, 'k?

And now for something completely different. . .

We recently returned from a week's vacation in good ol' Branson, MO. Is this the vacation destination that I would like to define me to people on the Internet? Oh Lord, please no. Is it a somewhat close location that we could rather inexpensively vacation with family? Yep, that's why we've been more times than I'd care to ennumerate.

We went for a week, with different family members joining us for different parts of the week. 'Twas lovely, though lots of work for a vacation what with the Little Man and all. Some highlights:

Watching the Little Man chase geese night after night in the lawn behind our condo. He would run after them with arms outstretched, looking like he was trying to give them hugs. Then he would invariably fall again and again in the goose-poo covered grass. Yum!
The term Baldknobbers is not just a made-up word to post on billboards and make tourists snigger. It has actual meaning - who knew?
Ripley's Believe it or Not is a giant rip-off - buy a copy of Guiness Book of World Records and feed your cravings to gaze upon oddities that way.
Got the coolest new jewelry - a magnetic hematite piece that can be necklace/ankle bracelet/bracelet/whatever you wish. Great to play with in meetings!
I-am-so-sick-of-buffets.
The Little Man was sitting at the top of a craft-mall aisle in his stroller pushed by his Grandma. When Mr. Me and I turned the corner to see him, he stared at us, expressionless, and raised his eyebrows twice. I doubled over laughing - ornery little stinker.

That's it, that's all I got.

Random

2005-08-26T23:00:00.000-05:00

We've reserved some vacation condos in a nearby town for a little trip over Labor Day. So far we've been turned down by my in-laws, my brother, my cousins and my brother-in-law to accompany us. Maybe I should change my deoderant?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
After I picked-up of the Little Man's room yesterday, I returned to it later and was shocked to see that I had inappropriately placed a lascivious blow-up giraffe behind the rocking horse. The giraffe had a big grin on its face and its tongue was sticking out. And the horse, he was smiling.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
My son decided that, of all the shoes in our closet, he needed to wear my beaded acid-green wooden-soled flip-flops this morning. As cool as they look, they are a bitch to walk in, and the Little Man agrees. After several attempts to walk and keep them on his feet, he screamed, plopped down on the floor, and promptly bit them on their beady green straps.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Oh to be a cat. She's sitting on the cushion beside me, lounging. Eyes half-closed, paw extended, just touching my leg. Purrrrrring. She's all spotted, relaxed loveliness. She loves quiet evenings when the Little Man is asleep. Me too.

Is there a method?

2005-08-22T21:02:00.000-05:00

On the Little Man's most devilish day of the past month, we went to my mom's house to pick up some tickets. The Little Man was an absolute terror. He hadn't had a proper nap, and was cranky and into every no-no he could think of. I was completely exasperated - my mom kept saying "put him down in the spare bedroom for a nap" and I kept assuring her that he wouldn't go for it. I did finally try and, as I predicted, he screamed and squirmed for 15 minutes until I relented and let him up to continue spreading gloom around the house. Pretty soon Mom said "Here, let me try," laid a quilt down on the floor and told him to lay down and not to get back up. And he didn't! He cried like his little heart would break for a complete 45 minutes, but he didn't once even TRY to get up from that quilt until his grandma gave him permission. I was amazed. Her answer to my astonishment was "He'll do what you expect of him. I expected him to stay there, so he did."

Days like that have inspired me to seek help with my parenting technique. Mom's all about the expectations thing, but, I ask, does anyone out there actually do this? It seems to work out for her, but I'm convinced that she emits laser beams of pure will from her eyeballs that make children behave- after all, I remember all to well having them directed at me during my childhood. However, there is something to the theory that if you think it can happen, then it can. So I've tried it in a couple of instances with the Little Man, to very limited success. Maybe I'm not expecting hard enough? Or my will lasers aren't calibrated properly? Eh, who knows.

Another friend swears by Love and Logic. Her sister's kids - on whom she bases her opinions - are very well-behaved, so I did buy a book. I started the book tonight and like the basic principles, but am unsure of my ability to execute. First of all, the suggested dialogue includes the word "bummer" in such quantities that I keep envisioning Shaggy delivering the lines after a particulary smoky session in the Mystery Machine.

Secondly, I'm not sure my temperament is well suited. One of the scenarios pictures the perfect Love & Logic parent calmly talking out solutions with her son to atone for cutting his sister's hair into a mohawk with the scissors. I keep trying to figure out how I'd peel myself off the ceiling long enough to calmly deliver the loving lines to my son. I haven't figured that part out yet.

As with most things, I'm sure I'll develop my own mishmash of a style eventually. I hope I get it at least partially down before I manage to screw my kid up too badly. And, just as a backup, I am going to keep working on those lasers.

Career?

2005-08-19T14:15:00.000-05:00

The Little Man has been an absolute angel the last couple of days. He's been very cute, and minding his mommy for the most part, and not throwing toys so much during temper tantrums. Though he did make a call from the lab tech's phone at the Dr's office this morning, at least he didn't start screaming when I took it away from him to tell the other party that it was "wrong number". In short, I'm having fun being his mom this week.

This is quite a pleasant shock, because last week he was such a little devil the days I was home that I was contemplating going back to work full time (obviously he behaves much better at daycare or else she'd have thrown his Imperialistic butt out months ago). I work 3 days a week (yes, for you mathematicians, the Snow Day we had Wed. did eat up a third of my working week, and yet I was glad for it!) and spend 2 days home with the little guy. I just returned to this schedule after a 6-month stint working 4 days a week because of loads-of-work-at-work reasons. And last week I was oh-so-regretting it.

This week I'm enjoying it to the point that I have false hope I could be a full-time stay-at-home mom if something happened to my job (the rumor-mill has been churning as of late . . .). I admire full-time moms because man, do they have their work cut out for them, but I doubt my ability to be a successful one. At least with my job I get to have entire workdays where I can actually concentrate on and complete one (or two) tasks, and get to have conversations with adults where my mind can truly be on the conversation. I can also base my self-worth on producing things other than a clean house and good meals, which I've never been any good at, and a well-turned-out child, which I constantly question my ability to do.

Always I wonder if splitting my time is just making me worse at everything. At my job presently I really have no career track - being part-time, I'm stuck at this level for the foreseeable future. And I'm not home with my son to see every milestone (he started waving bye-bye last week for the sitter, though I've been practicing this with him for months!). But then I know that work keeps me sane, and having extra days at home with the Little Man staves off the mommy guilt of being away from him, so I am always able to content myself that I'm doing the best I can.

And that's got to be enough, doesn't it? Constantly wrestling with this, constantly.

Snow Day

2005-08-17T21:52:00.000-05:00

In July! Courtesy of a construction crew hitting a water main beside our building. As I work for a Web development company, no phones, no electricity and no Internet means no work for us. Well, ok, I did work most of the day from the comfort of my couch, but still, it's the THOUGHT of having a snow day that counts.

Finally, after months and months and MONTHS of putting up with annoying noise and dust and closed streets, the construction crews finally gave back a little to their neighbors. Thanks, guys!

Dancin' in the Rain

2005-08-14T21:29:00.000-05:00

After days and days and days and DAYS of hot, hot summer, we finally had a lovely rainy day this weekend. Though I thought he was too young, the Little Man acted EXACTLY like the bored kid in the "Rain, Rain, go away" nursery rhyme. Finally I let him go outside, figuring after the first drops hit his precious little head he'd fold and want to head back inside. But no, he just stood there. Slowly he descended the steps to the driveway, loudly resisting any attempt to remove him back to the dry comforts of home. He held his little hand out to catch water in it, and touched everything to see how it felt, a look of wonder on his face the whole time.

Once he reached the driveway, it was full speed ahead to the garage doors! And Daddy's car! And the tree! And the little garden patch where hey! There's mud! And it doesn't taste so good. But it looks great smeared on Daddy's car! And then he danced in puddles with his mommy and laughed his little wet head off.

We had a gay old time for almost an hour while we investigated rain and got steadily soaked. Then the Little Man started shivering and I realized that the neighborhood was getting a free show through my white t-shirt, so we finally retreated to our dry house.

I really do love a good rainy day, and I'm so glad that the Little Man does too.

Hot

2005-08-11T14:10:00.000-05:00

The Little Man is learning words right and left. His most-used conversation starter is "S'Dat?", said in a very (calculatedly) cute, high-pitched voice. You would have to have a heart of stone not to answer. Even after the 810th time, you still answer, but the answers are fabricated for the sake of personal sanity. "That's the Rock of Gibralter son" "That's what Mommy would buy if she won the lottery".

He gets quite a bit of new word-fodder from S'Dat. Some of them he says and keeps, some of them he tries out and discards - he'll say one fairly clearly, like "dirty", then it will be abandoned for a few days in favor of the gobbeldy-gook which he seems to prefer. For some reason he'll pick up words oddly, like he calls one of our cats "Ca" (for cat) and the other one by his name, "Da-in" (Darwin). And, though we live in the non-accented speech center of the Midwest, he pronounces Hi like a Southern Belle, complete with high pitch and inflection on the "a" (and sometimes a small limp wave).

One of his favorite, and most useful, words that he has latched on to is hot, pronounced "Ha" - always very loudly. (for some reason pitch and volume matter to him in pronunciation, no idea why.) It astonishes me, but he actually uses it in various contexts - he'll stand across the room when I'm opening the oven screaming "Ha! Ha! Ha!" He'll also point at my morning coffee and yell "Ha!" Also, if the car is warm and his car seat is toasty, it's Ha as well. The one I really wasn't ready for, however, was when we were watching TV the other night, a scene with a big house fire came on. Of course my child is sitting there soaking up the rays of the screen, all of a sudden he points at it and yells "Ha! Ha!". NO idea how he put that together - 'tis a mystery. All I know, if he starts pointing at the honeys manning the hostess station at the next restaurant we go to and calls them "Ha!", someone's going down.

BlogHer?

2005-08-02T22:18:00.000-05:00

A couple of friends, Average Jane and Cagey, went to the BlogHer convention in San Jose over the weekend. As the name implies, it was a convention specifically for female bloggers. Not being big into the blog scene, it sounded interesting when they first mentioned it, but didn't spark an overwhelming desire to go. Now that they've come back, having met some of my favorite online funny ladies, like Dooce and Finslippy, I must say I'm quite jealous. It sounds like it was a way fun trip, and fairly inexpensive to boot!

The schwag was cool (in a tech-geeky sort of way which, of course, I'm all into) and the seminars sounded very interesting. I do take small issue with any amount of feminazism that was behind starting it (I read some things about "empowering" women bloggers - please, sistah, we have and can get all the "power" we could ever want). Also that apparently "mommybloggers" - of which I guess I am because I 'gasp' write about my kid - are a) labeled and b) the Rodney Dangerfields of bloggers. Figures - have a kid, love him, like to talk about your life with him, and you're a pariah. The parental glass ceiling strikes again - no longer does it just dwell in the workplace!

Well, I've never accepted being limited by anything except my own energy levels (which are bad enough by themselves), so I think I'll not start now. I declare that It's Only Me is a Blog, unlabeled and here solely for my enjoyment (and yours if you like).

I may have to look into attendance at next year's festivities. Who knows what this blog thing will have morphed into by next year?

Not Fun, and Scary to Boot

2005-07-31T22:55:00.000-05:00

Friday morning was errand-filled, as many Fridays are. Had a Dr. appointment in the morning, then I needed to get the car's oil changed. Couldn't easily find daycare, so the Little Man was along for the ride.

The Little Man has been displaying his rapidly developing personality by having a very, VERY strong opinion about most things lately. Naturally, the opinion of hanging in the waiting room at the Dr.'s office and in the office itself was a resounding "Forget This!" No amount of cleverly packed snacks or toys could appease him, and I ended up with "that" kid in the waiting room (you know, the one who throws multiple tantrums as the old ladies look down their noses) and having to ask the Dr. to repeat herself several times in our appointment. Not fun. So not fun.

After promising myself to try much harder to find daycare for any future appointments, we got to the car and I noticed that the low gas light was on. I remembered that it had gone on after work the day before, so I thought I'd better fill up at the nearby station. When I drove into the Shell station, though, I saw that the price was $.12 - Twelve Cents! - higher than I had seen elsewhere in town. I was headed in the direction of the cheaper gas anyway, and my car had only dinged the "hey, I'm getting low on gas" and not the "look, I'm really, REALLY running low here" ding, I drove by the expensive pumps intending to fill up elsewhere and headed toward the highway.

Naturally, I ran out of gas. After 15 years of fine-tuning, my fill-up tactics of filling up at the last second, but never too late, had failed me. Also, my trusty car had failed to deliver the special ding to let me know it really, Really was time. I was robbed.

And scared. It's a terrible sound to run out of gas - first the loss of acceleration, then the last gasping sounds of a good car fighting the good fight and losing. And the place where my car coughed its last gasp was, naturally, in a busy intersection. Busy as in 4 lanes of traffic, right before the entrance to a highway. I managed to limp my wheezing car into the right-hand turn lane so cars could still get around, but it turns out I should have blocked the lane because I got tired of counting the semis that passed mere inches from my car. In addition to the traffic, it was in the high 8o's and it got toasty in the car fast.

I swallowed my pride and called Mr. Me. He was working from home and had an appointment himself 30 minutes after I called, but he promised to come to our rescue with a gas can as soon as he finished a work call. I then wracked my brain and called four or five other friends that lived or might have occasion to be in the area, but no dice. As I sat there in my hot, hot car with the sound of traffic and the sound of my babbling (thankfully, not screaming) child in my ears, I looked around to see if there was any hope of taking the baby and walking somewhere without getting squashed flat (none!). The only sign of gas I could see, off in the distance across the highway, was for that damn Shell station with its expensive gas. It was peeking up through the trees, mocking me. Sigh.

After an hour - AN HOUR - of sitting by the side of the road, exactly 5 people (including one cop) had stopped to check with us, which was a rather higher percentage of good Samaritans than I had expected. What with work, obtaining gas, and my substandard directions, Mr. Me arrived 5 minutes after my mom who had come from another town (she was headed in my direction anyway). I haven't been so happy to see my mommy since my dad forgot me at piano lessons when I was 10. The Little Man (now naked after drenching himself with his drink) and I went to sit in her nice, cool car while we waited for life-saving gas.

Can I just say that I've been successfully converted to a quarter-tank filler?

Namely Confused

2005-07-28T22:08:00.000-05:00

Family lore has it that when he was four, someone asked my cousin what his name was and his reply was "Danny Dammit." Knowing my cousin, and his father's likely response to his very busy personality, this isn't such a big surprise. It does make me wonder, however, what the Little Man's response will be to the same question once he gets a little older. Not with the "Dammit" so much, but we (and the rest of his family) have so many little pet names for the guy that I wonder how many times he hears his actual name in a given day.

He earned his first nickname of Little Bird in the hospital because of his "Hey, I'm ready to eat" look. That expanded to (Given Name)-Bird. And Baby Bird, and Big Bird (because naturally, he's getting bigger). Then there's Bub (why? don't ask me, ask his dad). And Bubba-Boo, Bub-bub, Bubs and Bubby. Then the actual perversions of his given name, like adding "y" and "man" to it, or going with the shortened version. Not to mention pairing his given name with "Charles" "Bart" and "David", none of which appear on his birth certificate. And of course Baby Boy and Big Boy. Recently, with his assertion of independent will, "Kid" has made an appearance more often as well.

Only 17 months, and so many names. If we can come up with all these, and we're just his lame family, I can't wait to see what his buddies print on the back of his shirt in high school.

All Boy

2005-07-19T22:34:00.000-05:00

The Little Man has started showing his colors as a true Little "Man". No longer the sweet little baby, he has for weeks been showing the signs that yes, he really is a boy. Cases in point:

He L-O-V-E-S to drive. He sits on his grandfather's lap and drives the boat at the lake, insistent upon honking the horn constantly and that NO other hands are on the wheel but his. He'll stand behind the wheel in a parked car for an entire hour abusing the steering wheel, flipping levers, pushing buttons, and, of course, saying "di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-" (which seems to indicate that he's got only a 2-cycle motor under the hood, which is fine by me!)He drives his little cars in the house. He drives his trike outside of the house. He drives plates. And collanders. And frisbees. And the wheels on the dishwasher baskets. And the little round steel plate that sits behind the bathtub faucet (that doesn't even move!). He loves to DRIVE!

In the same vein, he loves cars in general. He'll spend 20 minutes at the park on the playground equipment, and 30 minutes in the parking lots, trying to open car doors and touching the wheels.

He completely dances like a white boy. Legs bending in deep bends off time to the music, feet never moving, arms flailing wildly. Love him, but we're going to have to seriously work the education in this department.

Lately, he hates to take a bath. Why, I cannot yet determine, but I'm going to go with the obvious - that he just doesn't care about being the smelly kid in daycare.

He's started to identify body parts; sometimes he'll point to the part asked about, sometimes asking "'Sdat?" when he points. Guess what he asks about most often?

But the kicker, the proof of all proofs, happened this morning. The Little Man was hanging out in bed with Mommy & Daddy after topping off his morning bottle of milk. He flipped over, crawled over to give Mommy a kiss, and burped. Mommy made an "Ewww" face, which he thought was hysterically funny. So he came a little closer, and burped again. Another "Ewwww" face, and more giggles. Then he tried to make himself burp, because, you know, burping is SO. COOL. And he threw up All Over His Mommy. And that, to this BOY, was funnier than all the rest combined.

The Times, They've Already Changed

2005-07-18T22:14:00.000-05:00

Oh, it was fabulous. A Be-A-Utiful weekend. First, wonderful, wonderful Harry. This book ranks as one of my favorites. I was slightly non-plussed on the first reading of Harry Potter 5 (the Order of the Phoenix) but this one was fantastic. The only problem is, I can't wait for the 7th now!

Secondly, as I was waiting on my book to arrive Saturday I decided to stop wasting my day and went to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory with a girlfriend. It was good, though I never can get all that enthusiastic about Tim Burton movies. He's just a little too, well, Tim Burton for me. It was lovely to see my girlfriend, though, and to actually BE able to go see a movie and not worry about a sitter or anything.

Then, after a few hours of blissful reading, I went out to see my brother play at a local bar. He's been playing coffee shops and clubs for a couple of months - accoustic stuff with his buddy, and he's pretty good. He's played guitar forever - the one who ended up with my mom's musical talent - and he's decided to start playing publicly. It was fun to sit back and listen to good tunes, chat with their groupies (my sister-in-law & her friends) and sip a margarita. Ahhhhh.

Sunday was lovely and lazy - got up at 10 (TEN!), finished up Harry, and straightened up the house a little while I watched some forgettable movie. Then Mr. Me & the Little Man came home and took me to dinner. Perfect end to a perfect weekend.

It amazes me that I'm writing like this is such a big deal. This type of weekend used to be fairly common. And then, the Little Man. I love my Little Man, but man, did he mix things up! It's amazing the things I look forward to now (Dooce says it best). Hopefully Mr. Me gives me another one of these lovely weekends to look forward to sometime soon!

Takes One to Know One

2005-07-16T07:20:00.000-05:00

I am sitting in my living room waiting with bated breath for the UPS fairy to deliver Harry Potter 6. This is SO EXCITING! It's 7:00 in the morning and I have already checked my shipment from Amazon, and have already cursed UPS because Amazon told them my book was ready to be picked up at 5:00 AM and it's not been picked up yet. Lazy bastards!

This is a very special weekend. I arranged with Mr. Me a month ago to have this weekend off of all duty and responsibility because I must sit and read! Until it is all done! All 5 inches of book in smallish type and single spaced! I must know what happens. So Mr. Me will be packing up the Little Man and hitting the road the minute - The Minute! - that UPS comes to our door. They shall go to the land of Grandma and Grandpa and I will be left in peace to bury myself in a book. Which is my definition of a perfect, wonderful weekend.

Yeah, I realize that Mr. Me is married to a geek too. And I don't care!

Snippits

2005-07-14T22:48:00.000-05:00

The Little Man is growing in leaps and bounds it seems. He's really started to crack me up. Some of my favorite moments . . .

I learned that he is starting to pay attention to body-part labels when my cousin walked in during bathtime and said something about him having his daddy's ears - and he pointed to it! So far we're good with ear and belly, and sometimes nose and mouth. He normally stick his finger UP his nose to point it out, but that counts in my book.

I was trying to sleep in one Sunday morning on my dedicated morning off of childcare, but I about rolled out of bed laughing when I heard the Little Man thundering down the hallway with his father in hot pursuit yelling "Put . . . the pizza. . . down" in Gene Wilder style from Young Frankenstein (except he was talking about a candle)

The Little Man vocabulary is growing, but limited. I'm hoping it's this - and not pig-headed stubbornness - that makes him think everything is a ball. Moon, wheels, anything remotely circular is christened a ball, and he'll argue with you until he's blue in the face defending his point.

My Little Man has decided he is Trader Vic. I have no idea where he got this concept, but if you have something he wants, he'll go get another item that he thinks you might want and see if you'll trade him. If you have the toothpaste tube (that you've taken away from him for the 108th time), he naturally wants it back and so will go get your keys off the table, bring it in and see if you'll give up the tube for the keys. In his concept of trading, this works with food too. If you have sausage - his favorite - on your plate, you can rest assured that if he's in arms length you'll soon see a grimy piece of potatoes/egg/grapes on your plate and the sausage will be gone, gone, gone.

This child has more personality in his little finger than any one person is rightfully allowed. Man, do I hope I'm ready for him.