Tuesday's Child

Moving on Up...or Over...or Around...

2011-12-28T23:26:00.003-05:00

Whatever. I'm moving.

Feels like a new phase of my life, so trying out a new blog to accompany it. You can find me here now - tueslife.tumblr.com

In Which She Returns in a Blaze of Brilliance

2010-04-19T14:02:00.004-05:00

After you don’t blog for a while - say, 7 months and 18 days - it’s kinda hard to come back. I mean, I’ve got plenty to say. And some of it could be mildly entertaining. Since I play hermit, my friends and family ask me to blog so that they can know the babies are still alive. And yet, I demur.

I wonder, What warrants a return to the blogging after such a prolonged absence?

The answer: I got nothing. But here’s what passed through my mind today as bloggable.

Mr. Clean Magic Erasers. Awesome, right? I mean, they clean a stain BY DISAPPEARING THEMSELVES. I do wonder what kind of time-space continuum altering technology they have patented to make that happen, but that just increases my admiration. Not so fast with the love, though. I found out today that those duplicitous magic erasers - while still disappearing to the naked eye - actually create a dull, perhaps non-removable film on polished wood. I really wish I had known this before using it all over my new-ish dining room table. Turns out all work and no-reading instructions (which clearly say not to use on polished wood) make for a fugly dining room table. Ugh.

Still haven’t gotten a facebook account. I can feel myself losing relevance daily.

Last weekend, I single-handedly unloaded and dispersed upon my yard over 1,200 pounds of mulch. Wasn’t it me who was so sorely-injured 6 1/2 years ago that I could not walk 2 blocks without major back and hip pain? Remember when I had to plan my trips to the bathroom because I couldn’t feel anything below my waist resulting in several embarrassing puddles on my stairs as I waited too long? Ain’t I the woman who came home from the hospital with a new baby - and a walker? Indeed, yes that was me. I myself find this feat of mulching to be a triumph of one woman’s will to heal - and a ton of therapeutic massage and chiropractic adjustment. I’m back to fighting form, friends. (Well, perhaps not fighting form.)

Which brings me to my latest pet peeve. Since when did it become okay to insult folks by referencing mothers? In the past two weeks, I’ve heard folks disparagingly reference mom jeans, mom bodies, mom-flavored haggis. (Okay, maybe not the haggis, but it is coming I imagine.) And don’t even get me started on MILF...there could not be a more back asswards compliment. Wait, I think this could be my next post. Never mind.

I’ve come to a decision. I am done looking at comments on the internets. It makes me doubt my strong pro-humanity stance. So...don’t comment. I won’t read it. Okay, that’s not true, we all know I’ll read it. And I'll probably respond. But make it a decent we’re-all-doing-the-best-we-can-in-this-world kind of comment or I’m blocking you. You know, when I get back to this blog next year.

Awesome.

12 Things

2009-10-01T20:22:00.002-05:00

About a month ago, SRH and I passed our 12th wedding anniversary. To honor the day, SRH did a “12 things” about our marriage post. He then went on to say how hard this post was for him to write. Being the hyper-competitive person I am - which is to say I’m not at all competitive, but it seems to fit here - I immediately said I’d also write a 12 things post. And mine would be better.

So here goes.

12 Things About Our Marriage

Thing 1

We travel well together. No pit stops on a road trip. (Because any decent person would have peed before we left.) No annoying pre-planning what we’re going to do and see. We decide when we get there, and we don’t have any regrets.

Of course this perfect perspective on traveling was all mucked up when little people entered the picture...

Thing 2

Opposites attract: He’s tall. I’m short. He has adequate depth perception. I 've hit the garage with the car more times than I can count. He’s laid back. I’m...not. He is enamored of the taste/effect of Mt. Dew. Caffeine makes me sick. He regularly loses things. I have a uterus.

What a wacky pair.

Thing 3

We are eerily similar: We are mountains/hiking people vs. beaches/sunbathing people. We’re both homebodies. We both hate peppers and strawberry ice cream. We both think I’m right most of the time (right?), and we both know that we’ve bitten off more than we can chew with this second kid of ours.

Thing 4

Wherever he grows, I’m growing, too. And vice versa. Good to be on this journey together, then.

Thing 5

We read out loud to each other. People think this is weird. I don’t get that. We’re going on year 4 of rocking a baby to sleep, we gotta have something to do.

Thing 6

In 12 years of marriage, we have never lived further than 3 blocks from a Dairy Queen. I appreciate a partner that respects my priorities.

Thing 7

We’re cat people. Of course we don’t have any cats because Zane is deathly allergic, but cat people are cat people whether there are cats around or not.

We’re cat people.

Thing 8

We recently went to Zane’s Open House at school without him. Zane was feeling a bit poorly, but we didn’t want to miss the opportunity to see what’s happening in his classroom. I will admit it became a bit awkward when we had to start grabbing other kids to explain some of the stuff in the room, but it all worked out.

Thing 9

We will go on wild goose chases together.

The day I wanted 10 boxes of lime green dye? He went with me to 4 Jo-Ann Fabrics and 2 Michael’s craft stores.

Need Tomy trains for a four year old? You better believe we went to every train store in the city before buying them online from a Japanese company. (holy shipping and handling charges)

He went with me to the other school. The lottery school. The school Zane didn’t get into even though it’s only 3 blocks away from our house. And brand new. And goes all the way to 8th grade. Even though we both knew the visit was pointless. He still went with me and advocated for a spot for our child. And not because he wanted to. Because I needed to.

Thing 10

He keeps up better with my friends than I do. He facebooks. He occasionally emails my friends. He answers our phone and actually chats.

If not for him, I might be friendless and woefully unhip to the whole social media phenomenon.

Thing 11

We have been together for 14 of the 17 years of our adult life. Most of my dearest friends never even knew me without him.

Crazy, that.

Thing 12

Of course. The babies. The amazing, wonderful, awe-inspiring children that make us better people.

Happy Anniversary, love. Can’t wait to see what’s next!

Three Little Words

2009-08-31T21:33:00.013-05:00

I love school! - Zane, after his first day of kindergarten today

Leaving the house...

Zane and Papa...

Zane, Mama, and Eily (that's her leg on my hip) going into the school building...

It could not have gone better today. Zane was thrilled. We - the family left behind - survived, and we're all ready to do it again tomorrow.

Cats, Haircuts, Bad Husbands, and Vacations

2009-08-15T23:12:00.005-05:00

Lots to blog about today: one of our “marriage cats” died this morning, Eily got her first haircut and I cry foul on the stylists, betrayal from the one I love, and Zane goes on his first vacation sans mama and papa tomorrow.

So, let’s get to it, shall we?

RIP Marriage Cat

Scott and I got two kittens 5 days after we were married. The smaller one, Lenny, was very sick with an eye infection when we picked him out, but I couldn’t resist his Russian Blue fur and the sweet look in his eyes. Fast forward 6 years, Zane had visited the ER 3 times in 3 months for severe asthma attacks and the allergist said the cats had to go. So with much wailing and gnashing of teeth, we gave our beloved “marriage cats” to SRH’s parents.

They said they would take good care of them. They said they were happy to help us out. They even said that our skittish Lenny (who was always that nervous kind of skinny cat that never let folks touch him) had become a fat lapcat. Whatever their story, here we are 6 years later, and our beloved Lenny is dead.

I’m sure it was something my mother-in-law did.

I jest. I jest.

Maybe.

So, we’re very sad here in CASA RH. Well, two of the four of us are sad. The little people have no recollection of cats in this house. But I do, and my heart is heavy today.

Eily’s Haircut

Crazy, curly-headed Eily got her hair cut for the first time yesterday. And it was fine - one of those kid-friendly places where they take a picture, make a certificate, and give a balloon for the first haircut.

I say it was fine, but the stylists (there were two because now I have two kids and we made simultaneous appointments) actually kind of honked me off during the hair cut. In what I’m sure was supposed to be helpful advice-giving, they said that I needed to start “doing” her hair up in ponytails and such. To get her used to it.

Oh, and I should leave on the conditioner after washing her hair. And I shouldn’t wash it more than 2 times per week so that it doesn’t get frizzy. And I should use some sort of moisturizing product to tame the frizzies as well. (And since we’re being ever so helpful, I should probably leave the conditioner on Zane’s hair, too.)

Exhibit A is below. Eily’s hair is about 3 inches long when you straighten out the curls. It is very rarely frizzy and never dry. She looked like she was sucking on a lemon the entire time they were putting their little rubber bands in it, and she kept trying to pull the pig tails out after they had them in.

She’s a baby for goodness sakes. Can we not - at 14 months - start with the “girls should look this way” bullshit?

Exhibit A - Eily in Pig Tails

That being said, those darn pigtails were so cute that Zane kept asking me to put her hair in the “tails” today. Oy vey.

Betrayal

In college, SRH and I were in an honor’s fraternity. (Perhaps I should have saved that information for my “Chronicles of the Uncool - Episode 2” post?) Anyhoo...we were in this fraternity. It’s where we met. We made lifelong friends, blah, blah, blah...

But I don’t really care about the fraternity anymore. I rarely think of it, truth be told.

But through the magic of Facebook, it’s popped its head back into our lives. Now, I’m not on Facebook, being a person who doesn’t care about people in general - and specifically those from my past. But SRH is on - and he totally sold me out today.

They wanted updated info, but since I have dropped off their email list, they only contacted SRH. Who promptly gave them my email and address! And not even my crappy, secondary gmail account, but my real-deal, work email.

First one of the marriage cats dies. Now my partner has sold me out. This relationship can’t last that much longer, I think.

(On the other hand, I don’t relish the idea of starting off my match.com ad with “must love kids”, so perhaps I’ll keep him around.)

Zane Vacation

As a last “hoorah” before school starts, Zane is leaving tomorrow with my mother for a three-day vacation. It will be his first time away from the two of us for that long of a time. I’ve been away that long. SRH has been away that long, but the kids have never been away from us that long.

He’s completely looking forward to it. I feel a little sick - and yes a little giddy, too - every time I think of it.

We’ll see how we all do...

Chronicles of the Uncool - Episode 1

2009-08-07T13:35:00.002-05:00

In my lengthy absence from this here blog - but who are we kidding, I’ve been gone longer - I have spent time discovering new lows in my level of coolness. Hence I begin what promises to be an lengthy, episodic documentation of my lack of coolness.

Episode 1
I’ve been on the lookout for new music. I’m getting tired of my 1,347 iPod tunes, but I’m too pressed for time to spend it wading through radio drivel. We listened to the radio while on vacation and heard the same 5 songs over and over. And while I didn’t hate the the Nelly Furtado/James Morrison song the first 67 times, it doesn’t bear up well under repetition, and I wouldn’t consider buying it. And I hear that Rob Thomas has a new song as well.

I’ve become seasoned...mature..an npr listener...uncool...

But I’m prattling on to avoid my latest descent into uncoolness. I’ve been desperate, friends. I’m wanting new music but have avoided the radio, ignored my iTunes genius recommendations, and scoffed at Pandora’s pairings.

But I’ve done it. I’ve found a new set of tunes that keep my toes a-tappin’ and makes me look forward to being in the car. It’s...The Ting Tings.

And I know that they were kind of cool when they hit the scene on an iPod commercial well over a year ago. But I’m a bit slow to catch on. Truth be told, I never saw the commercial itself.

Nope, you know where I discovered The Ting Tings? On Yo Gabba Gabba.

Yep, that’s right. I heard my new, fun music on a preschooler’s show - looked up those fresh, hip, modern kids singing a catchy tune - and was hooked.

I have since bought the majority of their stuff on iTunes - including their live stuff, but my song of the moment is below.

But my real and true favorite, the one that started it all is Happy Birthday.

I’m such a dork.

The Strawberry that Broke the Camel’s Back

2009-05-28T13:48:00.002-05:00

That’s right. Eily is allergic to strawberries.

Take away my soymilk, my pizza, my chinese food. Get rid of yogurt, bagels and tofutti cream cheese, and other delicious snacks! Begone fresh pasta and real butter! Get thee behind me Dairy Queen treats – or any other ice-cream for that matter. So long most crackers, breads, rolls, muffins, cakes, and pies.

Gladly I have done this. Gotten rid of dairy, egg, soy, and rice.

But what I had left was a nightly snack of strawberries and blueberries to satisfy a craving for the sweet and wholesome– and now it’s gone.

To explain: Eily had strawberries for a snack the other evening and stopped eating them after about three bites. She soon had hives on her chest and was “splotchy” (that’s a fancy allergy term) in the bathtub later.

Damn and double damn.

That’s why I don’t blog anymore, friends. Because I’m hungry. I’m hungry and tired – and now I gots no strawberries for comfort.

Feel free to send dairy-free, soy-free, egg-free, peanut-free, tree nut-free snacks in an effort to revive this blog.

Odds and Ends

2009-05-21T20:51:00.005-05:00

I’m not even gonna apologize for the length of time between postings. Nope. Not going to give lengthy explanations about work, travel, or the incredible morass of navigating Two Kid Land. Not going to make false promises of increased posting.

Just going to fill you in on a few odds and ends.

The Odds

Eily has developed a love for these. And while that fact might cause you to judge her two inept parents, I will say in our defense that the doctor suggested that we feed her Doritos. (He quickly backpedaled when he remembered her dairy allergy – because fake Dorito cheese still has dairy.)

For explanation, Eily only weighed 14.5 pounds at her 9 month visit – dropping her below the growth charts. So the doctor suggested we get her onto table foods more quickly than typical and try to increase her fat intake as much as possible. So I’ve been feeding her avocadoes aplenty. And yes, I add dairy-free and soy-free margarine to all cereals and vegetables, but the high-calorie snack she can’t deny is the chips above. Sad, but true.

It’s working, though. By her visit last week she was up to 16.5 pounds, barely putting her back on the weight chart, but it was enough to make the doctor get off our back, so we’re cool.

And it’s all relative. Today I saw an 8 month old that could bench press Eily and then eat her for breakfast. (Which I wouldn’t recommend. She’s not fatty enough to taste good.)

Another Odd

One of my favorite people in the world sent me an email last night that said:

Your boyfriend is on American Idol – right now.

Now, I don’t watch American Idol, but this piqued my interest. So I made Scott figure out what channel Idol was on and we quickly flipped to it, only to tune into…KISS. Who are not “my boyfriends” in any sense of the word. So I called my delusional friend who then told me I’d just missed…LIONEL RICHIE!

Much gnashing of teeth ensued. You all know I love some Lionel Richie – see this p ost, and this one, and he even got a brief mention in this one.

But I did write her the following email in response:

Lionel Richie has never been my boyfriend. He's more like a well-loved uncle. Except I never had one of those.

So to clarify: KISS and any of its members are not my boyfriend. Nor is Lionel Richie. He’s more like a mythical relative that I’ve never experienced.

The Ends

Zane’s last day of preschool was today. So preschool graduation was yesterday. (Makes sense, right? One graduates before actually completing the coursework?)

Anyhoo, I know it’s hip to be cynical about preschool graduations, but friends, I TOTALLY dug Zane’s preschool graduation. I’m not sure what I loved best, really. Maybe it was the construction paper caps the little people were wearing. Or the fact that they all got to say what they’d miss about preschool – Zane will miss playing with plane, btw. Or the fact that I didn’t hear about preschool graduation until the morning it was happening, making it an almost a completely spontaneous celebration of my kid and his achievements.

It was so cool that I didn’t even get teary-eyed about my baby boy growing up - not during the graduation anyway. When his teachers told me what a pleasure it was watching him grow and change this year, sure I got a little misty. But overall, it was just a great, joy-filled, spectacular, unexpected event that totally made my week.

Ha ha! That cap is amazing - Zane at preschool graduation!

He’s a really amazing boy.

Split Ends

Yesterday I got about 6 inches cut off of my hair. In an attempt to be a more informed hair-styling consumer – instead of giving my regular, “do whatever you want” directive to my stylist – I actually browsed the internet for hair cut ideas.

About 20 minutes later, I was almost hyperventilating with anxiety – am I hair type 3B or 4A? Should I consider a texturizer instead of a relaxer? What about texlaxing? How do all these people know all this stuff about hair? Why don’t I? Shoot, did I miss a this-is-you-hair-and-it-proper-care memo at some point?

I shut off my computer, went to my hair salon and said, “This is freaking me out. I want a change. Do whatever you want.” Which - I think you’ll agree – is a considerable improvement over my past passivity.

Not the best pic, but self-portraits are hard, don't ya know? You get the idea.

I’m pretty happy with the results. Except that apparently, this style takes a flat iron to maintain…anyone know much about those? I’m scared to go traipsing about on the internets to find out more…

My Questions Now

2009-02-28T21:58:00.004-05:00

One of my favorite quotes:

I beg you...to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer...

Rainer Maria Rilke, 1903

So, in the spirit of Rilke (ha ha!), here are the questions I’ve been asking myself recently – some profound some silly:

1. What should I boldly say “yes” – and courageously say “no” – to right now?

2. What do my children need from me at this moment?

3. How come Zane never has enough socks? We’re forever doing laundry…

4. Why is hemp milk so expensive? Why does oat milk suck when you heat it? When will I be able return to the joy ‘o soymilk?

5. How can I hold my family so that we move into this next chapter gracefully and with courage?

6. How do I parent two children gracefully?

7. What’s my preoccupation with being graceful? Life is messy.

8. How do I let others help me? What help do I need?

9. How can two children of the same parents be so different?

10. Has ZZ’s cancer returned? (Thankfully - the answer is “no” to this one.)

11. What will SRH’s next job be? What is his is Work?

12. Will it be in Columbus, Ohio?

13. Am I pulling my weight?

14. What can I have to eat?

15. How will I tell the story of this part of my life in 5 years? 10 years? 20 years?

16. Which is the right school for Zane?

17. Okay, we’ve found it…the right school. Will Zane get into this school?

18. Who do Scott and/or I have to sleep with to get Zane into this school?

19. What’s next for us? (Besides sleeping with school administrators…)

20. How come having a water fight in the kitchen at the end of the night makes everything okay?

Okay, so there are some of my questions. I’d ask for the answers, but if I’m to believe the quote above, I must live my way into the answers. So that’s what I’m doing...living into the answers, y’all.

What are some of your questions?

The Same River Twice...

2008-10-24T08:43:00.007-05:00

Zane’s (known) allergies at 4 months: Dairy, Egg, Soy

Eily’s (known) allergies at 4 months: Dairy, Egg, Soy

My reaction to Zane’s allergies at 4 months: Crying, gnashing of teeth, feelings of complete and abysmal failure as a mother

Physical State: skinny and hungry

My reaction to Eily’s allergies at 4 months: WTF?!! I’m a good mother, yo. This m%6$f%&in bites!

Physical State: not-so-skinny, oh-so-hungry

So…I guess it’s not exactly the same river… :)

Nursing Mother/Working Mother

2008-10-04T21:21:00.005-05:00

Hoover and Nursey McNursesALot

With Zane I had a child who LOVED to eat. The boy was a hoover vacuum cleaner. A gourmand of the life’s nectar that is breast milk. He was a good, regular eater - predictable, even.

With Eily, I have a child who LOVES to nurse. She likes the breast milk, but more importantly, she likes to be snuggled up next to me eating directly from the Mama Tap. What is predictable about Eily is that she’ll want to nurse at any and all times and she is not discouraged by…say…a room full of colleagues…or having just eaten 10 minutes before…or her mother’s self-consciousness.

So I work with some pretty amazing people who are completely open to our nursing during meetings, phone calls, idle chit chat. But seriously, they must be thinking that I’m a bit of an exhibitionist – Eily nursed during two of my meetings last week. For the record, Eily attended exactly two of my meetings last week.

Now thankfully, I have someone coming in to provide childcare during the two days a week I work, - Memo to self: keep the working to two days a week!- but things happen. I utter things like, “I can come to the meeting if I can bring the baby.” People, say “yes”, and the next thing you know, there’s a meeting, a baby, and a partially exposed booby.

And don’t tell me that I can cover her up with a blanket. This is theoretically possible, but when you’re nursing for pleasure, your baby wants a view. And I suppose I could move her onto a schedule, but I feel like we’re already moving in that direction and I’m really comfortable (on the 5 days a week I’m not working) letting her lead the way on this. Call me child-centered.

Or a fool.

But I’m not actually looking for advice here. I know what I’m going to do: I’m going to keep nursing my child on demand. I’m going to feel a bit squirrelly about it when it happens in professional situations. I’m going to be discreet, and I’m not going to apologize. AND…I’m going to blog about it to receive affirmation and support.

(cue affirmations and support)

Zane is Five

2008-08-20T23:21:00.003-05:00

In the ensuing madness of raising two – ee gads! - children and dipping my toes back into the work pool, I neglected to do a post for Zane’s 5^th birthday. (Actually, I haven’t done a post for anything since getting a shiny new blog design…so much for that as a motivator.)

Anyway, I knew exactly the blog post I wanted to do, and it wasn’t one of those beautifully written love letters to my child. Please see his 3^rd birthday post for my attempt at that. No, I’m still in the land of the chronically sleep-deprived and hormonal, so any attempt to write such a letter ended in my blubbering while I frantically thesaurus-ed synonyms for “overwhelming love”.

It wasn’t pretty friends.

So, how to coherently express my love for the boy, give him a snapshot of “who” he is at 5 years old, and entertain blog readers – all at the same time? Why, a meme of course!

So here it is, Zane…a “Zane is Five” meme inspired by and about you – our wonderful five year old boy.

5 Things You Are Awesome At:
1. Making Train Layouts – Seriously. I can’t keep up anymore. I rarely even try to help with your mathematically precise layouts.

2. Unintentionally Mocking Others – Why is that person walking so funny? (re: someone strutting down the street) Did she smell something bad? (re: a person with a permanent sneer on their face) “Ooooh…lots of colors…” (re: a hideously tasteless shirt)

3. Playing for Stars – Since we put the “good behavior” chart on the wall, you have eaten more broccoli, picked up more toys, and listened harder than any kid on the planet– all with the intent of getting enough stars to earn a root beer. You loves some root beer.

4. Helping with Eily – You get diapers. You push the button on the butterfly to make it play music. You kiss her little feet in an effort to make her smile. You are totally awesome at this big brother thing.

5. Eating – Never has a skinnier kid eaten so much food. It leaves other children envious (where did he put that 10^th chicken finger?!) and adults in awe.

5 Things You Are…Um…Not-So-Awesome At:
1. Putting Your Pants on Straight – Really, kid. Your bottoms are consistently catawampus.

2. Listening – Especially to things you don’t want to hear. Sure, if I mention going to see trains, you’ll hear me 9 times out of 10. Mention going upstairs to bed, not so much.

3. Sitting Still – You are still the wiggliest worm in your preschool class. That’s okay. The other kids are apparently lazy.

4. Letting Others Play with Your Trains – You have a plan. We’d all do best to stick with it.

5. Eating Candy – You have been overheard saying, “I’m not a candy person,” which is a bit ridiculous since you refuse to even try it. So you are not not a candy person, my love. You are a weirdo kid who won’t try candy.

5 Songs You Love:
1. SexyBack – Justin Timberlake

2. Who Can it Be Now? - Men at Work

3. Underdog – Butthole Surfers

4. Be Happy – Wow, Wow, Wubbzy

5. Fancy – Reba McEntire

6. Don’t judge us.

5 Places You’ve Professed a Desire to Visit:
1. Chicago – lots of trains there

2. Phoenix – You had such a good time when we were there in April.

3. Maine – mostly because your Mimma keeps harping on it

4. Nova Scotia – I’ve been there. You want to go, too.

5. The beach – any beach on any coast.

5 Things You Like to Eat:
1. Chicken Fingers – “chickies” still rule your heart

2. Cracklin Oat Bran – looks like dog food, tastes like heaven

3. Orange Rice – nasty stuff that it is

4. Cap’n Crunch with bananas – aka stealer of the first tooth

5. Pumpkin Muffins – that’s it. No story there.

And finally, child, one last thing you should know: you make my heart sing. Every day. With all you do.

Happy Birthday, Zane.

Check This Out...

2008-07-23T22:24:00.008-05:00

Warning: The following post contains a great deal of hyperbole.

Commercial #1
Like my new blog design? Yeah, me too. I.love.it.

Seriously, the design itself could not be cooler, and the process could not have been easier. I worked with this fabulous woman from this fabulous company and got a cool new blog in about 7 weeks for a ridiculously low price.

And coolest of the cool, I will now be changing my blog title and tagline periodically. Folks gave me such great ideas, and I think it would be completely fun to change it up at will. So while it’s still called Zany Mothering today, the next time you come it will probably be called something else. I'm feeling so inspired by the new design that I may actually update my profile.

So if you are hankerin’ to change up your blog, you should give the ladies at ruby and roja a holler. (…and there I just proved that I am indeed from Southern Ohio…)

Commercial #2
Occasionally I know people. Not big people, like say Michael Keaton – he of the Batman/Mr. Mom fame. But smaller fry. Folks who work hard and are great at what they do.

For example, I happen to know one fabulously talented photographer, and said photographer gifted us with a free infant photo session when Eily was born.

He said he needed practice photographing infants. He said we’d be doing him a favor. What he didn’t say was that I’d cry when I saw the photos.

So if you are in the Columbus area and you want amazing photographs of your children (or yourself), you should totally do a photo session at Franz Photography. Again with the incredibly easy to work with and ridiculously low prices.

How lucky am I these days?

Cool New Stuff

2008-07-15T22:10:00.004-05:00

Lots of cool new things happening here at Chez RH, and since I usually bellyache and share all my various and assorted worries here (see any posts labeled Keith Richards, asthma, food allergies, or other stuff that worries me), I thought I’d take a minute to tell you about some good stuff.

Zane Good Stuff
My kid read his first word on Saturday. Honest to goodness, read it. Didn’t memorize it as the next word in the story. Didn’t guess it from contextual clues. He read it. As you can imagine, I was seriously proud.

Proud enough that we carted the baby to the library yesterday to pick out some “readers” so that he can practice the glorious act of reading. Because while I wasn’t going to push him into reading, now that’s he’s expressed interest, I can’t stop fantasizing about all the nerdy-fun we’re going to have reading together everyday for the rest of his childhood. (That’s how it works right?!)

The word was “off” by the way, so because I can’t contain my pride, here it is…Hot off the press! My kid can read one word in the preceding sentence!

More Zane Good Stuff
Zane is losing his first tooth. This morning he yelled up the stairs that he had “hurt” his tooth, and all I could think was G!@% D$#%@ Cap’N Crunch. Not only are you a sugary devil, now you go physically assaulting my boy’s choppers.

In actuality, the Vile Cap’N merely further loosened a tooth already destined to leave his mouth in the near future. So this is totally cool because Zane feels like such a big boy, but also kind of breaks a mama’s heart. You know, since Zane is getting to be such a big boy.

Eily Good Stuff
It’s official. We have a girl who smiles. Yep, she did it on her 4 week anniversary of life - looked at me big as anything with a wide-mouthed grin and sparkling eyes. For a bit, I thought it might be gas, but she has repeated it often enough that I’m quite sure that it’s a real-deal smile.

My Good Stuff
Getting a new blog design, friends. Yep, I’m revamping the whole thing. I may even change the title. It smacks of favoritism to have the title of your blog reflect only one of your children, doesn’t it?

As I read the sidebar last month, it barely seemed to be talking about my life anymore. For starters, Zane will be 5 next week – yikes! – and his food allergies and asthma don’t take up nearly the space in our lives as they once did. We rarely dash off to the ER or doctor these days. I’m creating a fulfilling work/life, and I get through most days pretty well. (I am, however, still married to the cynical, sarcastic man who makes me laugh every day, and Zane is still wildly adorable so not everything is different, I suppose.)

So…it’s time for a change, but I can’t figure out a new name for the blog which embraces all this good new stuff – Zane’s improved health, new baby, new work, etc.

Any ideas? ZanEily Mothering? Ryan-Hart the Lion Heart? The Rare Blogger?

What do you think?

Edited to add: BTW, my first name is totally fair game in the whole blog re-naming. Bring on the days of the week madness!

No More Words*

2008-06-26T19:49:00.006-05:00

Although I have every intention of posting more during my “maternity leave” (what that even means when you work for yourself, I’m not sure), there are a few reasons that I’m not sure that’s realistic. The major reason being my rapidly dwindling vocabulary coupled with the increasing lack of the necessary faculties to string said words together.

For example, in my seriously sleep-deprived state I had the following conversation with SRH yesterday:

Me: I took Eily to the grocery store and got stuff for dinner tonight.

(This said proudly as I’ve been unable to take a dinner from conceptualization through implementation for, say, about three weeks.)

SRH: Great! What are we having?

Me: (long pause as I struggle to remember the name of the dish) Umm…chicken…in a pot…with ‘tatoes.

That’s right. That was my articulation of dinner. Chicken…in a pot…with ‘tatoes. I couldn’t even get out potatoes or even taters, for goodness sakes.

Sleep feels like a long-lost friend. Vocabulary is rapidly failing. Sanity cannot be far behind.

The cause of all this in-articulation, 3 weeks

*You tell me that you love me while you’re looking away. No more words. No more words, and no more promises of love.

(In this semi-lucid state my crazy love for bad song lyrics is more and more pushed to the fore. At some point, I will do a whole post of lyrics…just strung together…and then you will know my pain.)

So…Ummmm…Yeah…We Had a Baby

2008-06-17T21:43:00.003-05:00

I know it’s been an inexcusably long silence from me here. (I mean, when I left you I was about to be induced with a baby who was threatening to be small for gestational age…geez, how did that go?!?!).

And I totally left you hanging there, but in my defense, I figured that every person who reads this blog could find out another way that the wonderful baby had been born, so I went totally off-line for a bit and let SRH handle the announcin’ and such.

But, since you asked…

Eily (rhymes with “Riley”) was born June 4, 2008 at 7:56am. She weighed a respectable 5lbs. 12 oz and was 19.5 inches long.

Take that Small for Gestational Age Police – boo ya! She may have been born officially qualifying as “small for gestational age” by being between the 5^th and 10^th percentiles, but by 5 days old, she was in the 15^th percentile. And every doctor agreed that she’s just a small baby. No issues. Perfectly healthy. Just small.

So, as you can imagine we are very sleep deprived and deliriously happy. That being said, the sleep deprivation is currently edging out the ability to blog this evening, so I asked SRH to give me 10-12 words so that I could do a “word association” post since I’m not all that able to string thoughts together right now. (SRH word in black…my response in purple. And yes, I know that I’m supposed to do the first word that comes to mind, but I find that sleep debt has taken actual words right out of my head and replaced them with roundabout phrases.)

Movie…I’ll never see one of those again.

Baby…Parasite. Ummm, I mean very sweet-smelling, make my heart sing, parasite.

Salt…Pepa. (Yo, yo, yo, yo baby pop. Yeah you! Come and give me a kiss. Better make it fast or else I’m gonna get pissed.)

Rehab…No, no, no.

Laughter…funny stuff.

Nursing…sore, cracked, bleeding nips. That being said, it’s much easier this time around.

Food…yes, please.

Abs…I’m so never having those again.

Groceries…could totally use some of those. How can two adults not make it to the grocery store for over 3 days after stating their intention to go there?

Sandal…I’m always up for a smart pair of black sandals.

Fan…Fantastic, fanfare, fanfic, fantasia, fan-demonium. Okay, I’m stopping now.

Sleep…Ha! I laugh at the thought of sleep. I also cry a little bit, too.

Talk at you soon – I think. I can’t really tell what’s next for our family since I’ve never had two children before. Crap, I’m a mother of two.

She’s our wee, small peanut…but at least she’s still in my tummy

2008-05-30T21:10:00.000-05:00

Just to give a quick update: saw the perinatologist today, and I’m still pregnant so that is fabulous news indeed.

Obviously, there was no induction today. My amniotic fluid levels are okay. We saw a beautifully beating heart, “breathing” movements, two kidneys, and a wonderful little profile.

Less than fabulous is the fact that the baby appears to be on the small side - small enough to cause the doctor concern. Not small enough to order an immediate induction today, but enough to order non-stress tests/fluid checks and make the recommendation for induction next week.

Many, many, many details could be given here…call/email me if you’d like them…but basically they don’t know why she’s so small, and it’s not an emergency, but they’d like to get her out once she hits 38 weeks.

(I’ll be officially 38 weeks according to my doctor next Wednesday, so she has scheduled my induction for next Tuesday at 9pm. She’s apparently taking this “induce at 38 weeks” recommendation from the perinatologist quite seriously. Which I kind of appreciate and also kind of freaks me out.)

I’m a bit overwhelmed, but all the testing today said she’s healthy and doing exactly what she should be doing in there so I’m generally feeling positive and confident.

And the docs seem to agree that it would be best if I just go into labor naturally beforehand so I’ll still be using all your tips – and anymore you want to provide – to avoid induction next week.

Wish us luck!

37 Weeks!!!!!!!

2008-05-28T21:18:00.004-05:00

(Writers’ Disclaimer: I am today, 37 weeks pregnant according to my doctor. I happen to know, due to being ridiculously obsessed with exact date of conception – a common affliction for couples experiencing infertility - that I will not really be 37 weeks pregnant until Friday. And also, this whole pregnancy counting thing has me completely confused. I thought last week that the doctor said that if I made it through Wednesday, I’d be at 37 weeks. But this week she said if I made it to Wednesday that would be good. Ack! Note to doctor: the use use of the correct and exact preposition is very important to women on bed rest.)

Anyhoo…the doctor said yesterday that I am now free to resume normal activities. In fact, she said that I can run a marathon if I’d like. Because now THE BABY IS OFFICIALLY FULL-TERM! Oh sure, I’m still 3 weeks away from my due date, but it’s been clear for several weeks now that I’m not going to make that date, and now the baby is medically considered full-term.

Can I get an “amen”?

That’s right, friends. I am now full-term, and the baby can come out at any time. Don’t think I am not grinning from ear to ear. Don’t think that SRH and I didn’t do a high-five at midnight last night. Don’t think I didn’t have a celebratory margarita this morning. (Okay, I didn’t, but I certainly wanted to.)

And now, irony of ironies, I have to see the perinatal specialists this week and there is a possibility that I will have to be induced on Friday. Why in the world would that occur, you ask? Weren’t you just the lady who was trying to lay down the majority of the day so that the baby wouldn’t come out?

Indeed. That was me. But now, it seems that the baby may be a bit small and/or my amniotic fluid may be low. So I have to have an extra special ultrasound to get the baby’s size and measure the amniotic fluid. There are a lot more details, but the gist is that I was induced with Zane because of low amniotic fluid, and I am fairly determined not to have that happen again.

So today…I was up and around almost every second. I took Zane shopping for new shoes. We had a play date. I carried a 2 year old down a flight of stairs. I sat on an exercise ball and visualized my cervix opening like a flower, and SRH and I took a long walk after dinner. SRH and I were going to do The Old Bone Dance, but he narrowly escaped that task because I just read an article that said that it’s really not an effective way to bring on labor, and my pelvis hurts enough.

So, bloggy friends, any wisdom to share? Any tips for going into labor before Friday at 9am?

Anatomically Incorrect

2008-05-14T20:52:00.003-05:00

Perhaps the child has a point?

Tonight Zane was in champion “stalling for bedtime” form. He yelled messages down the stairs to us, read a book on the potty for a good 10 minutes, complained about imaginary injuries, and asked for extra good night kisses.

At one point, this is the conversation we had – yelled down the stairs because we wouldn’t let him come down to tell us.

Zane: What are you guys watching?

Me/SRH: Just a show on TV, buddy…

Zane: Are you guys watching one of my shows?

Me/SRH: No.

Zane: Are you watching Noggin?

Me/SRH: NO!

Zane: Well, what are you watching?

SRH: Just a show about volcanoes, Zaney. (This was brilliant because Zane is slightly fearful of volcanoes but they don’t throw him into paroxysms of terror like, say, sirens).

Zane: Volcanoes?

Me/SRH: Yep. You wouldn’t like it.

Zane: Do you know what else volcanoes can be called?

Me/SRH: What, buddy?

Zane: Vulvas.

Me/SRH: What?!

Zane: Volcanoes can also be called vulvas.

Me: (laughing hysterically)

SRH: No, no they can’t buddy. Volcanoes are not called vulvas.

Me: (to Scott) Well, they are now.

Zane: Yes, they are. They explode just like vulvas.

Okay, so back to the drawing board on the whole “using the correct terms” for body parts. Apparently, we’ve not been clear enough if our child believes that volcanoes and vulvas are interchangeable.

Whoa there, Nelly!

2008-05-12T21:10:00.007-05:00

Dearest Fred,*

There is so much to say to you, sweet baby girl. So much to describe: the awe and fierce happiness I feel about your growing inside me, my heart’s gratitude that we get to have you in our lives, the anticipation of meeting you. But if I get to only tell you one thing, the message is…

DON’T COME OUT NOW!

No really, don’t. We’re not ready. You’re not ready. Nobody is ready.

Scoot back up in there and take a breather. There’s no reason to be hanging down below my ischial spines– you get another 6 weeks in Spa de la Mama, enjoy them. There is no rush.

Not that we don’t want you here. No, siree. Your papa and I are certainly looking forward to your arrival. We’re simply also looking forward to completing the remodel, finishing up some work projects, and getting your nursery together before you join us.

But mainly, we want you to stay in there because we want you to be completely healthy when you come out.

You can imagine my surprise last week at the doctor’s visit when she said that you were about to make a run for the border and deliver at any second. (Or perhaps you cannot imagine my surprise because you are a mere 34 weeks gestational age and so have no experience with obstetrical visits and shocking news yet. And actually, she didn’t say you were coming at any second. She just kept repeating how “low” you were. I have taken a bit of neurotic license with this one).

Anyway, I knew you had dropped, and so I mentioned to the doctor that I thought this tended to happen later in a pregnancy. The doctor wasn’t overly concerned, but decided to do an internal exam after I told her that I’d been having some pelvic pressure since then.

And then the following conversation occurred with my feet in the stirrups:

Doc: Oh…you are very low.
Me: Yeah, I know. I was amazed that I’d dropped.

Doc: Yes, very, very low.

Me: Uh- huh.

Doc: You’re at a +1 station right now.

Me: Hmmm… (that was me faking that I knew what that meant)

Doc: No, I don’t think you understand. If you were in labor right now, you would be pushing.

Me: Oh.

Doc: (shaking her head) That’s very impressive.

There followed a discussion where we determined that I needed to get monitored to see if I was having contractions (I was) and possibly go to the hospital. Apparently since the contractions were very mild, I was allowed to go home to rest. And rest, and rest some more.

So that’s what I’ve been doing…resting. I don’t do that very well, really. But I’m determined to keep you in – because I totally have complete control here - so I’ve been pushing myself like crazy…to rest.

This means, however, that I am left with a lot of time resting and thinking about what needs to be done. So there has been some preparation for your arrival:

- We bought you some preemie clothes, just in case. Completely surreal, that. They’re all “3-5 lbs” size. Yikes! But we gave them to Mimma and told her not to wash them until we actually get a hospital admission. Hey, it’s good to have them, but if you do end up being full-term, we’re taking those sweet little clothes back, mama.

- SRH through action/thought/deed/and strong non-verbals pressured the contractor into speeding things up in the remodel a bit. By this, I mean that he started working beside the contractor and would cast dirty looks his direction all the while muttering, “The baby is coming, the baby is coming” over and over. He’s subtle, your papa.

- I hired the painter to come next week to paint the kitchen, office, bathroom, and your nursery.

- Mimma came over and cleaned the entire downstairs, and Papa and I are pulling the upstairs together. Just so you know, we are filthy, filthy people. Perhaps this will change when you get here, but I wouldn’t count on it.

- We’ve completed the pre-registration forms for the hospital.

- I’ve scheduled the hospital tour and childbirth refresher class. Those both happen by next Sunday, so hopefully that’s soon enough.

- I’ve sorted and washed the 0-3 months clothes that we’ll reuse from Zane, and washed the new stuff that we have for you.

I think that’s about it, chica. The nurse said that we shouldn’t plan to make it to our due date, but there are always surprises, and I’ll know more when I see the doctor on Friday. Or when I go into labor, I suppose.

So, try to hang tight in there, child. There’s a whole big world to see out here, but you have plenty of time.

Much love,

Mama

*And of course, your name is not Fred, but we don’t know exactly what your name is yet. We’re trying to wait to meet you before making any rash decisions…and Zane has decided that if you can’t be named Cabbage or Truck, then he shall call you Fred. So it’s what we have to work with right now.

I'm Trying to Think Here!

2008-03-10T22:27:00.012-05:00

I may have mentioned this before, but SRH has – on occasion – made the following comment to me, It must be hell to be in your head.

And though this might sound a bit harsh, he’s actually just commenting that I have so much going on in my head at any given moment, he’s not sure how I function through all the chatter. And truthfully, neither am I.

And it’s been a particularly high-chatter time in the old noggin recently. I attribute this to the pregnancy and the whole working-for-myself transition, but the origin of it really doesn’t matter.

Anyway, I thought I’d try to blog about it so that other people can share my hell. Lucky blog reader.

At any given morning these days, here’s the conversation in my head:

Me: Okay, so what needs to get done today?

Baby in the Belly: Uh…I don’t know what your plans are, but you better start off whatever you’re doing with some protein. I’m trying to grow some gray matter here.

Keith Richards (my errant, but benign, liver tumor): Not so fast there, you saucy wench. I’m still in effect down here on your right side. I haven’t been getting much air time now that the princess is on the way, but I’m still here and you don’t want me to… (unidentifiable garbling)

Me: Are you threatening me, Keith? Because I’m pretty good to you. I haven’t eaten 14 sausages in a row for years and I have drastically reduced my consumption of red meat - all to give you more room.

Baby in Belly: Can I have some shrimp?

Keith: She doesn’t even like seafood, bambino. Now eat some melba toast and shut it.

Exhaustion (a ubiquitous new player on to the scene): Well, if we don’t get something to eat soon, I’m going to have to insist we go back to bed.

Me: What? No! We’ve only been up 15 minutes! Okay, let me think. What is protein-rich, low fat, won’t expand my stomach too much – see, I’m taking care of you Keith – and can be fixed in the next two minutes?

Baby in Belly: What about taking care of me? I’m your long-awaited, much anticipated second child. You went through Clomid to get me lady. Don’t mess it up now. FEED ME.

Keith: Baby, you weigh, what, a pound and a half? You’ve only been bigger than me for the past month. I was here before you and I’ll be around after because – unlike the party planned for you on or near June 18 - there aren’t any plans to evacuate me from her body.

Me: Shhhhhhh…both of you…I’m trying to think.

Looming Project A: I don’t have much to say about breakfast, but I should remind you that you have some outstanding emails to attend to. And I don’t have to tell you that this is a big project, and you’re new to the team. And you did quit your job to do exactly this.

Baby: HUNGRY!!!!

Looming Project A: And you really should take on some of that “to do” list you wrote out last Friday. It was over page long – all stuff that you’re paid to do.

Keith: Speaking of pay, I did mention that that’s what I’ll make you do should you decide to break your fast on oatmeal or somesuch, didn’t I?

Me: Oatmeal? Keith, oatmeal is low fat and fiber rich. It’s good for me – and you and the baby. We all win.

Keith: Yes, but it takes up an uncomfortable amount of room in your stomach while it’s digesting. All in all, I’m not a big fan of the oatmeal these days.

Baby: And oatmeal doesn’t have much protein. I’m totally down with protein – and I mean the animal- meat kind of protein - these days. I think it has something to do with the very important neural connections that I’m trying to develop this.very.second.

Me: Heading to the kitchen as we speak guys, hang in there.

Exhaustion: Ohhhh…I’m sorry. Not quick enough, Zany Mama. I’m going to have to dock you two hours this morning. Come on, let’s go lay down.

Me: Okay…okay. Let me just get some breakfast, get Zane to preschool, do a bit of work, talk to the contractor, and then….Crud. Then I’ll have to eat again. But I promise to meet you after lunch.

Exhaustion: Don’t worry. I’ll be here.

Keith: As will I!

Baby: Me, too!

Looming Project A: I’ll just sit quietly over here, but you know you’ll have terrible guilt and recrimination later if you avoid me.

Me: I hear all of you. Now leave me alone. I’m going to go eat a smoothie followed by a lean but nourishing slab of ham. There. Everybody happy?

Interesting. Several sources of this conversation reside in one small space - 24 weeks

Please note, the above exchange does not represent the views and voices of:

Possible Exciting Project X
Sciatica
Old Job
Upcoming Work Trip
Kitchen/Bathroom/Office Remodel
CRankiness Associated with Pregnancy (CRAP)

I will, no doubt, share some of their input at a later date.

To Infinitive and Beyond!

2008-02-27T21:53:00.005-05:00

There are many quirks that come with Zane’s sensory processing disorder that are quite charming. For example, he gives me directions to wherever we’re going (he always has a preference), I never have to wonder what to get him for a gift (trains), and he has an urgent need to have a blanket covering his pillow at night so he doesn’t “stick”.

You see the charm here, right? These idiosyncrasies are easy to accommodate, and they make him feel secure – we all win. So while I’ve appreciated all the help he’s gotten from occupational therapy, I’ve also secretly hoped that he doesn’t lose these loveable little foibles that make him uniquely him.

But as his auditory processing improves with occupational therapy, he’s talking more and more – which is actually giving us a whole new set of things to feel delighted by. Recently, it’s like we’ve had a little person who doesn’t speak English as his first language living with us. More to the point, the child is in love with infinitives.

My favorite so far:

Mama, I like this music. It makes me feel like to dance.

So dance, my sweet boy, dance. Whenever you feel like to dance, you go right ahead.

In Which I Attempt to Document this Gestation

2008-02-18T22:43:00.003-05:00

The other day SRH and I were at a bookstore – because we have the hottest date nights in town – and I happened to pick up a pregnancy journal.

You know, a pregnancy journal. One of those books you write in daily/weekly/monthly to memorialize all those special moments of your coming child’s gestation. If you have only one child – or are pregnant with your first – you totally know to what I’m referring. You may even have smiled when I brought it up.

If you have more than one child – or are on your second + pregnancy – I’ll give you a minute to remember. Ah yes, there it is - the pregnancy journal.

So, for about 2 seconds in the book store I contemplated getting the journal. This would be a nice way to commemorate this pregnancy, I thought. You did one for Zane, I continued. This baby deserves to be documented in the same way.

And then I realized that I’d have to actually start in the middle of the journal as I am now 22 weeks pregnant – over half way there - and I haven’t written a thing down. And that seemed a bit half-assed, even for me.

So I thought, Heeeeeeeey…you have a blog. Why not write in that and call it square?

So here it is. The first entry of perhaps the worst pregnancy journal ever. But I care about this baby that’s coming, dammit. And I’m going to write 3-4 entries before June to prove it.

Entry #1 –What’s Different With This Pregnancy?

When people tell me I’m cute/little/barely showing, I simply say “thank you”. Last time I was pregnant, I vehemently tried to disabuse everyone of this notion. I was, dare I say, a wee bit offended by their inability to see that I was a great big sow of a woman who was carrying a ginormous child.

This time, I don’t even mention that I have gained 20+ pounds and that I’m measuring large. Nope, no siree. I simply thank them and pretend that I am cute/little/ barely showing – even though I feel like my major task of every morning is stuffing five basketballs into maternity clothes. (Two up top, one in front, and two bouncing along behind me).

I’m not reading any pregnancy books. Last time I had a whole slew of them – with this one being my favorite. I obsessed over what was happening for the baby during a particular week. I looked forward to the week changing over so I could read about what was going to happen in the upcoming week. I knew what symptoms I should be having, what foods I shouldn’t eat, and when I would get certain tests.

Yesterday, I went to the library and visited to the pregnancy/childbirth section – mostly because I felt like I should. And I could not for the life of me muster up the interest to even check one single book out. I was all, Meh…I probably won’t read this anyway. Baby Girl and I seem to be getting along just fine. Why would I want to read about it?

So, instead I walked out with some porn. Um, excuse me, erotica. Because second trimester sex is a really wonderful gift, friends. Thank goodness that hasn’t changed.

Now…I have a hard time remembering where exactly I am in the pregnancy. Is this week 22 or 23? Is my due date June 18 or 21^st? When does this second trimester end? Crap. I’m totally unprepared here.

Fear of miscarriage. Having lost a pregnancy last summer and being plagued by bleeding and cramping during the first trimester of this pregnancy, I have been aware of the fragile-ness of gestation in a way that I never was with Zane. But that’s a downer, and I’ll post more about it another time. (That time being when I’m totally into killing your buzz.)

On the other hand…now that I finally believe that we’re going to have a baby at the end of all this…

I am looking forward to meeting this little one in a way that I never did with Zane. It’s true. I wondered what Zane would be like. I fantasized about having a child, but my anticipation was always clouded with the anxiety about how I would be as a mother. Can I do this? I wondered.

This time, though, I know I can do this. SRH and I are actually quite decent parents, and while I can’t imagine what adding another child into our household mix will do exactly, I feel quite certain that we will manage it.

Now, it’s just all about meeting her. Seeing her for the first time, touching her little baby skin, smelling her soft breath, and getting to love who she will be.

Pretty awesome stuff, that.

Slightly less awesome will be the sleepless nights, the dirty diapers, and the sore, cracked bleeding nipples. But I’m up for it, and it’s definitely worth at least trying to keep a journal for.

Drumroll Please

2008-01-25T21:32:00.000-05:00

Let's go through the signs and symptoms, shall we?

I'm craving sweets...

Baby's heartrate was above 140...

I have some pregnancy-related acne...

I didn't have any morning sickness...

I'm not excessively hairy with this pregnancy...

I am "carrying high" - look like I swallowed a basketball...

SRH has gained weight right along with me...

I took 8 cranberry supplements and chugged Lydia Pinkham's tonic the week before I ovulated...

The needle/wedding ring swung in large circles over my tummy...

And, of course, the drano didn't bubble when I mixed it with my urine...

...It must be a girl!
(and here I thought I needed an ultrasound to confirm the news)

Place Your Bets*

2008-01-24T15:56:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow is the day of days...the "tour of the baby" ultrasound.

So what do we think, friends? Boy or girl?

*And I expect every person who still reads this blog (yes, both of you) to share your guesses.

We Interrupt this Bloggy Vacation…

2007-11-29T23:43:00.000-05:00

...to say that today I quit my job. And not like quitting my job last June – that time when I walked into my boss’ office and she said, “Oh my god. Are you quitting? Don’t quit. Just don’t quit. Okay. We can work something out, just don’t quit without trying to work something out.” And I was all, “Okay.”

Nope. Not like that at all.

Today, after months of being overwhelmed and exhausted and feeling pulled between my day job and this consulting stuff that seems to be going somewhere, I decided to quit.

Well actually, it wasn’t today that I decided to quit. I’ve been percolating on it for a while and told myself about 6 weeks ago that if I got one more consulting gig, I was going to quit my job.

Then about 4 days later, I got another gig.

And then 3 days after that, I got another one.

But was I convinced? Oh no. For you see, I am from the School of the Formerly Poor, where each lesson ends with the phrase - Do not ever leave a regular paying job.

So I hemmed and I hawed (is this how you spell that?)…and I dithered and I dathered (which I’m quite sure is not how you spell that)…and I talked it over ad nauseum with SRH.

And after much dismay and deliberation, I decided to go for it.

Today.

Today I quit my job.

And if it was the worst decision of my life and puts my family in the poorhouse and my children’s lives in jeopardy, I can always get another job, right?

The Confidant

2007-08-06T21:57:00.000-05:00

As a person who is intrinsically nosy (i.e. why I became a therapist), I have always consoled myself with the fact that while I am overly inquisitive about what’s going on in other people’s lives, I am also intensely interested in figuring out my own dynamics as well. So when my friend Karen, put this personality test link up on her blog, I couldn’t resist. I had to know more about myself.

Here I am:

Turns out, I’m an INFJ – an apparently rare personality type. I knew it! I knew it! Not only am I one of only four people in the United States who hates cheese, but I am also a characterological anomaly. I’m like the unicorn in the make believe land of personality - except I exist.

And I am, apparently, a little strange.

No matter. I was intrigued by some of the insights about my personality that seemed right on target. For example:

Because the INFJ has such strong intuitive capabilities, they trust their own instincts above all else. This may result in an INFJ stubborness and tendency to ignore other people's opinions. They believe that they're right.

Yeah, you got a problem with that?

INFJs are deeply concerned about their relations with individuals as well as the state of humanity at large. They are, in fact, sometimes mistaken for extroverts because they appear so outgoing and are so genuinely interested in people…On the contrary, INFJs are true introverts…

It’s like looking in a mirror, people, reading this stuff.

INFJs are highly intuitive, empathetic and dedicated listeners. These traits tend to act as a "tell me what's wrong" sign on their forehead…

This trait makes people at the grocery store tell me all about their troubled marriages, their son’s criminal behavior, their daughter’s recent abortion, and their aunt’s third nipple.

(As an aside, I have started wearing my iPod whenever I go out alone so that folks don’t think they should talk to me.)

But here’s the quote that stopped me in my tracks:

At intervals INFJs will suddenly withdraw into themselves, sometimes shutting out even their intimates. This apparent paradox is a necessary escape valve for them, providing both time to rebuild their depleted resources and a filter to prevent the emotional overload to which they are so susceptible as inherent "givers." As a pattern of behavior, it is perhaps the most confusing aspect of the enigmatic INFJ character to outsiders, and hence the most often misunderstood…

I sent this quote to BFF Zingerzapper, and she cracked up. To her, this is such a part of my character that it doesn’t even bear discussion.

And so…and here you other intuitive types might guess where this is going…I’m taking a bit of a bloggy break.

Not a long one. Just for a few weeks. I’m feeling a need to “withdraw into myself” and replenish.

As proof of my good faith, I leave you with a few blog post ideas that have been rattling around in my head:

Good Lessons from a Bad Boyfriend
Yoga Toes
Occupational Therapy is Magic
On Guilt
I Quit this Job…So Why Am I Still Working Here?
Round Two with the Critical Inner Voice

See, I’ll have to write these up. So don’t fret, ma petite pumpkins, I’ll be back…in a while…it’s just part of my personality.

What Have We Done?

2007-07-31T08:09:00.000-05:00

Zane turned four last week - and yes, I will write the requisite blog entry full of love and devotion to my little boy, but just not today. (Really, I will. Please see last year's love letter as proof of my commitment to waxing eloquent about the wonder that is my little boy.)

Anyway, Zane got lots of cool stuff for his special day, and one of his favorite gifts is a kid's digital camera. He's gone completely nuts for the thing. He'll take 60 pictures in 10 seconds flat, ask us to upload them onto the computer, and then take 60 more - all before breakfast!

So what's a family with 800 pictures taken by a four year old to do? Well, we make him his own photo blog, of course.

A sample of what you'll see if you mosey over to Zane's blog:

My Birthday Party

This is my mama - she truly is this goofy. Here's proof that I'm not making it up - the pictures show the real story.

This is my papa - he's particularly tall, so the view will often be of his stubbly chin.

Here's me. As you may have guessed, I didn't take this particular photo. Papa took it, but I think it beautifully captures the birthday goodness which was going on. Check out my hat.

So yeah, we totally created a photo blog for Zane. We couldn't help ourselves - the pictures are hilarious, and we are so enamored of our child that we thought we'd claim a corner of the blogosphere for him. In case you missed it, here's the link to Little Man's Got a Camera.

Enjoy!

I Get By With A Little Help...

2007-07-23T21:24:00.000-05:00

Last week, I went out with a group of new women friends after work, and a fine time was had by all. Such a fine time that most of the women said things like, “This was great! We have to do this again.” And “Oh my goodness, I had so much fun. We should do this regularly!”

I, on the other hand, was all, “Eh. It was fine. I suppose I’d do it again.”

At first I chalked this up to my raging anti-social tendencies, but when I thought about it a bit longer, I realized that it was actually my extreme good fortune of having a regular group of women friends to hang out with that made me so blasé about this new gathering.

You see, about once a month for the past five years (give or take), I have had a regularly scheduled Girls Night Out with three fabulous women – hereafter referred to as the GNO group.

During that time, each one of the GNO group has had babies, some of us more than one. We’ve all switched jobs (or careers), and two of us are raising children with food allergies and asthma. One of us has gotten married, and the rest of us were there to cheer her on. One of us announced that she was moving across the country, but somehow has never managed to leave us. Another one of us developed cancer. Two of us actively resist letting others support us, but the other two remain steadfast in their support.

All of us, though, have come to rely on our monthly time together as a way to get some sanity in the midst of child-rearing chaos and life’s ridiculousness.

================================================

Sometimes you get the friends you want, not the friends you deserve.

For example:

This weekend, two of the GNO group threw a joint birthday party for Zane and another group member’s child.

Why? Because they could tell that I was struggling under the weight of trying to get everything done with work and home and health stuff.

Since Zane gets a bit overwhelmed in larger gatherings, SRH and I celebrate his birthday with smaller play dates – usually about four of them. Which is wonderful and special and intimate and all, but let’s be clear it also means that there are four “birthday play dates” to plan, four cakes to make, four sets of schedules to maneuver, and about a week long of birthday-fueled adrenaline from Zane.

It’s exhausting and overwhelming – and now that I think about it, completely a middle-class angst thing. Whatever.

So, I was trying to pull together a dual birthday party for Zane and the other lovely child, and it just wasn’t coming together for me.

Then, I got an email from another member of the GNO group that said, “Hey, why don’t I just throw the party? I’d love to do it for you.”

I dramatically responded with, “Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes!”

And so, we showed up this weekend to a completely planned birthday party with games, arts and crafts, food, and favors. AND I DIDN’T HAVE TO PLAN ONE THING.

(Okay, I did have to make the cake, but when you have a child who is allergic to dairy, egg, peanuts, and tree nuts, that’s just a given.)

It was wonderful. Zane had a great time, and we got to celebrate his birthday without all the typical freaking out that birthday party having typically entails.

My friends take amazing care of me – when I let them.

===============================================

So then I came home and started reading a very popular book, and my eye caught the following passage:

He wanted to tell them what that meant to him, but he simply could not find words important enough.

===============================================

Thank you, my friends.

Good Fences Make Good Neighbors?

2007-07-16T20:45:00.000-05:00

I think the neighbor lady across the street is mad at me.

You might ask, Is this the same neighbor with whom you’ve had very few conversations? The one that you merely exchange pleasantries with and then move on? The one who you used to suspect might be interested in a friendship – you do both have little boys, after all – but after one flat play date, you both thought better of it?

Yes, one and the same.

And it wasn’t the failed play date that did it. We have had conversations since then, and they have been fine. At least I think they were fine…

For though I used to be a practicing psychotherapist (one who, of necessity, picks up on the subtleties and nuances of other’s behavior), I have been known to be a bit focused when going about my business, so I may not have noticed if things weren’t okay.

After all usually when we say hello, I’m heading to work trying to wrangle a preschooler who has a penchant for making me late or I'm heading out for an evening walk - my precious alone time. Add to this that I loathe chit chat with the same fiery hatred that I typically reserve for asymmetrical tank tops, and you may have a recipe for my missing some signals here.

What I can clearly tell you is that recently while leaving for the aforementioned walk, this neighbor has been shooting daggers at me with her eyes – if she deems to look at me, that is. She has also started turning away just as I would come into her field of view, pretending that she doesn’t see me. And then a few days ago, she actually spoke behind her hand to two other neighbor ladies as I walked by.

And my issue is not that I feel bothered by this. Rather my angst is that I feel like I should be bothered by it. If she’s angry at me, then I must have done something (albeit unintentionally) to make her feel slighted or hurt.

And while I act all bad-ass on this blog, I really don’t want to be the type of person who hurts and slights others willy-nilly. Really, it’s not my style. I prefer distant cordiality in most circumstances, but – if pushed – I will attend to the emotional needs of those outside my established circle of family and friends.

So I think I should at least try to make some attempt to talk to her in an effort to re-establish friendly neighbor relations, but – and here’s the crux of the matter - I don’t really feel like it.

We don’t have much in common. Our kids don’t necessarily play well together (mostly because her child tends to hit and kick), and I’m not necessarily interested in making new friends who live across the street and therefore can stop by anytime. Also, I don’t feel like I have the excess energy required to placate someone who’s being kind of stupid about a slight that I don’t even remember.

So I’m torn between acting the part of a decent neighbor (requiring effort on my part) and my natural inclination to ignore her until she eventually moves away (relatively less effort on my part).

It’s really a battle between the person I want to be (kind and neighborly) and the person I am (emotionally unavailable and lazy).

What’s a girl to do?

Because Mothering is Glamourous

2007-07-11T21:26:00.000-05:00

While at our local crossing gate watching trains go by, Zane hands me a very small, round, flat object. (think a piece of confetti)

Zane: Mama, is this pink?

Me: Yeah, it’s kind of pink, and it’s also kind of red.

Zane: It’s pink and red?

Me: Pink and red and a little bit brown, too, isn’t it?

Zane: Pink and red and brown. (smiles with satisfaction)

Me: Yep. What is it, buddy? Where did you get it?

Zane: My nose.

Sunday Evening Lunacy

2007-07-08T21:47:00.000-05:00

I consider myself a relatively smart person. I mean I’m no Stephen Hawkings, but I was valedictorian of my high school class. And if that doesn’t convince you of my intellect (perhaps because you know I went to high school in southern Ohio with a student body of less than 400 people), than you should also know that I was a National Merit Scholar.

And I can almost hear you thinking, “Well maybe she’s book smart, but does she have any common sense?”

So I’ve heard this one a lot – the one where someone is called book smart as if it is derogatory with common sense becoming the gold standard of intelligence. Although to be truthful, I’ve never heard it before in reference to me. I assume that this is because to the casual ~~blog reader~~ observer, I appear to be neither book smart nor particularly full of common sense.

Whatever. In my life, my mother is the Queen of Common Sense. I guess growing up in a poor Irish farming family with an alcoholic father and bitter, bitter mother is the recipe for developing common sense sovereignty. I’m not quite sure if that’s the case, but I do know that the woman knows a no-nonsense answer to every quandary.

At least three times a week, SRH and I have the following discussion:

Me: I don’t know…what do you think?

SRH: (Shrugs) I don’t know…what do you think?

Me: Maybe I should call my mom?

SRH: Yeah.

Anyway, I may not have the common sense of my mother, but I’ve never considered myself a slouch in that department.

So explain to me how, this very evening - when I was washing about 250 plastic balls in bleach water to fill up Zane’s new ball pit, which incidentally, the OT is thrilled for him to have because, you know, it provides deep pressure which is helpful for both his tactile and proprioceptive systems. And anyway, I had to clean the balls in bleach water because my dear friend, M, got them off Craigslist for mere pennies, but they were filthy because their previous ball pit home was located out of doors - I had a huge breakdown of sound judgment.

Why, I ask you, would I …

…choose to do said bleach water washing in my new cute lime green top…

…while standing on the irreplaceable Scottish wool blanket that SRH and I bought in London on our 5^th anniversary trip…

…and upon realizing the idiocy of this behavior by noticing white spots on the aforementioned top and blanket, I would STILL run my fingers through my hair before washing my hands.

I’m sure that tomorrow morning, I’ll have unflattering orange highlights on both sides of my head. Because that’s what happens to Black hair when it’s bleached, right? It becomes an unwieldy, nappy burnt orange? It doesn’t become blonde does it?

Because if you’ve known me for more than 5 minutes, you are aware that I think that Black people with blonde hair are an abomination. Something nature never intended. (Even Beyonce, beautiful woman that she is, struggles as a true blonde.) And I feel fairly certain that the superstar doesn’t get her ‘do by running bleachy fingers through uncombed hair while trying to put together a toy for their child at 9pm at night after a long, exhausting weekend of play dates, cleaning house, and brunch making.

So, um, yeah, I think we’re clear on the verdict here: I may be a little book smart, but not so much with the common sense.

"Meme" is the word

2007-07-02T20:52:00.000-05:00

Both Zany Mama and I were tagged by people to do this here meme. The “8 Things” meme has been flying around the web like wildfire. Mommy Blogs, Quilting Blogs, FanFic Blogs, Cigar Blogs, PoliSci Blogs, Comic Book Blogs, and even Spammish Marketing Blogs have all been infected with this meme. Zany Mothering and Under Construction were sadly not immune. But Wifey and I have decided to buck tradition and do things our own way, damnit! So we decided to post 8 things about each other on each other’s respective blogs. So, without further ado, 8 things about my wife.

Here are the previous rules:

Here are the rules:
-list 8 facts/habits about ~~yourself~~ My Partner
-post the rules at the beginning before those facts/habits are listed

-tag 8 people and post their names, go to their blogs and leave them a comment, letting them know that they have been tagged and ask them to read your blog.

Things About ~~Me:~~my partner:

Thing the first: Zany Mama hates listening to commentators during sporting events, even though she loves watching the human interest stuff that obscures the Olympics. Hey, color commentary is just that “human interest” crap without the extra pictures and schmaltzy music.

Thing the second: Occasionally she loses all sense of impulse control. This typically happens around me and annoying behaviors. For example she once gave me a “wet-willy” and was surprised that she actually had done it (so she says…).

“I… I… couldn’t stop myself…” Yeah, sure

Thing the third: When she gets seriously stressed/scared she sometimes finds herself laughing hysterically. In many ways it makes her look a bit insane. Many ways…

Thing the fourth: Zany Mama hates replacing the toilet paper roll. I know that is usually a guy thing, but it is true.

Thing the fifth: Wifey loves the movie, “The Clash of the Titans.” This is something that has been mentioned previously on my blog via one of my “20 Questions Tuesday” posts, but most of you folk don’t read my drivel and especially don’t read my archives. ---- Just between you and me, I don’t blame you. I ramble and prattle too much for my own good.---- Sure, sure, some of you know this stuff but most people don’t.

**Author’s Note: Holy Shnikies, this meme is hard!**

Thing the sixth: She will stay in bed for hours after she realizes that she needs to pee. The bathroom is 20 steps away from the bed.

Thing the seventh: She prefers to sleep naked. I prefer her to sleep naked as well. (Who wouldn't?)

Thing the eighth: Zany Mama hates the sound of Legos. Not the sounds of Lagos, but that is only because she has not experienced the sounds of Lagos.

Thanks for reading

& I tag no one.... ever. That's just how I roll.

--SRH

So,This is Cool

2007-06-26T20:13:00.000-05:00

At my dinner table this evening were folks from North Carolina, Bolivia, Australia, South Africa, and Hungary.

We talked about climate change and possible transformative action around the issue.

I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.

Did I mention that they serve dessert every night in heaven?

Hello, eh!

2007-06-25T20:01:00.000-05:00

So, I’m out of the country right now.

(I’m in Nova Scotia, so I’m really barely out of the country, but it felt like a dramatic way to begin a post.)

Anyway, I’m trying something new – I’m going to blog about work a bit.

I usually don’t blog about work because, well, that’s not what we’re all here for. For me, blogging is actually a bit of an escape from work, but since I’m going to be gone until Saturday and I have no idea what’s happening at my house (what you don’t know, can’t burn down the house, right?), I thought I might just give a few quick updates this week.

I am here - at a conference with an incredible group of people talking about amazing topics that are really important. (ah, hyperbole!) So it was starting to feel a bit “inauthentic” not to talk about this really cool thing happening in my life. Especially since I typically bore you with health crises, rants about occupational therapy, and my love of steak.

So, I do find it difficult to articulate what occurs for me when I go to these types of gatherings – it’s lots of deep conversations and connecting to people that I wouldn’t meet in any other context. And there’s lots of me going, “OMG – I can’t believe I’m here! Okay, okay, play it cool Dr. J. You can run with the big dogs. Anyway, they like you, you like them. Just don’t tell them about your encyclopedic knowledge of all things celebrity, and it will be all good.”

In trying to figure out what to write about my experience here so far, I thought I’d just give you a couple of quotes from the conference that are sticking with me from today:

“What if we created a world that was biased toward wisdom and compassion?”

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Everywhere I look, there is another of my favorite people.”

Okay, the last quote was from me, but it’s true. I’m like a kid in a candy store – and I’m totally on a starburst high!

I think I’ll try to post a few times from here – we’ll see how this blogging about work goes. I’m struggling to find a witticism or self-deprecation in this whole experience, but I’m sure I’ll get there.

Stay tuned.

A Conversation and a Story

2007-06-19T22:00:00.000-05:00

Dear blog reader, we have been having an ongoing conversation today, you and I. It goes something like this:

You: Hey, Zany Mama.

Me: Hmm?

You: Why don’t you give us an update?

Me: You can call me Tuesday, you know.

You: Indeed, it is Tuesday. Anyway, why don’t you give us an update?

Me: An update on what?

You: Don’t be deliberately obtuse, lady. You haven’t mentioned Keith Richards for approximately 3.5 posts now. That’s shady. What’s up?

Me: Oh Keith Richards! (hits forehead dramatically)

You: So…

Me: Okay, I’ll tell you a story, but don’t interrupt me…

There once was a beautiful young maiden who developed a terrible pain in her belly after eating prime rib for 4 days straight. Everyone in the kingdom thought it would pass once she resumed her normal repast of steamed chicken and vegetables (ha!), but, alas, it didn’t get better.

The beautiful lady’s discomfort caused much pain and strife in her kingdom. It caused famine and widespread ill-humor. Thin broth and melba toast filled the damsel’s days, and grey clouds hovered over her castle.

With near-legendary patience, the gentlewoman went through many, many medical tests until it was discovered that in her lithe mid-section there was a heinous liver tumor. A big, fire-breathing, dragon-like liver tumor.

Upon the advice of her friends, she named the tumor Keith Richards.

Once it was determined what caused her malady, the doctors told the lady that she must co-exist with Keith Richards for several months in an effort to make him shrink.

You know those Keith Richard types, the doctors said, if you simply do not feed them drugs (or birth control pills) and you limit their adult activities (leading to pregnancy), eventually they will get bored and flee your delicate system.

Although our heroine wasn’t sure about the “wait it out and it will shrink method”, she dutifully followed her doctor’s orders for several months. And finally, this week she took her carriage to the doctor’s office to hear the results of the barbaric MRI she’d been subjected to the week before.

While there, the doctor gave her grave news indeed: the tumor was not shrinking. It was the exact same size as it had been before.

The pain was better, to be sure. But Keith Richards was still living the high life in her gut.

You: So are they gonna take it out?

Me: I believe I was clear that I am not tolerating interruptions. One more and Keith and I are leaving.

Ahem…so the lovely maiden was quite disheartened – especially when the doctor said that she could expect to have this tumor FOREVER and that there wasn’t much else to do at this point.

You: But wait. You aren’t supposed to get pregnant or be on birth control with this tumor, right? What are you supposed to do?

Me: Second warning, Chatty Cathy – that’s the last time you get to interrupt. This is painful enough without your completely relevant and reasonable questions.

You: But…

Me: Oh cripes, you’re ruining the story. Fine. We’ll skip to the ending.

So the maiden was referred to her "lady parts" doctor for further evaluation and treatment. The end.

You: But that kind of sucks doesn’t it? You just have to live with a liver tumor which may or may not flare up at any time?

Me: Yeah. But the “kind of good” news is that it appears that the tumor is not affected by hormones. So hopefully, I’ll be able to, you know, resume normal operations around here. But I’m sticking to my guns here…I said one more interruption, and I was leaving.

You: But I didn’t interrupt you. You said, The End. You were done - there was no interruption.

Me: Whatever. Good day, sir. I said, Good day!

(Harumphs out of the room with a hand on her upper right quadrant crooning softly to Keith Richards.)

Toys Will Be Toys

2007-06-16T19:41:00.000-05:00

Not surprisingly, our family has been caught up in the "Thomas Recall" madness. We always knew that The Man would try to corrupt and impede Zane from reaching his full potential. Who knew The Man would do it by covering Zane’s favorite playthings with lead paint?

Here’s a photo of the Thomas toys that have been recalled:

Oh good. There for a minute I was worried. Zane only has 5 of the 23 toys that contain lead. I’m quite sure this means that he has only a 21.7% chance of having ill effects. Conversely, though, I’m canceling his OT appointment on Monday as I’m sure that any and all of his delays are Thomas-induced.

Geesh.

(Actually, all offending toys have been removed from the train table, and the little spoiled guy hasn’t even noticed.)

In other toy-related matters, Zane has rediscovered a gift he received from his last birthday.

FYI, the babies’ names are “Cabbage” and “Truck”, and he put them in their “Baby Box” so that I could take a picture.

While I find this very charming (as is his insistence that we call him “Whitey the Tomcat”), I am now slightly concerned it’s the lead talking.

The Poppies Are Merely For Decoration

2007-06-11T22:36:00.000-05:00

I have recently come to believe that I have led a rather sheltered adult life. No one could argue that my childhood was rosy sweet, but something changed once I reached my twenties. SRH and I got married, found some couple friends, occasionally went to see a movie, and considered life good.

Oh sure, we have had our share of “couple friends” issues. You know the type: I really like Person A, but SRH hates Person B. Or SRH gets along well with person C, but Person D and I couldn’t have less in common. (I remember a particularly painful evening spent with a woman who had mean things to say about every other woman in the room.)

But these are minor issues. As we become increasingly parent-ified, we are more likely to have parent/couple friends, and commonalities become easier to find. We no longer seek “couple friends” in the way that we used to. Instead we are thrilled when we meet and click with new parent/couple friends – something which seems infinitely easier to do.

Me: Hey, didn’t I see you with your bossy kid at the paint store?

Generic Other Parent: Oh yeah, that’s right.

Me: Why don’t you come over for a play date?

GOP: That would be great.

(Volia! Friendship ensues.)

It’s been like this since Zane was born. Friends somehow come out of the wood work. I meet neat people at the park, at preschool, at the OT’s office (well maybe not there, but you get my drift), at the pediatrician, in the grocery store.

I am in the baffling position of actually liking more and more people. Strange, that.

But recently, one set of our most favorite parent/couple friends seems to be becoming… well…un-coupled.

And I am completely unprepared for this. SRH and I have lived in a bubble for the past 12 years where none of our married/committed friends have broken up. Truly – not one serious couple has decided to end their relationship.

Their partnerships might be train wrecks. We might think they’d be happier apart. We might even wonder how in the world they ever got together, but none of them have decided to call it quits.

And lest you forget, I worked with battered women for years. I am totally down with ending a relationship which is not good for you. I think that kids are happiest when their parents are happy – however that happens. I don’t believe that most people leave their relationships lightly, and I absolutely respect their right do so.

But this…this feels different somehow. This is a couple that we adore - both of them. They are both wonderful people who are completely devoted to their child. They are good, kind people who simply can’t figure out a way to stay together.

And that just doesn’t seem right.

It’s making me wake up from this shelter of the past decade and look at the complexity of love and relationships. It is no longer the simple: you love each other, you work hard at your relationship, you stay together. It is something more like: with love, hard work, and a fair bit of luck, you might end up together.

And truthfully, I have never been close to a break-up where one person can’t be painted as the villain (or at least more villain-like). I just don’t have a good handle on this one.

No villain. No blame. No answers. Just sadness.

And because you know that I can’t stay with sadness long, here are the three ways I have decided to deal with this – and all future - No-Fault Breakups:

Arbitrarily assign fault – I’ll flip a coin, spin a bottle, paper/rock/scissors – whatever. I’m assigning blame, and it doesn’t matter where it lands.
Ruthlessly mock SRH – This might seem nonsensical, but it sure makes me feel better.
Quit my job – Oh wait, I did that last week. Turns out, my friends didn’t reconcile, and my boss wouldn’t accept my resignation.

Any other ideas?

TMI

2007-06-06T21:17:00.000-05:00

One of the more pleasant “extras” of a liver tumor is that I am not allowed to be on birth control pills. As an additional benefit, I am also not allowed to become pregnant.

Uh-huh.

There is so much abstinence/rhythm method fun at my house right now that I could just scream.

And really, it’s been quite some time since I’ve not been on birth control pills AND not been pregnant, so I had forgotten one particular side effect of this dreadful non-combination – acne.

I’m a girl who has never had clear skin. Well, I suppose I did when I was six years old, but from about age 11 on, I’ve been pimple-y.

It’s not awful. It’s not all over my face. It’s not cystic acne. There are no scars. Rather, it’s a niggling, why-does-my-face-still-look-like-I’m-a-pre-teen type of thing. Much like my “nuisance” tumor, I have a completely non-serious and yet exasperating case of acne.

And it bugs the crap out of me.

So this week, I decided to do something about it. You know, besides wash my face, use a toner, and some oil-free lotion a few times a day. I went to the store and perused the anti-acne aisle – something I’ve not done since my teenage days.

After much reviewing of product and price comparison (because while I’d like to be done with my blemishes, I don’t want to pay a lot for it), I decided on an “adult acne” regimen. My thoughts were along the lines of I have sensitive skin, so I don’t want to use the teenage-y stuff. Too harsh. Plus, I’m an adult, yo. I need some adult medicine.

I had a bit of trepidation as I used it last night. After all, I do have pretty persnickety skin. I once got a rash for 6 days after using a new soap. And my skin could actually be characterized as “combination” rather than oily, so I didn’t want to over-dry in my quest for a smoother complexion.

But I bravely applied, with high hopes for a clearer, smoother complexion in just one week.

And this morning, I woke up to a face which was, apparently, molting.

Good grief: rare sex, acne, and now skin peeling off my face. Things just get better and better around here.

This liver thing better resolve soon.

Partner Meme - Part 2

2007-06-03T22:03:00.000-05:00

So Thea tagged me for a meme. But I couldn’t really figure it out – was I supposed to do my favorite restaurants or the reasons I blog? Both? I didn’t know. And since I’ve already done the Reasons I Blog meme, and my restaurant choices are generally uninspiring, I decided to do neither.

But what I am going to do is finish the meme the Thea tagged me for months ago. You may recall that I did the first twenty-five questions as a “partner meme”, and here are the rest. Same thing: my answers come first, and SRH’s follow in blue.

26. What is your best childhood memory?

Although I have several really craptastic childhood memories, I actually have a fair number of good ones as well. This was hard to pick. I think some of my best memories of flipping around on the gymnastic mat – just having fun. Before I entered that whole “competitive” phase of gymnastics.

I still love being upside down.

She does indeed love being upside down. Why just the other day we were in line at the grocery store, and, well, I am just happy that she wasn’t wearing a skirt.

27. Ever been to Africa?

No, and to be perfectly honest I’ve never especially wanted to go – until this year. In the past year, I’ve met two people from Zimbabwe and several people from South Africa. Now, I really feel that I must go there. I must experience it. I can’t believe I was the boob who never wanted to go.

2010 World Cup, BABY!

28. Ever been toilet papering?
Yeah, in high school. But I don’t really remember whose house. I don’t think I was that invested.

She is quite the pro with the TP now, though. Little Man’s butt is sparkling clean when she is done wiping him.

29. Been in a car accident?

For a while there, my car had a target on it. I was rear ended on a highway and spun around into oncoming traffic, and then about 6 weeks later, I was broadsided when someone ran a red light. Fortunately, I wasn’t hurt in either accident. Unfortunately, my Saturn SL-1 survived both accidents.

When people used to ask me this, I used to say “I change cars like I change my underwear. Once a year and only after a BIG accident.”

30. Favorite day of the week?

Saturday – usually begins with yoga and ends with laziness.

Some Saturdays of hers start with laziness and end in sloth.

31. Favorite restaurant?

I don’t really have one. Our eating out has decreased significantly due to Zane’s food allergies. So I’m just happy to eat out – where doesn’t so much matter as long as it’s not seafood.

If she can find an all-you-can-eat prime rib, some restaurant is gonna lose some money.

32. Favorite flower?

I’m partial to peonies. And tulips.

Yes she does. If I get another email, text message, cell phone call asking for flowers again… Oh she’ll get some flowers. Oh, she’ll get some flowers all right…

33. Favorite ice-cream?

I’m a vanilla ice cream gal. I prefer Dairy Queen soft-serve. (How exciting I am.)

She is also partial to Edy’s Double Churned Vanilla Bean as well. If she has to have hard ice cream. Have I mentioned that she makes a mean hot fudge sauce?

34. Favorite fast food restaurant?
McDonald’s - the fries are crack.

You know what she hates? Taco Bell, that’s what.

35. How many times did you fail your driver's test?
One time. I failed the maneuverability (aka parallel parking). Thanks for bringing it up.

For those of you not “in the know” so to speak, Ohio’s “maneuverability” is a bit more than rigorous. My wife ain’t a failure, so all of you who think she is can go… wait, is this thing still typing?

36. From whom did you get your last e-mail?
You don’t want to know. It was work-related. Bluck.

I wish that were odd for a Sunday.

37. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card?

This is a tough one. For clothes, I would probably pick Anthropologie. For the reality that is my life, I would probably choose Target.

Oh, she could live off of Target, but she should have chosen the “online store” Amazon.com.

38. Last person you went to dinner with?

SRH – this evening.

She had the prime rib, if it were an all-you-can-eat, we would still be there.

39. What are you listening to right now?
I’ve got the media player set to shuffle, but this second Cake’s Arco Arena is playing.

I am listening to ZM ask me why it is taking me soooo long to finish this post. Lay off, Wifey!

(But in real life, I humbly apologize and ask your forgiveness oh Wonderous Wife. I will be quick.)

40. What is your favorite color?
This changes a bit. But I really enjoy yellow – a bright, sunny yellow.

But she shouldn’t wear it…

41. How many tattoos do you have?

Two. Of course I want more, but I want to stay employable, and I’m already on an edge there.

They are small and discrete so if she continued along that vein she could get another. My name would look nice on her butt. No really.

42. Who are you tagging for this meme?

No one, but everyone is free to partake should they like.

If you partake, try to partner up with someone you know.

43. What time did you finish this blog entry?

I’m not done yet. But I ‘spect it will be about 9pm. (wrong, it was 8:45pm)

She finished at 8:45. I will be done at 9:15

44. Favorite magazine:

Inspired House – too bad they stopped making it. I hate people.

For a long time it was US Weekly, it really is too bad her sophisticated mag was cancelled.

45. Coffee or tea?

Tea, I guess. I’m hate coffee.

She has to have un-caffeinated though. I swear one night she seemed like she was hopped up on goofballs when she merely had drank a can of Pepsi.

46. Do you tan easily or burn easily?
Uh, I’m black, yo. I tan pretty much constantly. Only burned once in my life.

Unlike me, I am sooooo pale I am light blue.

47. Do you color your hair? If so, how often?

Nope. I am truly a low-maintenance kind of gal.

If she did, she would go with electric blue or candy apple red. No really?

48. What was the first car you ever purchased without the help of your parents?

Saturn SL-1. I had it for about 8 years. Then people started hitting it with their cars, I had a baby, and I traded it in.

The thing had a target on it for reals!

49. What is your most dreaded household chore?

I hate to do dishes. Hate it with a passion bordering on pathological. Hate it with the fire of a thousand suns. Hate it with the keenness of a…well, I just hate it, alright?

And I don’t think she ever did them since we were married.

Oh, Happy Day

2007-05-30T22:24:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I got a completely unexpected present. It was like my birthday. No, it was better than my birthday. It was like Christmas. Except, wait. It was even better. It was better than Christmas and my birthday – both at the same time.

What happened, you ask? (Well, you don’t ask if you read SRH’s blog, he’s all into stealing my thunder). But if you were to ask I would tell you that…

Zane’s peanut allergy is getting “significantly” better!!!!!!!!

What? Shut up. Can that even happen?

Well, apparently it can.

The doctor said that not only is Zane’s peanut allergy improving, he may be one of the “lucky 10%” who actually outgrow their allergy.

Huh? Shut up. That cannot happen. I’m quite sure of it. People who have peanut allergies have it for their entire lives. They have to be hyper-vigilant because peanut is the most common food allergy causing anaphylaxis and death. And it never goes away.

Or so I thought. But according to this and this and this, it is possible for a child to outgrow a peanut allergy -especially if the child has outgrown other allergies.

Did I mention that the doctor said that Zane’s dairy and egg allergies are also improving?

I know. I am in food allergic mama heaven. Just the thought of decreasing (let alone getting grid of) any of Zane’s life-threatening food allergies is enough to send me into bliss.

Also, what the doctor was most pleased about was that Zane hasn’t developed any new allergies. Which, sure, I’m happy about that. But did you hear that his peanut allergy is actually improving?

Somebody pinch me now.

Anyway, as the doctor is dictating the letter to Zane’s pediatrician, he says into the microphone, “No new allergies shown for Zane. He continues to test positive for allergies to dairy, egg, cats, grass, peanuts, and tree nuts – including almonds, walnuts, and hazelnuts. Blah, blah, blah”

I will admit that my brow wrinkled slightly at that. Prior to yesterday, I had no idea that Zane was allergic to grass, and the hazelnuts thing was totally out of left field.

Whatever. The delight I experienced upon learning that there may be some light at the end of this food allergy tunnel was akin to getting free Dairy Queen for a year.

Ee gads, it’s a good day to be Zane’s mama.

Edit: I can't help myself, I have to add the video that Riley linked in her comment on this post. It just cracks me up.

Mistakes Were Made

2007-05-26T22:13:00.001-05:00

Now that I have a son that has survived to the ripe old age of almost 4, I tend to read parenting magazines less. I figure that I’ve gotten him through the vulnerable years, there’s no need for me to read expert opinions on what needs to happen for him now. I’ve launched him into preschool age fairly successfully, and no one can tell me any different.

But there was a time. Oh yes, there was a time. A time when I read anything and everything about getting your child to sleep through the night in 4 easy steps, and I knew the latest and greatest ways to introduce new foods to my youngster. I could do a (food-allergy modified) Fun Bunny Easter snack, and I knew just what to say to a playground bully. (Do you want me to rip your head off, child who is bothering my angel? Cause I’ll do it, and I’ll blame it on the chocolate which is apparently aggravating my PMS.)

But then the years of sleep deprivation caught up with me, life got overwhelming, and I gave up my subscription to Parents and every other ubiquitous parenting magazine that had subscribed to.

But before I figured out that my parenting style was Winging It, I read many magazines with pages entitled “Scientist Simon Says” and “Latest Research on Kids’ Health”. You know the kind - the pages with 100-word articles that give the quick and dirty version of research done by highly esteemed scientists that let you know things like if your child doesn’t eat a crate of broccoli a day, they might not ever do well in math or that for every hour after 6pm a parent works, a child’s IQ plummets by 900 points.

Most of the time, I took this information in stride. I realized that I do want Zane to eat broccoli and that I don’t particularly like working after 6pm. The conflicting studies didn’t bother me, and I made adjustments where I could. But there was one article that stuck with me. One that I couldn’t let go of. One that promised doom and lifetime consequences for my child if I didn’t get my act together.

It was an article on strollers. The ins and outs. The pros and cons. The best and brightest models. But it also featured a small piece of naysaying information. It said that manufacturers are making strollers bigger as children are riding in them at later ages. As 5 and 6 year olds are expecting rides while parents go about their business, they want roomier, more luxurious accommodations, and (cue the dramatic music here) this is one of the causes of increasing childhood obesity. More riding in strollers combined with rampant fast food fraternizing was leading to a crisis.

And what can I say? My brain was flooded with nursing hormones, and I lost my ability to withstand hype and hyperbole. I made the sincere suggestion to SRH that perhaps we should avoid getting the stroller monkey on our back in the first place. If we never got Zane used to strollers, we wouldn’t have to fight the Strollers as Crack Epidemic that was sweeping our nation. That, I reasoned, was the best way to avoid complete dependence.

So this was our plan: we would only use the stroller when absolutely necessary. After all, we weren’t giving up our trips to Burger King so we needed to make some concessions to exercise and good living.

So…we slinged. We carried him. We used this. Then when Zane got bigger, we switched to this.

Oh sure, we had a cheap umbrella stroller that we used occasionally when going to community events or the like. But here’s the thing. If you rarely or never make your kid get into a stroller, pretty soon they are completely unwilling to do so.

They’re all, Look at me mama, I like to walk. See, I can walk forward, and I can walk backward. Ooh, ooh, I can even walk sideways. I like to walk in circles, and I can walk with my eyes closed, too. And when you take your eyes off me for a second, I will even run. And, see, I don’t ever have to get even.one.inch.closer to our destination while I’m doing it.

Mistakes were made.

And this mistake – that of avoiding strollers – is still hurting us. Oh, we outgrew the whole “staying with him until he falls asleep” mistake, and I can laugh at the “giving his pacifier to Santa in exchange for trains” debacle, but this particular mistake has had a more lasting impact.

Yesterday, I took Zane to the zoo and cursed myself for the 7,000^th time that I had no conveyance for my precious 34-lb bundle. Sweaty and back aching after a morning of fun at one of the nation’s largest zoos, I came home and told SRH, “We’re fixing this problem, doggone it. I mean it. Tonight we go buy a new wagon.”*

(And yes, they have strollers and wagons at the zoo, but if you think that my kid is going to get in some strange wheeled contraption that doesn’t belong to him, then you clearly don’t get sensory integration disorder. Or at least my child’s version of it.)

I was desperate. I was determined. I knew a stroller wouldn’t work, and I knew that this would be a tough nut to crack. And then…a moment of inspiration. I remembered that Zane used to be willing to ride in a wagon, but that I’d chucked it (into our garage) because the darn thing was so loud as we wheeled it through the neighborhood that people would come out of their houses and stare at us.

But I should certainly be able to find a wagon that didn’t squeak and rumble too loudly, shouldn’t I? Yes, I should.

And I did. Last night, I went to the store and bought a new-fangled plastic Little Tikes wagon with “extra silent” wheels. This morning, Zane and I assembled the approximately 250 pieces through a simple 19-step process.

Volia!

Zane and I – on the road to fixing one of my monumental parenting mistakes.

*See how tough I talk when I’m riled up?

Pink Pajamas

2007-05-22T21:48:00.000-05:00

So…what the hell have I been doing, anyway?
I don’t blog. I don’t write (okay, so that’s redundant). I rarely call, and I leave you with only a post about breasts.

I am, indeed, trying to alienate everyone. It’s true.

In my defense, I asked SRH to let you folks know that I was on a mountainside in Massachusetts without access to internet or cell phone. And he did let you know…it’s just that he embedded the information between several mention of boobies, so you might not have noticed.

So, I was off in the mountains with a group of people from all over the world talking about realizing our highest possible future. It was divine. It was delightful, and I will post about it later.

In the meantime, here are a few other things that have been happening since last I slung the ink.

1. In the four nights I was absent from my home, my child was on an emotional roller coaster of raw emotion. He went from the wee small hills of sadness that he couldn’t get mama cuddles every morning to huge loop-de-loops of glee that he got four whole days of papa time.

I might feel hurt if I weren’t so relieved that he did so well while I was away.

2. Zingerzapper’s cancer has spread to her lymph nodes. So yeah, that sucks.

3. Zane bought me some hoochie pajamas for Mother’s Day. Apparently when SRH took him shopping, Zane insisted that I needed a pair of pink pajamas and quickly found a pair of Apple Bottom PJ’s for me. Not familiar with Apple Bottoms? Well, neither was I. Turns out, Apple Bottoms is a clothing company conceived by this guy. That’s right, it’s a clothing line by Nelly, he of the famed, “It’s getting hot in here, so take off all your clothes.”

Zane is so thrilled when I wear these pajamas that I don’t have the heart to burn them. I cannot, however, step onto my porch in them. I might get arrested for public indecency.

4. Today was Zane’s last day of preschool for the year. He was sorta sad. I cried.

5. I was approached to be on the board of a local agency today. I’m torn. I feel like it would be in my career best interests to join the board. I like the person who asked me, and I certainly appreciate that she is trying to connect me with the community muckety-mucks.

On the other hand, I don’t know if I’m a “board” kind of person. (And there I illuminate several stereotypes I’m holding. Whatever.) I also do not have the $500 they ask for from each board member personally, and I certainly don’t have the contacts to bring in the additional $500 they ask you to solicit from your circle. I do understand that this is actually a relatively small amount for board members to pay compared to other boards in my community, but I gotta tell you, I’m struggling to feel like this is something I need to give my energy (and money) to right now.

6. Drug-selling neighbors are lying low, but I haven’t forgotten them.

7. Zane has (re)discovered his most favorite private body part. And while I’m completely supportive of body pride and pleasure, I did have to set some ground rules this morning. For example, although it is preferable to lay at an incline whilst discovering oneself, you have to sit up straight during a breathing treatment. You may lay down and diddle when the breathy is done.

I am a stellar parent.

How have you guys been?

The Wisdom of Youth

2007-05-12T22:35:00.000-05:00

Disclaimer: The following post will be about breasts and undergarments. If either of these topics offend your delicate sensibilities, please come back in a week and I may have posted something else. Of course, I may not have posted anything else – my posting is a bit sparse these days. You may want to come back in two weeks.

Disclaimer 2: If discussions of breasts or undergarments make you feel all funny (like you’re sliding down a rope in gym class), please also leave now and come back in two weeks.

Not surprisingly, I have been thinking a lot about breasts these days. Mine and others’. Mostly, of course, due to best friend’s breast cancer and impending surgery. But also because as part of last weekend’s “celebration” of best friend’s breasts, we were all invited to wear our most daringly cleavage-baring shirts and show our stuff. And, well, it became clear just how relatively small my breast-related “stuff” really is.

It also became abundantly clear that I cannot handle my alcohol, but that’s another embarrassing story.

But this post is not going to be about best friend’s breasts. That’s her story to tell, and I’m merely a supportive bystander in that particular saga.

No, dear reader, in the tradition of many fine bloggers, I’m going to take a difficult situation that someone else is experiencing and make it all about me. Me, me, me, me, me.

So…my breasts.

I’ve had a long and not always appreciative relationship with my mammary glands since I first got breast buds around age 11. (Do you remember how tender those little bumps were?! Ouch!)

For most of my adolescent years, my girls were quite small. In fact, I used to wear a button on my stone-washed jean jacket that said, They may be little, but they’re all mine.

I’m not sure I even knew what that meant.

Whatever. I was clear that it was a body-celebrating button, and I wore it proudly.

And then something magical happened, I got a breast “growth spurt” around the age of 19. I hadn’t grown in height since the 6^th grade. My weight hadn’t changed, and I still wore the same clothing size, but all of a sudden I had boobies. I was a C-cup!

In my mind, C stood for curvy, comely, and captivating, and please believe that I went out and bought multiple bra and underwear sets to celebrate the girls’ new status. (Of course, this was when I only had summer jobs and most of my disposable income went to clothes, makeup, and music since my mom still provided for my basic survival needs.)

Anyway, me and my C’s went along fine for several years, and then I started doing yoga. And lo and behold, yoga will not only make your mind calm and your body strong, but it will also shrink your boobies.

Down to a B cup I went.

And that was fine. I didn’t replace any of my bras because, well, they were only a size too big and by that time I was good and cheap.

And then - even though I was undergarment negligent - SRH and I managed to do the deed occasionally, and I became pregnant. I had a baby and nursed him for 15 months, causing multiple breast size fluctuations.

After I was done nursing, I went back to the same old bras. I had finally figured out that breasts are ever-changing body parts, and I figured it was safer to use the too big bras in case I ever grew back into them. After all, bras that are too big just leave you with a bit of a breezy feeling, but too small is just uncomfortable.

But, of course, as with many women my girls actually got smaller after I was stopped nursing. Yes, smaller than a B cup. But as they were still larger than an A, I didn’t replace my old bras. (I feel like I should mention here that I had probably 25 bras to begin with, so there really were plenty to last me all those years.)

Anyway, fast forward three and a half years and give me a liver tumor.

I’m not eating. I’m losing weight – especially in the chestal region. I finally break down and buy a few bras that are “nearly B’s”. And I’ll admit: it hurt a bit - buying bras that fit. I really had to admit that I was never going to have the nice, full ta-tas that I had in the past.

But as a hedge, I only bought them at outlet malls or T.J. Maxx. I was done buying nice bras at nice stores. My little mosquito bites didn’t need the support of a good bra – and I didn’t feel like spending the money.

But then, you know what? My best friend got breast cancer, and I got some perspective. I started doing breast self-exams and looking at the girls with new eyes.

I will always have small breasts, and that’s totally okay. I’m not a big person. And while it might be nice to have a bit out front to balance my line-backer shoulders, the girls are quite nice and did a really beautiful job feeding my child. Which is, yes, what they are here for.

So tonight, I went to an actual lingerie store, and bought for real, good quality bras and underwear. And it was delightful. It was fun and pampering, and as I told SRH, “You know, I can totally get with this small breast thing. It’s much harder for ittie bitties to sag. I mean, where are they going to go?”

And so to the crux of it, which I somehow knew as a teenager but had to recently rediscover: They may be little, but they’re all mine.