Unanchored Thoughts

He's parenting ME

2009-06-25T21:12:00.002-05:00

This is an admitedly unremarkable post for not having been on the scene for a while, but a cute story and I have a few minutes. (My brain floweth over with posts, but time to write....there is none.)

I was flying solo tonight, which meant TV assisted me in my child-care duties.

I left Graeme and Ian on the bed after their bath, TV on, while I ran downstairs to get Ian's bottle. No sooner had I reached the bottom of the stairs when Ian was wailing his, "Mommy, Graeme is torturing me," wail.

Me (sternly): Graeme, what are you doing?

Graeme: I'm sorry I was grabbing and scrambling Ian, mommy.

Me (sternly and pleading): Please don't do that.

Graeme: Then don't leave me alone with him.

Mother's Day

2009-05-10T20:35:00.002-05:00

Mother's Day was a serious of great moments and some of my not-so-great parenting moments. I ran a Mother's Day 5K this morning and shed a few tears thinking about how lucky I felt to wear the purple sticker identifying me as a mom. I haven't "raced" since long before Graeme was born. I gave up any strenuous exercise while in infertility hell, so it felt good to be in a crowd of runners. Graeme's "energy" was markedly better than yesterday, so that was a relief. He gave me a cute card with one of his infamous alien drawings and I got a few "I Love You Mommy" messages. But the day was also dotted (and ended with) me getting frustrated with him. And those moments make me sick to my stomach. I think he and I probably have similar "buttons" and they get pushed easily. It's my job to stay grounded, but sometimes I just fucking can't. Cajoling him out of store or into the car or upstairs for a bath takes every ounce of my patience and when I haven't slept more than 5 hours in weeks and Ian's glued to my hip and I can't find a clean pair of underwear and everyone is hungry and I'm sick of cooking, I just don't have it in me to pull out creative techniques to manage a stubborn 3 year old so I lose it. No good comes of that solution and I know that when I'm mid-tantrum. I'm fortunate that we are a two-parent family and can tag-team these melt-downs. But, fuck fuck fuck I fucking hate them. So, how was Mother's Day? It was wonderful and I felt special and honored and happy to be surrounded by my family. But, I also felt so overwhelmed by this job and not at all up for it and worried that I'm fucking up these little masterpieces. I don't have a creative wrap-it-up statement. I ran out of those around 7pm on the front steps where a dirty toddler was refusing to budge.

40

2009-04-26T20:47:00.003-05:00

(Yes, I know the pictures is sideways. I'm tired of fighting with Picasa to save the rotated version. I'll fix it at a later date.)

Today I turned forty years old. I've been looking forward to celebrating this milestone all year. Last night Steve put together a fabulous party with lots of friends from different parts of our DC lives, as well as my mom and dad who came into town to help celebrate. It really was a great party and so much fun to have all my local friends and family together in one place. Like many parties, however, they are over just as I'm getting into my groove and I never get to really have long conversations with anyone. But, it was a huge amount of fun nonetheless. Today, my actual birthday, was spent in relax-mode because I only got about 3 hours of sleep last night (and I had just a few glasses of my signature drink, cava sangria). I'd write more, but the bed is calling this forty year old body. While the about photo doesn't show my best side (and it's on its side), the shoes must be noted. My dear friend, Jill, gave this to me. "They are you," she said. I'm so glad she thinks of me this way and if the shoes are any indication, forty is going to be a great ride!

I don't want to take a bath

2009-03-18T09:23:00.002-05:00

The other day on the way home Graeme and I were discussing the evening's plans.

Me: You can watch a show after a bath.

G: I don't want to take a bath.

Me: Do you want to take a shower?

G: I don't want to take a bath. I don't want to take a shower.

Me: How 'bout getting in the pool?

G: I don't want to take a bath. I don't want to take a shower. I don't want to get in the pool.

Me: What about the sprinkler?

G: I don't want to take a bath. I don't want to take a shower. I don't want to get in the pool. I don't want the sprinkler.

Me: Would you like to sit in the sink?

G: I don't want to take a bath. I don't want to take a shower. I don't want to get in the pool. I don't want the sprinkler. I don't want to sit in the sink.

Me: Would you like to get in the washing machine?

G: I don't want to take a bath. I don't want to take a shower. I don't want to get in the pool. I don't want the sprinkler. I don't want to sit in the sink. I don't want the washer machine. Besides, all those things have water.

By now we were home, I was laughing so hard there were tears in my eyes, but I was also dumbfounded that he did this (it reminded me of that memory game where you repeat the colored pattern of blinking lights). G didn't think it was funny at all and circled back to his initial request just to please watch a show.

But I'm not going outside

2009-03-18T09:20:00.002-05:00

A few weeks ago I told Graeme to put on his pajamas. We give him almost total free reign over what he wears. He came back with short pajamas on a frigid day.

Me: Graeme, it's too cold for short pajamas. You need warmer ones.

G: But I'm not going outside.

What could I say, so I let him wear what he chose. And prepped myself for his icy feet climbing against my legs when he climbed in bed about 2AM, which he did.

Breaking up is easy to do...

2009-03-09T21:05:00.002-05:00

...when your pediatrician's office is incompetent and surly.

I've long despised the front desk staff at our pediatrician's office. They are overly unfriendly, slow, inefficient, unsympathetic to your wailing sick child, etc., etc. The nursing staff has a few superstars, but isn't all lovely. The doctors are great, so I've stuck with them for 3.75 years now. We quickly zeroed in on one doctor with whom we really like and respect. The others whom we randomly see for sick visits have been equally competent and kind. So, I've ignored the surly staff as much as I can, though truthfully they kind of hold the power as to when and if you can get an appointment, how long you wait, and whether your child gets to watch their favorite Disney flick in the waiting room. My other complaints, since I'm on a roll, aren't entirely attributable to the front desk staff, but are noteworthy. They CONSTANTLY change their check-in and check-out policy which usually means I'm fumbling for my insurance card unnecessarily (because they've decided not to request to see it) or being asked to dig it up unexpectedly (because this week they need it); or I'm checking in for well-child visits in the middle of the hacking, snot-infested sick room, but then the next time the well-child room is open; or I'm told to help myself to stickers only to have my hand slapped by a snarly nurse because now those are highly coveted and only distributed by assigned staff.

This weekend I noticed that Graeme's toe was a bit red so I called to get him in for one of their weekend appointments (a feature I can not complain about). After waiting the customary 30 minutes to talk to a very uninterested staff member I was offered an appointment in the middle of the kids' nap times. There was no budging the time according to One-Who-Hates-My-Job so I opted to decline an appointment. By Monday G's toe practically needed amputation so I called FIRST-THING when their phone lines opened this morning. I waited 30 MINUTES and was told that the only appointment was at the EXACT SAME TIME as the one I was offered on Sat. WTF? How can they be completely booked by 7:30 AM? What about the kids that get sick at 8:00AM????? I tried to reason with I-HATE-MONDAYS-AND-MY-JOB but she wasn't budging. I hung up the phone, cried, and made a plan which included showing up 45 minutes early to see if I could trick them into seeing me at the time I wanted.

HA! They showed me and made me wait ONE HOUR. Finally, i saw the nurse and got the meds which she conveniently wired over to my preferred pharmacy using their three-week-old system that automatically orders prescriptions. "They'll be ready by the time you arrive," I was told. HA, again!

I took the kids to McDonalds because by now they were both hungry and tired. We headed across the parking lot to the Rite-Aid, only to find they had NO RECORD OF OUR PRESCRIPTIONS. I was onto meltdown number 3 for the day. The tech called the pediatrician and after waiting for about 20 minutes told me that maybe it would be quicker if I drove back over to their to get the prescription. OH MY F-----G WHATEVER. So, I loaded up the kids for about the 5th time and drove 10 minutes back to the office, parked the car, and unloaded the now totally exhausted and sick kids.

When I went to surly one's station and told her what had happened (calmly) she looked at me as though I had just reported that the restroom was out of paper towels. And, by now there was NO video playing because hitting the replay button on the machine more than once a day is not in front-desk job descriptions so after 12:00 you are SOL if you want to watch Disney. She returned 5 minutes later to tell me that Nurse was at lunch and would call in my prescription later. I lost it. I AM NOT LEAVING THIS OFFICE WITHOUT A PIECE OF PAPER AND WHY DON'T YOU ANSWER THE PHONE?????????? She's at lunch she told me with the same sense of urgency as my cat displays after an afternoon in the hot sun. I NEED A DOCTOR, NOW! (Yes, she probably sensed that I personally needed a doctor, and a drink, but it didn't seem to hurry her any more.) Ten minutes later the nurse came out with the orders. I politely thanked her and refrained from saying, no apology needed, and made an appointment with a highly regarded competitor.

Raising Boys

2009-03-07T22:37:00.003-05:00

I'm reading this book, Raising Boys, to make sure that I'm not really screwing up my kids. Actually, until now I've just been winging it in terms of meeting my kids needs....food, water, shelter, a few good nursery rhymes and Dr. Seuss books seemed sufficient. In the last few months, however, G has made references to relatively distant events that he remembers (like where he received a particular cheetah toy that he never plays with - a birthday party at Chuck E Cheese 11 months ago) or has given me insights into parts of his personality ("I like to wear the same pants, Mommy, because I get nervous when I leave the house.") that make me realize that my kids are living, breathing human beings. (OK, OK, I knew that, but when the only feedback you get is a few giggles, grunts, and cries, it's a bit surprising when they begin expressing thoughts and feelings.)

So, I did what I do whenever the going gets tough or I feel unprepared...I grab a glass of wine. No, seriously. Wait, I am serious. I also get a book. Raising Boys seemed to fit my needs for better understanding the emotional and other needs of the toddler/preschooler set. It's a pretty basic book, but gives good insights and reminders that resonate with me.

Of greatest interest is how the relationship between a mother and son can shape a boy's relationship with women as an adult. Gulp. That's a lot of pressure. And, in fact, I'm quite nervous. You see, as the book also points out, boys at the preschooler age have a lot of need for physical activity. Running, jumping, throwing, tossing, wrestling, etc. All things "boy." It has something to do with testosterone and what not. G fits this to a T. He's constantly moving and throwing and running and launching himself off of high surfaces. His favorite is to climb into the picture window and hurl himself out onto the ottoman a good 6 feet away.

As his mother I try to both keep him safe and engage with him on this particular activity, but the truth is I really don't know what to do except to protect MYSELF from being physically harmed by the objects he hurls across the room, including his own body. I often find myself crouching for fear of losing an eye, or jumping out of the way of his flailing body, or grabbing a pillow to protect myself from his big noggin.

I really hope his future relationships with women in no way resemble the one he's experiencing right now with his mama!

(Note: That last statement isn't entirely true.....he still loves to climb in bed at the wee hours and cuddle, and thankfully those moments balance the ones where I fear for my life!)

18

2009-02-24T21:36:00.002-05:00

According to Graeme, this is his current age. I'm not sure where he came up with this, but he repeatedly and randomly says things like,

"I'm a big boy. I'm 18."

"I can do this because I'm 18."

"I'm not 3, I'm 18."

As long as he doesn't ask to drive the car any time soon I think I'm OK.

Bathroom as a group activity

2009-02-18T22:10:00.002-05:00

As with most parents of young children there is little privacy in my life and the bathroom is no exception. The one big sacrifice with this new house is that there is no bathroom on the main level. Graeme still needs help using the potty so when he has to go we all (Graeme, Ian, myself) make a trek upstairs. It usually goes something like this:

Mommy, I have to poopy.

Do you need help?

Yes.

Graeme gets himself started and then...this is funny...when he was first learning to use the potty Steve would tell him to bend over after he did his business so that we could wipe. He couldn't figure out the bending over part so Steve told him to touch his toes. Much easier directions to follow. He still finishes his business, hops off the pot, and touches his toes....followed by some sort of commentary about the products of this activity. (Look two pieces. It's a big one. Wow.) Makes me chuckle.

Next I usually use the potty because dragging the whole family upstairs a second time around is too much of a production. Might as well get all the toilet needs of the family taken care of in one "sitting."

While I'm doing my business Ian usually proceeds to bash the toilet seat into my back. The first time he did this I jumped because, well, I wasn't expecting it and it hurt! He thought this was hysterical and now it's a game. While I urinate Ian repeatedly bangs the toilet seat into my back. Kind of jolts things out of you. I also usually spend half the time we are in the bathroom saying things like:

Keep you hands out of the potty.

No, yucky.

Bath toys stay in the tub.

Paper towels are for the floor.

No, not the whole roll of paper in the potty.

Once we are wrapping things up Ian will then go for the toilet brush and attempt to really clean things up for us.

This all takes a good 20 minutes or so, which in kid-time is a good chunk of time and a nice way to spend an afternoon.

I know, without a doubt, that I will be lonely when I eventually get to urinate on my own.

Free the babies!

2009-02-11T20:39:00.002-05:00

Ian's room at school is in a big open space that is divided into two parts with baby gates. There are low "fences" that define the Infant and Toddler spaces and each is accessed via a babygate door. Well, last week Ian figured out how to open the gate and now regularly sets himself and any other baby accomplices free! He thinks it's a riot and to watch him open the door and "run" until he stumbles and falls down laughing is so adorable.

You're bugging me

2009-02-11T20:33:00.002-05:00

G has a habit of climbing in bed with us almost every night between 2 and 4AM. I don't even wake up anymore. This morning he was moving around and kneeing me in the back and playing with my hair starting around 5:30. I tried to move his knees away from my side and brush his hands away from my hair, but it continued. I finally said, "G, stop it," which usually works. Instead, he responded, "Mommy, I'm going to daddy's side. You're bugging me." Well, excuse me!

Coconut on your eyeballs

2009-02-04T20:06:00.002-05:00

What???? That's my reaction too. We seemed to have entered a new phase with G that, like all the others that precede it, mystify, frustrate, humor and challenge me. He constantly puts together nonsensical phrases like, "push hands cocoa bah" or "slide plant eyeball cocoa." They are really so meaningless that I can't remember the exact combinations, though many of them involve the words 'coconut,' 'eyeball,' and 'cocoa.' I assume this must be related to something he's seen on TV (Wonder Pets' experts, any thoughts?) or at school. I think it must be an attempt at humor and we all know that a sense of humor isn't one of my strong suits so it's a no wonder that I can't find this funny. I waver between ignoring him, telling him that he's not making sense, and returning the phrase with an exaggerated "that's CRAZY, coconuts on your eyeballs?!?!?" None of these serve to reduce the frequency with which he runs around shouting these things so I try to just roll with it. But, like the preference for shooter toys and power rangers I find myself ill-equipped to interact in a meaningful way.

Exploring the past...

2009-01-16T14:20:00.002-05:00

As part of our move to the new house I vowed to go through all my old ratty boxes of junk and clean out, organize, purge. For a month now a big pile of this stuff has sat in our bedroom and last night I decided to make a move. I don't consider myself a pack-rat, but lordy I think I might have a problem. I've saved practically every letter I've ever received...in my life. And I can't bring myself to stop. Seriously. Thank mother nature for email (which I do NOT print, so the accumulation rate has slowed in the last decade). I decided that there wasn't any point to "organizing" them....they roughly follow chronological order anyway. I sifted through a few and it's amazing how quickly my brain can recall intricate details about the distant past based on handwriting, a return address, and a few key phrases. I could NOT bring myself to toss them, but I also could not bring myself to read them. It was painful to dredge up teen angst, embarrassing to read about insecurities (that still exist to some extent) and above all, boring. I decided to put them all in a sturdy box and I filled....I kid you not....a 66 quart tub. One of those extra large tubs you see on sale at Target for $10. It weighs a ton and it's going into the attic. I instructed Steve to burn it when I die and I included the same information on a piece of masking tape on the side of the tub, though I doubt that carries much legal weight. I still feel a pressing weight on me and now it has a more exact measurement....40 pounds to be exact. My only thought is to have a little letter-burning ceremony, but I think that maybe someday when I have nothing to do but pick lint out of the ceiling fan vents I'll want to go through them. For now, this bit of history is acrchived in a plastic tub in my attic.

I've lost that blogging feeling

2009-01-11T21:35:00.004-05:00

It used to be that I'd keep a running list of blog topics with never enough time in the day/week/year to write them all. I'd pick and choose the best ones. Now, it seems I can't come up with something to write about to save my life. It could be that I'm tuckered out from the big move and getting our new house comfy. Or, as in this past weekend, I'm busy doing laundry from the numerous vomitous incidents that have occurred since Tummy Virus 2009 invaded. Or, it could be that for the first time in my life I have nothing to say. Is this what turning 40 does (the big 4-0 is coming in April)?

The kids are still cute and challenging. Graeme is learning to pronounce the letter S and I'm sad for the day when he no longer talks about Piderman and Uperman and Tar Wars. He still challenges the daylights out of me, but life runs much more smoothly now that the two's are behind us. I think a lot about raising boys, particularly when he wants to play a shooting game and I just don't know how to respond. I bought Ian a doll for Christmas and today found Graeme carrying it around by a leg and bashing it's head into the floor...something about a dragon. So much for nurturing their warm and fuzzy side.

Ian seems to finally sleep through the night, with the exception of this current weekend when he's vomiting every hour. It took Graeme 14 months to figure out how to sleep 10 straight hours and we let him "cry-it-out" a lot. I didn't have it in me to do the same with Ian and I just got up with him every night until he seemed to just figure it out...at exactly 14 months. I guess that's the pattern in my kids.

Well, I've managed to squander away a few paragraphs of blah, blah, blah. I'm hoping the blogging urge returns on a more regular basis. In the meantime, thanks for stopping by.

An achy heart

2008-12-31T22:19:00.003-05:00

We send our kids to a lovely child care center in Old Town Alexandria. After having been through a yucky in-home center and a crazy nanny, this place has far exceeded our low expectations regarding child care. The teachers are warm and friendly and always have a smile on their face. The activities are creative and engaging. The administration is responsive to our requests. And, the price tag reflects all these benefits, but we figured that this is where we should be putting our money right now, as opposed to say, more consumer goods.

Almost all of the teachers at the school are Spanish speaking and first generation immigrants. Their English skills vary, but because of their warmth and kindness the language barrier doesn't really matter. It does, however, effect the degree to which I "know" them or much about their lives. Our conversations are mostly limited to simple phrases about my kids.

What I have learned about a few of the teachers tugs at my heart strings. One teacher did some weekend babysitting for us a while back and after great effort to communicate with her about our address, and then learning that she did not have her own car we picked her up from a metro and then drove her home to Hyattsville where she commutes over an hour one-way to get to work each day, we learned that she has 3 young children of her own in her home country who are being cared for by her mother while she and her husband try to eek out a better life for 3 generations of people at low wage jobs in a high-cost city. We increased her pay on the spot, but even then felt inadequate.

Last week we learned that one of the sweet young teacher's parents were in a horrible car accident in El Salvador and the mother is paralyzed from the neck down. Miss C and her 3 siblings are in the U.S. working to send money home so that the parents and probably many extended relatives can live. The siblings were so excited to have saved enough money to buy their mother a new refrigerator and they were going to tell her about the gift on Christmas. A few days earlier her parents are hit head-on by another car and her mother is hanging on for her life in a hospital bed. None of the kids in the U.S. have money for a plane ticket home and even if they did they don't have jobs with paid annual or sick leave. And, now more than ever they need to work to pay the mounting medical bills. $10,000 last I heard. It sounds like a paltry amount by U.S. standards, but in a country with no health insurance, a per capital income of $5,200 and a family that probably falls far below that level this is a seemingly insurmountable debt burden, not to mention the emotional trauma involved.

I sobbed when I heard the story. The day after this happened Miss C was greeting my kids with a forced smile through watery eyes. She had to work. I could barely look at her I felt so much pain for the situation. I was about to shower my kids with toys they don't need, feed my family mountains of food we couldn't finish, and sink into my couch in a house bigger than I need. And here was a young girl working hard as a stranger in this country with a family in need thousands of miles away with no choice but to continue caring for my kids. I couldn't stomach the dichotomy, but yet I didn't know what to do. Buy her a plane ticket to El Salvador? But, she didn't feel she could leave her job and I couldn't communicate with her well enough to work through the options. The best I could do was help organize to collect funds for her family from the other parents at school. It wasn't my idea. Another parent saw her crying the morning after the accident, inquired about what was wrong and suggested the idea. As the self-appointed "room parent" I regularly organize collections for teacher birthdays, so I had the structure in place to do this. It also happens that Miss C's birthday is tomorrow so I was already in organization mode for her.

This morning I presented her with a card, cake, and balloon, the typical teacher birthday package, except that this time the card contained $260. Typically we collect $100. I saw other parents giving her money directly and the administration had already given her $460 that parents had donated. I also connected with a parent who is willing to donate her frequent flyer miles to get Miss C home if and when she'd like. Miss C gave me a long, deep hug this morning and we cried together. I could feel her deep appreciation in the hug even if we can't communicate in a common language. The school administration has also told us that her family feels overwhelmed by the generosity parents have shown toward them. I thought Miss C seemed a little less sad when I saw her this afternoon. I hope that these efforts are a small way to make a little difference in an overwhelmingly sad situation. However, I can't help but feel a sense of hollowness at my own paltry contribution. Truthfully, with a few sacrifices that pale in comparison to what she's making for her own family we could wipe out her debt in a fraction of the time it will take her and her siblings.

But, this doesn't touch the emotional wounds and the overarching economic disparity that exists between our worlds. I might feel temporarily better about this one action, but then what can I do to address the bigger disparities that exist? And while this situation is a tragedy, for sure, I'm sure if I knew more about the other teacher's situations I would feel a similar sense of pain. The small children that are without their mother? I think about them often and wonder if I should be slipping her an extra $20 every week so that the kids can have a little more in their lives. I'm sure there are other stories within this small group of teachers that would make me feel great pain. While it's probably not healthy to dwell on it hourly, interacting with the teachers daily does remind me of how fortunate I am and how important it is to help those with fewer financial resources than me, even if that's all I can do.

Our New Pad

2008-12-27T22:26:00.002-05:00

It's been a crazy two months, but I see some sanity on the horizon. We bought a house, sold our townhouse, traveled to Tennessee and Philadelphia, hosted 45 people for my office holiday party, entertained 16 people for Christmas Eve dinner, and made sure Santa knew our new address on Christmas Day. We are exhausted, but happy. Steve and I were able to almost completely unpack the house in record time, mostly with the help of my mother who took G and Ian for the weekend after we closed on the house. In between our traveling and entertaining we've been learning our new commute, figuring out how to heat this place, discovering welcome and unwelcome quirks and filling every nook and cranny with all of our treasured belongings. Now that we are settled I hope to get back into the blogging groove. Nothing particularly funny or creative is in my sleepy brain right now, so I'll close with the things I love about the new house.

1. The flow...the kids can run in circles through the rooms and I can see them play from my "station" (i.e., the kitchen).
2. The woodwork....it really is striking beautiful.
3. The fireplace....we had to put over a grand into getting it in working order, but it was well worth it and now we have toasty fires almost every night (except for tonight b/c it's about a million degrees outside).
4. Reclaiming my living room....with the exception of the last few days the toys have been exclusively contained in the "toy room" or the kids' rooms....it's lovely.
5. I think I'm supposed to love the 7-head shower/steam room in the basement, but I haven't had time to use it yet...seems like one needs a good chunk of time of uninterrupted time for such an experience, so I probably won't be using it for a few years.
6. The lights in the yard...makes the trees look really pretty.
7. The heated floors in the bathroom and kitchen...especially now that we've figured out how they work.
8. The quaint radiators.
9. A refrigerator with the freezer on the bottom.
And the best is....not making a mortgage payment during the month of December.

I wouldn't be truthful if I didn't offer some complaints...

1. The alarm system that was supposed to be deactivated going off at 6AM.
2. The dust...this house grows dust.
3. The lack of closet space in the master bedroom.
4. The crazy deep tub with a ledge....I break my back bathing the kids and my neck taking a shower.
5. The commute...it's just not as convenient as Fairlington.

Fortunately, this list is shorter.

I hope to have a more entertaining post in the near future. In the meantime, it's good to be back.

Mommy Royce

2008-12-26T14:38:00.002-05:00

G's middle name is Royce, a Maguire family name and Steve's former middle name. Like many parents when I really want G's attention I use the full name...Graeme Royce.

The other day he was badgering me about something. I responded a few times, but then started ignoring the repeated requests for some forbidden treat. Suddenly, I hear "Mommy Royce!"

I had to laugh, and give in to the request!

I don't want your face

2008-12-21T15:09:00.002-05:00

I have a million things to post about...new house, fun trips, cute kid stories, random complaints...but no time to put together a meaningful update. I do, however, need to share a funny story.

Many of you know about G's obsession with my hair. He loves to play with it...it's his comfort zone. I love being his lovie, for now. Last night it was late and he begged to sleep in our bed. I was tired and said OK. As I was lying down with him to go to sleep myself he said, "I don't want your face, I want your hair." This was my cue to roll over so that he could play with the back of my head. He probably should refine this a bit for his first true love after mama.

More later....back to wrapping and cooking and cleaning and eating.

I'll try not to say that word

2008-11-14T15:00:00.003-05:00

About 6 months ago Graeme picked up on a 3-year-old curse word....poop. I don't know where he got it. It's not like the adults in our lives go around calling each other Mr. Poop or Poopie head, or I'm going to poop on you. I can come up with a long list of words I wish I hadn't used around my kids, but poop-head isn't one of them. Anyway, I've kept a poker face when he (daily) uses these words, only mildly reprimanding him when he uses them towards someone directly, like the sweet neighborhood girl on Halloween night ("Bye, poop head.").

I finally decided that this wasn't working and it was grating on me. So, yesterday I sat him down calmly and explained that we don't use those words unless we are referring to our own need to poop. So, you may say, "mommy, I have to poop," but you don't call anyone a poop. It isn't nice and makes people feel bad. He seemed to get it. Or, maybe he understood too well.

However, the rest of the evening went like this.

"Sorry, Mommy, I said poop. I won't say poop again."

"Oops, I said poop."

"I won't use that word, poop."

"I won't say poop again."

"It's not nice to say poop."

"I won't call anyone poop."

"Tomorrow I won't say poop."

"Bloop. I can say bloop, right."

"You're a bloop."

"I have to bloop. Oh, I can say poop then, right. I have to poop. I won't say poop again."

You get the point. ALL NIGHT LONG we talked about not talking about poop. I wasn't sure if he was seeking reassurance about the rules of the game, or pulling one over on me. I'm beginning to think it may have been the latter.....again. Poop, I mean shit.

They Will be Lovely

2008-11-07T12:48:00.002-05:00

As we prepare for our big move to the new house I find myself wistfully walking around our place and Fairlington, in general. It is so hard to imagine leaving this place. I love the new house, but the truth is that I’ve only seen it twice and so the details are either vague or unknown. Where exactly are the closets? Is there a mirror in the bedroom? Exactly how small is the laundry room? I walk around our current house thinking about all the things I’m going to miss, namely the beautiful crown molding, amazing laundry room and fabulous closet space/basement renovation.

I’m also a bit despondent over leaving the neighbors. These are my bus friends, run into on a walk peeps, pool acquaintances, shoot the breeze on the stoop buddies. Will we exchange holiday cards and visit each other in the nursing home? No. Are these people an integral part of my every day life? Most definitely. Am I going to miss them? Without a doubt. (Oh, except for the asshole who lives next door.)

Yesterday I took Graeme to the local barber for his semi-annual cut. This is an old-fashioned hole-in-the-wall barber shop and “Pat” is the only person who has ever trimmed my son’s red locks. As is often the case I ran into a neighbor at the shop and he expressed his regret that we were leaving. When it came Graeme’s turn for a cut Pat asked about the move. I relayed that I was sad to leave because of the wonderful neighbors and he relayed this little story.

A farmer was sitting on the fencepost when a couple drove up and said, “We are thinking of moving into the neighborhood. How are the neighbors?”

Farmer: Well, how are they where you currently live?

Couple: Oh, they’re lousy. We can’t wait to move.

Farmer: Well, they are pretty lousy here too.

The next week the farmer was sitting on the same fencepost (BTW, how does one sit on a post without inflicting some serious pain?) and another couple drove up and said, “We are thinking of moving into the neighborhood. How are the neighbors?”

Farmer: Well, how are they where you currently live?

Couple: Oh, they’re wonderful. We hate to move.

Farmer: Well, they will be wonderful here too.

When I saw where the story was headed I practically shed a tear there in the Bradlee Barber Shop. I hope this is true. We want lovely neighbors and we will hopefully create a situation where that wish is fulfilled.

Regardless, I’m sad about moving on from this place I call home.

Things I've Done to Get My Kids to Sleep That Don't Work

2008-11-06T15:26:00.005-05:00

It's been a while since I've had a sleep-related post. Lest you think my sunny disposition means I'm getting 8 uninterrupted hours of slumber a night, or even 5 or 6 uninterrupted hours let me share with you some of my techniques that don't work.

* Let them fall asleep in my bed and then prop pillows around them and hope they don't roll off (they do).

* Replace pacifiers no fewer than 75 dozen times throughout the night.

* Put 2 dozen pacifiers in the crib so that they can replace them on their own and learn independence (they don't).

* Put the nicest stereo equipment in the house in their room and buy beautiful, soothing lullaby music.

* Rock them to a deep slumber, slide then into the bed and slither out of the room on my belly.

* Same thing, only tip toe and swing from the door frame to avoid the squeaky floors.

* Bring them into bed with me and then return them screaming two hours later after being hit, punched, slapped and kneed by wayward limbs.

* Swear.

* Give them tylenol.

* Shut the door and wear earplugs.

* And, my all time favorite, climb into the crib with them. (This one sort of works but feels humiliating and isn't good for the back.)

Sold...

2008-11-05T09:48:00.000-05:00

...but you can read about the pre-sale jitters here.

Moving on Up

2008-11-01T21:21:00.002-05:00

After years of passively seeking a bigger house, we found a place. I would say it is close to being our dream house. It meets almost all of our space requirements (no bathroom on the main level is probably the biggest compromise we are making....Graeme will continue to pee off the front stoop, I'm afraid). Plus is has a few features that make us happy like the neighborhood is now on the historical registry and all of the woodwork is custom made and historically accurate. Oh, and it has "good flow." The lion's share of the housing in Arlington County was built in 1942 and features "center-hall colonial" style homes....i.e., you walk in the front door and the stairs are directly in front of you. It kind of chops up the living space (I couldn't a good link to this style, so you'll have to go with my inadequate description). This house is a center-hall style, but more of a side-hall in that the stairs and front door are on the left of the house so that the living space flows to my liking. This place also retains its original footprint. No one has put some god-awful, architecturally inconsistent addition onto it. I'll refrain from posting pictures until we (well, really the bank) have the title.

We have now set out to sell our place in Fairlington. I'm a bit despondent about it. This house and our neighborhood has been a fabulous place for Steve and me to put a foundation on our lives together. It's been an almost exclusively positive experience and I've made great friends that I hate to leave. Yes, I'm not going far. But, in this time of busy lives and busy days I see my neighbors more than anyone else and I'll miss having them part of my daily life. But, it's time to move on. So, while I am so sad to leave this little home I'm excited to make a new home in another part of Arlington.

In the meantime, if you're looking for a house, won't you come by and take a look!

Happy Birthday Duckie!

2008-10-28T09:10:00.001-05:00

Happy Birthday Duckie!

Today is Ian's 1st Birthday. We celebrated this past weekend with a small, duck-themed birthday party. As with most parents, I can't believe that a year has gone by so quickly. Ian is the most adorable 1 year old I know. (Graeme is the most adorable 3 year old.) He has an easy-going personality and makes us laugh at his determination to climb the stairs, coerce everyone into bouncing him until your arms ache, and arch his back in loud protest when he's done eating. He holds his own against an eager older brother who can't wait for him to be big enough to play. Several have asked me where the nickname, Duckie, comes from. Steve took to calling Graeme "Fred" a while ago as a way of teasing him. "Is your name, Fred?" Steve would ask. "No, it's Graeme." "What's his name (pointing to Ian)?" Finally one day Graeme caught on that this was a game and he replied Duckie, probably because Ian was wearing jammies with a duck on them or was playing with a duck toy. It became a familiar game Steve and Graeme played. "What's your name?" "Fred!" "What's his name?" "Duckie!" Well, it stuck and now we call him Duckie, or Duck for short.

I can't believe my good fortune to have such lovable, adorable, stubborn, precocious amazing boys in my life.

It's here

2008-10-23T16:00:00.002-05:00

My debut post. Check it out and be gentle with your comments, please. I'm entering dangerous new territory and not sure how I feel about exposing myself this way.

What have I got myself into?

2008-10-21T08:27:00.003-05:00

I was invited to blog here and after thinking about it for a few weeks I said yes. I'm not sure what in the world I'm going to say, but the thought of more than 10 people (my current hit rate) reading my stuff is daunting. What makes this blog work is the fact that I just write without much editing or wordsmithing. (Of course, this doesn't really work for me, as my faithful readers know. I've done such a fabulous job of pissing people off, though, that I figured I might as well take it national.) Having guidelines (again, I could probably use them, but I shudder at constraints) and a large audience makes me a tad nervous. We'll see how it goes. I'm excited, but as nervous as a cat in a room full of rockers.

He Won't Freeze, Right?

2008-10-18T19:07:00.002-05:00

One of the things I've learned in this book is to distinguish between "relevant" and "irrelevant" behaviors. A relevant behavior (that would need to be addressed pronto) would be, say, biting Ian. Not something we should ignore. Or, throwing a bowl of cereal with milk on the floor. Or, running in the parking lot. (These may or may not be real examples.) Irrelevant behaviors are those that may bug the shit out of me, but really don't matter in the big picture. I've determined that the two big issues I have with G are food and clothes. Won't eat much or wear much. But, really, who cares, right? He's growing. His brain seems to work just fine. His motor skills are in tact. So, what difference does it make if he only eats 3 foods. And, as far as clothing goes...who cares if he wears shorts and walks around barefoot....when it's 40 degrees out, right? I've decided to let both of these issues go. It's been a bit liberating, but interestingly I'm finding the clothing one more difficult than the food. First, I have this desire to provide basic food, shelter and clothing for my child. Seeing him in bare feet and shorts on a frigid day makes me feel like I'm not holding up my end of the deal. Second, I love buying cute, adorable, matching outfits for the boys. Yeah, I know, the matching part is dorky, but they are so darn cute when they are dressed alike. G just won't comply. Hates it. Protests loudly. Screams. So, I've decided to just let him pick what he wants to wear, day and night. His default: running shorts and spiderman
t-shirt for day time activities and shorts with a short-sleeve top pj's for nighttime. G, are you cold? No, I'm hot, he says. He will know when to put on more clothes, right? In the meantime Ian is developing one cute wardrobe since I pore all my retail therapy needs into him.

No Room in My Psyche, I Mean Schedule, for Mishaps

2008-10-17T13:10:00.002-05:00

Today was the day of my desperately needed haircut at the feel-good spa I now use. I've tried a few different stylists and finally settled on the young 20'something who makes me look hip (at least for a few weeks until the cut grows out and then I look harried until I find the time to squeeze in another appointment). After waiting much too long and feeling like a puffy rat the time arrived for "Kelly-maintenance day." I took the boys to school (which I never, ever do on a non-work day) and headed over for my 9AM cut. I worked it out so that I could get a cut in, get the computer fixed at the Best Buy Geek Squad desk, pick up a 3 year old birthday gift for the party we are attending tomorrow, and maybe, just maybe swing by TJ Maxx for a new, cute get-up to go with the new do. All this could be accomplished in 2.5 hours, I thought, which is what I allotted before retrieving the boys guilt-free. Beyond that the guilt would outweigh the benefits.

So, after waiting 15 minutes for my girl to start the cut I began to get twitchy. I had the first appointment of the day, so surely she shouldn't be late, right?. Oh wait, this is the girl who told me she regularly sleeps until noon. After 25 minutes they admitted that she hadn't arrived yet and they were trying to reach her. After 30 minutes they told me that "something came up" and she wouldn't be arriving until the afternoon. Did I want to reschedule? WAH, WAH, WAH. RESCHEDULE?!?!?!? I AM A MOM OF TWO YOUNG CHILDREN. I'VE ENGINEERED THIS DAY TO BE ABOUT ME, ME, ME. WAH, WAH, WAH. I didn't actually say or shout all of these words, but I think my face said it all. They left, returned and told me that "Barry" would be available soon. He looked fun, so I waited 20 more minutes for him to cut my hair. He asked me what I wanted and I told him I needed to look cute, quickly. He pulled out a picture of Posh Spice's new cut and said "how 'bout this?" Perfect. He handled my fragile psyche well and had me looking about as close to Posh as I ever will in about 20 minutes. I left with a smile, 10% off the next visit, and a candle.

Now, if only I could master that Posh Pout and I'd be making millions.

Room for Popsicles

2008-10-16T20:50:00.002-05:00

Graeme isn't a rock star eater, but he's also not terrible either. We encourage healthy foods, but still serve him things he'll eat (namely, bagels, turkey meatballs, cereal, fruit, chicken nuggets). He's learned that a clean plate will usually earn him a treat. Last night he had 3 chicken nuggets and 3 strawberries on his plate. "If I eat these can I have a blue popsicle?" Yes. One chicken nugget and 3 strawberries later he declared that it was time for the popsicle. Pushing him to eat the rest of the chicken was only met with strong, loud protests. Why don't you want to eat the chicken, Graeme? "Because then there won't be any room for popsicles." Fair enough. Please don't ask me how the story ends. (I traded him a few bites of broccoli for the popsicle. I'm not sure what the lesson is, but it seemed reasonable to me.)

Difficult, Hard to Manage, Spirited, or Something Else

2008-10-15T15:56:00.003-05:00

I'm reading this book right now. (I couldn't figure out how to get a "clean" image like Mike does, so ignore the "click to look inside" arrows from Amazon.) Months ago when the wheels were coming off the Maguire bus our pediatrician suggested this book. I bristled and decided to change my attitude toward difficult parenting situations...embrace them and go with the flow. It worked, sort of. Peace seemed to be a relative constant in the house and I was confident in my parenting. Well, some prompting from outsiders has caused me to rethink whether or not we really have peace. Have I just willed myself into believing that daily meltdowns over clothes and food are the norm with a three-year-old? Is there an underlying issue that needs to be addressed? Can my parenting be tweaked to get a sense of peace that is apparent not only to me, but to outsiders as well?

These questions prompted me to talk to the school. No problems there, they assure me....though they also take more than the per capita annual income for many small nations from my bank account every week so I do question their motives. Make an appointment with a recommended pediatric psychologist. Their office won't return my calls and I'm not really sure what I'm asking anyway, but I continue to call daily. And, purchase this book.

The book has been very insightful and I'm only through the anecdotal stories part that make you think, "Glad I'm not that parent." The author outlines 10 different traits that make up a person's "temperament," including activity level, self control, initial response and adaptability. With regard to 8 of the traits I would say that my child is relatively normal, sometimes leaning toward the "difficult" side of the spectrum, but not on any kind of regular basis. However, with regard to initial response and adaptability he's clearly in the "difficult" category. I've always called him the 20 minute kid....takes 20 minutes to warm up to any new situation, and even familiar situations that he hasn't experienced in a while (e.g., visiting a friend). Adaptability...no way, no how. He resists most change....from the transition from play to eat to clothes to car to treat...oh wait, that last one always works.

I've also learned that mama's personality is a big factor in how a "difficult" child responds. Uh, OK, so this means in addition to helping my kid cope I have to do some self-exploration too? Damn. Fortunately, I sort of get a rise out of that kind of stuff. So, if you see me in Lotus pose chanting Ohms in the courtyard soon you'll know that I've reached a new level of peace in the house. In the meantime stay tuned as I work my way through the "solutions" chapter.

Radio Nowhere Going Somewhere

2008-10-01T12:22:00.003-05:00

My days are pretty much spent in baby/preschooler-world or economics-world. One can be pretty mind-numbing, the other pretty-maddening. (I'll let you decide which is which.) So, it is a rare treat when I get to converse and interact with people who are hip, cool, creative, talented (OK, no offense to the moms or economists...some of you fit the above description too), and rock stars (none of you fit the latter, except maybe Chris and Jared). The spouse of my childhood friend, Dana, is a rock-star in the Bay Area. He recently released a debut album, Days Between Stations, from his new band, Radio Nowhere, and has created a blog that appeals to my need for information and novice'ness when it comes to music. He explains the details of how to get the music without driving to the music store (do those even exist anymore?) for those who are techno-phobes like myself. And, he explains each song in detail...first with the lyrics, then the technical mumbo-jumbo, and then the story behind each song. The last part is my favorite. So, if the nursery rhymes are making you insane or the economics is making you dorky or life is just a little mundane today, go to his site and infuse yourself with some great music. (Oh, he says you have to play it really loud.)

Adios Amigos

2008-09-28T20:52:00.000-05:00

Last weekend we said good-bye to our closest DC friends, Vaughn and Bernie. Steve and Vaughn went to UT together and Bernardo came into our lives when he and Vaughn met 10 years ago. These guys have been our family in DC. When we moved to Fairlington they lived across the street, about 180 steps from our house, and for years we had dinner together every single Sunday night, switching between their house and ours. Vaughn was the best man in our wedding and he and Bernie have attended every birthday party for our kids and been true uncles to the boys. They have made noise about leaving the area, but we never took them seriously...until a month ago when Vaughn returned from an interview with Yahoo in San Francisco with a sense of excitement. We nervously joined in the excitement with a mix of envy and sadness. Vaughn soon accepted the offer and within weeks he was gone. We had a going away party for them last weekend and it was bittersweet, for sure. Gone were the days when we were doing shots and I was making late night phone calls to who knows where. Though Bernardo did us proud and tipped the tequila a few times in our honor. And, much wine and beer and food were consumed to toast these two fine people and wish them well. Word has it that Vaughn has made it to the West Coast in time to report to work tomorrow morning. With the introduction of Facebook, text messaging, email, and blogging, they won't be more than a click away. But, I already miss them dearly and will long for the day when we can exchange real hugs again.

Excuse Me, Stop Talking

2008-09-11T13:05:00.002-05:00

Graeme is a chatter-box. He talks from the moment he wakes up until the moment he goes to sleep. I love the running commentary about life, but sometimes there's a need or desire to say a few words. After getting frustrated with the inability to have a conversation when he's around I told him that if he wanted to talk while someone else is talking he needs to say excuse me first. The next evening I was talking to Steve (side note: it's really hard to have two chatter-boxes in the house; I pity Steve if this trait is passed on to Ian, as well) and suddenly we hear, "excuse me, stop talking." We laughed and showered him with praise. I'll refine the lesson some time in the future.

We found sleep

2008-09-07T21:07:00.003-05:00

It took 3 weeks of searching, patience, tears, and coffee...but we seem to have found some sleep. I made a commitment in late August to get Ian to love his bed and sleep without his mama. Yes, I know, he's way too young for this, but we bought a very expensive queen sized bed frame several years ago and there's no way 3 or 4 people fit in it comfortable. Even if some of those peeps are pint-sized. Were it not for said bed frame (which, for the record, is beautiful, but kids came along before we had a chance to purchase some decent dressers to go with it so now we have a fancy bed with thrift store bureaus and our room still looks disjointed...I guess the stashes of various kid items headed to the attic, the occasional litter box, and other paraphernalia would distract the eye even if we had gorgeous furniture all around...or at least that's what I tell myself. Thankfully, the bed is a "lifetime" purchase, something my mother said was always important...not beds in particular, but lifetime purchases here and there....kind of like those ski boots I splurged on 3 years ago, also before kids...so I assume that some day, like in 2029 when we are done paying for college, I'll get those bureaus....I digress), I would have been at the Mattress Warehouse months ago purchasing a king sized variety with no-interest, no-payments until your child is 5 years old, thank you very much. But, I'm stuck with the queen sized version so we needed to get Ian out of it or I was going to implode. So, I put him in the crib 3 weeks ago and basically sat by his side with my arm wedged through the slats to comfort him (thank god the Consumer Product Safety Commission advocated standard that made those slats narrow enough to prevent a head from getting wedged, but not so narrow that my appendages can't fit...must have been a sleepy mom on that review panel.). I didn't get any sleep to speak of, but think I handled it fairly well. And now....I wouldn't say he loves the arrangement, but he goes down with ease at 7:30PM, wakes at 11:00, 2'ish and 5'ish, and then is up for the day at about 6:30. Sounds like torture still, I know. But, given where we've been, I'm thrilled.

Happy Birthday Madison and Knox

2008-09-03T20:46:00.000-05:00

Seven years ago today four kittens were born to a Russian Blue mother and Studly daddy in Syracuse, New York. We were the lucky adoptive parents of two in the litter. They experienced a few weeks of peace in the world (relatively speaking), I recall their human mother saying, as they were born before 9/11. They brought us much more than peace....a sense of purpose, unconditional love, plenty of reasons to laugh, and much sadness and grief. Today we celebrate their birth with Madison in our laps and Knox in our hearts. Happy Birthday, my friends. I love you more than I ever thought possible.

I crossed the line

2008-08-17T08:56:00.002-05:00

A previous post of mine has hurt some family members and I must publicly apologize for what I wrote. I've sadly learned the hard way a danger of blogging. It's OK to make fun of myself, but it's not fair or right to bring others into the fray. I don't know who reads this blog (not many, according to my hit rate), but it's out there for the world to read and I need to be understanding about who gets brought into my blog.

I took poetic license in describing a trip to the Eastern Shore to visit my brother and sister-in-law. I described Ocean City, in general, and their neighborhood specifically in a way that wasn't flattering or nice and they were hurt. For that I am truly sorry. One way to make this blog more interesting, in light of my particularly ho-hum life, is to take creative license in describing situations. The problem with that approach is that it means taking cheap-shots at innocent people. I suppose it's OK to do that with truly innocent by-standers (e.g., the random driver on the beltway, a person in line at the grocery store), but to cross the line and do it with family is nasty. And, for that I apologize. It's also particularly unfair given that there is much that could be said about my own neighborhood that is unflattering, and yet I don't expose our own oddities, weirdnesses, or boredom.

My post also detracts for all that is good about Ryan and Julie's neighborhood, and why we like to go visit. Over the four or so years that they've lived there we have come to know many of the neighbors and enjoy their company at the annual neighborhood Christmas party, kids birthday parties, or other impromptu events. They are a friendly group of people who have been most kind to me and my family in many situations. There is an open-door policy on their street that means there is always a friend for the kids to play with, a neighbor to chat with. It's the epitome of an extended family and an enviable situation, for sure.

I'm not sure a public apology is sufficient, but it certainly is necessary. I'm sorry.

Keeping Ian awake

2008-08-12T21:02:00.003-05:00

Ian's sleep habits have improved since getting ear tubes, but they aren't anything to brag about. He's twitchy and agitated during much of the night and since we don't really have a room for him it means that he's with us, keeping us awake. I've long been trying to figure out if his twitchier, ear issues, eczema, gas, itchy neck, etc are related to food allergies. I don't really understand the biology of how what I eat gets into the breast milk, but I know it's related. I can't do The Elimination Diet, which is the hardcore mama solution for baby food issues. (The nursing mama lives on free-range chicken so as to make the breastmilk hypo-allergenic.) My alternative is to just eliminate the nasty-six: dairy, soy, eggs, nuts, wheat and shellfish. Problem is that I'm not really good at food elimination of any sort, and I kind of forget what I can and can't eat. But, for the last few months I've given it a half-hearted effort, and I've seen half-hearted results. Well, the other day I was reading I don't know what (actually, I do, but I can't find the link - I'll update if I find it because it's a cool site) and the woman was 'plaining about her restless baby who was all doped-up on the caffeine she drank throughout the day. So, while she was enjoying an afternoon diet coke, the baby enjoyed that same diet coke around, say midnight when it made it's way into the boob juice. I just sat there with my mouth agape. Well, no shit. Of course. I drink a big 'ol cup of joe (because I've been up half the night), which Ian then gets around 6PM causing him to be all geeked up right around the time I'm trying to wind down. The timing might not quite be right here; I don't know how long it takes for the caffeine to make it's way through the production process, but I'm guessing it does. So, what's a sleep-deprived mama to do? I sacrificed the joe for a few days and just drank hot water with honey and lemon (cleansing, I'll admit, or is that too much information?). Results? I have to admit that Ian is sleeping better. He does not twitch or squirm nearly as much as he did on the nights he was doped up on caffeine. I'm not sure how long I can go without java, and I'm too scared to even try decaf, but I am enjoying the more restful nights. Don't get me wrong. I'm not getting a full 8, but we're getting closer. Now, if I learn that the vino is causing the problem then we're switching to Enfamil immediately.

Addendum: I knew I'd jinx the situation by writing about it! Ian was back to the twitchies last night and up at 5:45. I went out last night and didn't see him in the evening so maybe it was because he missed me. I'm so damn arrogant, aren't I?

That will make you sick

2008-08-11T21:24:00.003-05:00

Tonight I was hanging out on the floor with Graeme and Ian, just loving on them, when Graeme sort of curled himself up onto me and said something like "I'm going to put my feet in your shirt." I told him that he once was in my shirt, my belly, really. He gave me this look like, you're crazy. Yup, I said, you were in my belly when you were little like Ian. Babies grow in bellies. "That's silly, mommy. That would make you sick," he said. Precisely, my dear. About a dozen times, if I remember correctly.

BaBaBaDaDaDaBaDa

2008-08-11T14:21:00.002-05:00

What gives? This is what Ian said from about 4 to 5 AM this morning. He was practicing the consonants that he couldn't hear while it sounded like the ocean in his ears pre-tube surgery. As absolutely adorable as he sounds while practicing, I sort of wish he would have picked a different time for the session. There wasn't any stopping him though...bottle, boob, cuddle, massage, new diaper...nope...he just kept on Ba'ing and Da'ing. So, we just lie there and listened. Big side note: Is it laid, lie, or layed? I can't ever keep it straight and find myself coming up with all sorts of ways to craft sentences sans the word for fear of Grammar Bitch tracking me down.

Big week for Graeme

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

Turning 3 appears to set off a number of milestones for Graeme. Upon returning from the beach we decided that Graeme needed to sleep in the toddler bed, for real. Not just occasionally when he felt like it or when we pushed the issue. But, for real. All the time. The crib was his comfort zone, obviously. He could and did easily climb in and out of it, and has for months. He just never wanted to go to the toddler bed that we purchased a year ago and we didn't have any reason to push the issue. Now we do. Ian needs to be out of my bed....now.....we need a space for him to sleep. We tried using the Pack 'n Play, but it killed our backs lifting him in and out of it and soothing a crying baby while standing at a 90 degree angle ain't fun. Ian needs the crib.

Graeme slept in a bunk bed at the beach so it was no problem for him to transition to the toddler bed when we returned. His only request is that we "sleep with me," which we've been agreeing to do.

Next milestone is potty training. I already wrote about that. We are moving along with it. No one seems to be in any great hurry.

Monday, following the prodding of his teacher, we decided to ditch the pacifier. He really only uses it for nighttime sleep, but that almost always bleeds over into other parts of the day because it's the quickest way to, well pacify him. Rides in the car. Trips to the grocery store. A skinned knee. Before you know it he's using it frequently and when he has it in his mouth he's a mush. A clingy mush. I love the clingy mush, but also feel like it's time for him to be a bit less attached to it. Oh, I don't know why. Just seems like it's time. We just went cold turkey with the thing and blamed the dentist. The dentist said "no more pacis." He's only been once and liked it fine, but I'm pretty sure he has no idea who the dentist is, but he does seem to be responding to the authority she has over his pacifier use. So far we are on night 4 without it and he's doing well. He asks for it every night and Steve hands him all sorts of replacements....a dinosaur, brush, diaper cream, book...Graeme thinks this is hysterical and it usually diverts him away from the real deal. I'm so damn proud of him.

Tonight was night 1 of getting Ian to sleep in the crib. It was an ugly mess until 9:45PM when I finally collapsed into the toddler bed with both Graeme and Ian, admitting defeat. Before I knew it, however, they were both sound asleep and I was able to slip Ian back into the crib. I don't want to jinx myself by talking about it too much.

In the midst of all these developmental leaps I find myself feeling sad. As much as I'd like to throw paci out of the window some days (when G has whined for it for 30 straight minutes). As much as I need more than 30 consecutive minutes of sleep (which is impossible with twicheraumus-Ian in bed). As much as I'd like to stop buying size 6 diapers (though I must admit that changing diapers has never, ever bothered me). As much as I want my kids to be strong, independent, productive, loving, active members of society. I still want to cuddle them closely and wipe away their tears and do silly dances. And I know that pacifiers and sleeping with your mama do not exist alongside organizing a march for a cause dear to your heart and landing your dream job. I guess that while they do not exist simultaneously, but they do exist along the same life plane. It's just that I want to freeze this moment in time and hope that I can cherish it for a long time while also helping my kids become good people.

Can someone fix my pants?

2008-08-05T09:41:00.002-05:00

We decided to dive into the world of potty training with Graeme. We introduced the potty about a year ago and have encouraged him to use it, mostly before his bath when we are conveniently located right next to it. He has complied with increasing frequency over the last year, but we are far short of having him trained. In light of his recent 3rd birthday (the magic age when boys are supposedly capable of being trained - ha, that's a funny one - training a boy to do ANYTHING) and our open calendar for the next month we decided to try in earnest this past weekend. We put Graeme into underwear, placed the potty in the living room, set the watch for 60 minute intervals and bought a big bag of m and m's. When the watch beeped we encouraged Graeme to use the potty. He received one m and m for trying, two for peeing. He quickly figured out the incentive scheme and was more than happy to comply, frequently reporting that he needed to pee-pee within seconds of completing the task. We also learned that 60 minute intervals were too long when after 45 minutes he said "can someone fix my pants?" The innocence of this question penetrates my bones. He wasn't embarrassed or upset or mad or any other emotion that might accompany making a mistake as an adult. He simply needed help because his trousers were suddenly soaked. I realize that he doesn't completely understand the "urge" to pee, but this is part of the training, I suppose. Or maybe it's still too early for him. Graeme also insists on wearing his underwear backwards. We've tried to explain that the "pocket" goes in the front, but this feature of boys underwear is really useless for a 3-year old who is still learning his way around his body parts. So, when he realized that the pocket didn't have much purpose he decided that he'd rather have the fun feature of the underwear (e.g., a picture of McQueen, Superman, or Spiderman) in front where he can see it. Hard to argue with that logic. So, my big boy is walking around with backwards underwear trying to learn the sensation of needing to urinate while staying engaged with his legos and trainset and the presence of a potty in the living room. It's a very confusing world through the eyes of a 3-year-old, indeed.

Happy Birthday Graeme

2008-07-26T13:55:00.000-05:00

Playing with my new kitchen. Notice the pajama knickers. They are the bottoms to Ian's set of the exact same pajamas. I couldn't find Graeme's bottoms so he insisted on wearing Ian's.

Graeme entertaining his friends at our homemade water park.

Graeme's dinosaur birthday cake.

We celebrated Graeme's 3rd birthday on July 13 (his actual birthday) with a dinosaur-themed birthday party. The party ran smoothly, despite having 14 kids in attendance! The kids played in our homemade water park, dug for dinosaurs in the sandbox and enjoyed cake and other goodies. It was a great day and I found myself overjoyed and overwhelmed that we are parenting a three-year old.

More fun at the beach

2008-07-26T13:38:00.001-05:00

Ian being entertained by Chandler and Elena.

Watching movies in the morning. A wonderful treat! Graeme, Chandler, Ian, Morgan, Hayden and Elena.

Learning to play Uno. The older kids were fabulously patient while Graeme drew and discarded cards at will and gleefully announced the colors of the cards in his hand. Steve, Graeme, Morgan, Chandler, Elena, and Darby.

Riding four-wheelers with Chandler. A high-light, for sure.

We did go to the beach multiple times a day, but I kept forgetting to bring my camera. I'll upload a few more pictures later.

Ian's Baptism

2008-07-23T20:21:00.001-05:00

We baptized Ian on July 12 at Blessed Sacrament Catholic Church. I was raised Catholic, which is sort of as far as the connection goes. Steve and I had hopes of finding a religion that suited us both, but have never really found the time or motivation to do some proper research. When Graeme was born I had a strong desire to introduce religion and after some contemplation I decided to go with my default...Catholic. Blessed Sacrament is within walking distance of our house and has a very contemporary feel, which appeals to me. I attend sporadically. I used to try to take Graeme, but he ends up running around in the hallways and I miss most of the service, so now I just (rarely) go myself. At any rate, the ceremony was nice, all the grandparents were in town, and Graeme restrained himself (with my mother's help) from swimming in the baptismal font.

Life at the Beach

2008-07-23T12:36:00.004-05:00

We are here in Hatteras, NC on what is becoming an annual tradition when we meet up with our friends, Darby and Raymond and their two girls and usually Victoria and Dan and their kids. Victoria and I met at the University of Rochester when I was a sophomore and she was the residence director in my dorm. She hired me to be an RA (residence advisor) my junior year. Shortly after that we ended up dating best friends and Vic, Michael, Gary and I spent lots of time together. My friendship with Victoria has long-outlasted the college boyfriends. Darby and Victoria worked together at Vanderbilt a few years later. And then a few years after that (so now we're up to 1994 or so) Darby spent a year teaching at Hobart and William Smith Colleges, which happened to be the same year that I spent working there coordinating some student housing. Darby, Raymond and I became fast friends...I was known as "one-friend" because I was their only friend (and vice versa). So, here we are 20 years later and our families are all friends. We started vacationing together a few years ago when it became apparent that we would never see each other otherwise.

Victoria and Dan bought this beach house last year. Unfortunately, they aren't with us this year. Victoria and their two boys, Henry and George, are in Vietnam waiting to finalize the adoption of their two girls, Ellinor and Caroline. The girls were born in April 2007. Vic and Dan received a referral for them in August 2007 and the U.S. still has not approved their visas to return to the U.S. When the girls turned 1 (they are not biologically related, but were born a few days apart), Victoria decided she'd waited long enough and she moved herself to Ho Chi Minh City. The Vietnamese government had "released" the girls for adoption, but the U.S. is dragging its feet and won't issue visas for reasons that are hard to understand. Actually, they aren't really hard to understand. According to Victoria, the American who handles Vietnamese adoptions hates her job, the country, and people in general and indiscriminately and occasionally will finalize an adoption. It's maddening. I can't imagine what it's like to be separated from your spouse and living in a foreign country, uncertain when you might be able to return to your own digs and country. So, we are all here at the beach, enjoying Victoria and Dan's generosity, but very much missing them and the chance to get to know their new children.

Graeme is having a great time playing in the sand, swimming in the pool, catching blue crabs and ghost crabs, running around after the older kids and doing the kinds of things that warm my heart.

I had plans to catch up some blogging...Graeme's birthday, Ian's baptism, and other cute kid stuff...but I'm too busy building castles, digging holes, and doing nothing.

What Stings?

2008-07-18T08:28:00.003-05:00

What is the first response that comes to mind? My guess is "a bee" was what most of you thought of first. This question was posed to Graeme at his 3 year doctor's appointment as part of the battery of tests to determine if he is developing properly. Other questions included, "what runs?" "what flies?" "what sleeps?" "what hops?" He answered in a predictable way for all the questions until we got to "what stings?" "A jellyfish" he shouted gleefully. Steve and I looked at each other with a "where did he get that?" look. He's correct and Graeme "passed." I try not to read too much into it, but I can't help but wonder if it also suggests that my child might be a bit outside of the norm. Nut doesn't fall very far from the tree, I suppose.

New Ears for Ian

2008-07-17T21:20:00.003-05:00

We went ahead and had ear tube surgery for Ian. There's a formal name, but I'm too lazy to look it up. The surgery is to place "rice-sized" tubes in each of Ian's ears through a small slit in the ear drum. The tubes are supposed to equalize the pressure in his ears. I can't really wrap my brain around what that means so I just imagine that they serve to drain the fluid that collects in his horizontal Eustachian tubes (they become more vertical as we get older). After 9 rounds of antibiotics we decided to avail ourselves of the wonders of modern medicine. I wasn't really nervous about the surgery because it was so clear that Ian needed help. We arrived at the Fairfax Surgical Center at 6:45AM this past Monday morning and were in downtown DC, through rush-hour traffic, at Steve's office by 9:30. In fact, the surgery took as long as a quick pee in the rest room. Seriously. I dropped Ian off in the operating room, waited while they knocked him out, stripped out of my surgical attire, went to the rest room, and the doctor came in the report on the results. It was very factory-like, but efficient, which I like. I didn't really have a need for touchy-feely in this situation, for some odd-reason.

Ian was instantly better. He has not pulled on his ears, yelled in pain, or shook his head as if he's trying to rid himself of the water lodged in his brain. I'm thrilled. I wouldn't say that sleep is anything to brag about yet, but we are definitely in better shape than we were a week ago.

Why there will be no third child

2008-07-07T20:04:00.003-05:00

I have long wanted three kids. I'm really not sure why. I've always loved kids and wanted lots of them. Four years of infertility revised my expectations downward to the point where I was overwhelmed with gratitude to mother earth for giving me one. The second was an ultimate bonus. And then I guess I got greedy and started thinking that maybe I could revisit those old notions of lots of kids. Well, this is the official notice that there will be no third child. Along with my idealized notion of three kids being fun was the idealized notion that kids would somehow sleep, or at least conform to sleep patterns that vaguely represented my own or that of any other normal human being. I'm here to tell you that either I have the world's crappiest sleepers or all those people out there with kids are big fat liars and walking around pretending to be well rested. Here's a run-down of the last 24 hours in our house.

Around 7PM, Sunday, July 6: Begin the bedtime routine - bath, stories, songs, bed. It took two years to get to this point, but it usually works well with Graeme. It takes an hour and there's no short-cutting the routine, but it usually works. I've been sleep-training Ian for about 2 weeks and he's a tough-case. I usually begin his cry-fest before Graeme goes down with the hopes that Ian's 30 minutes of screaming is winding down by the time Graeme hits the pillow. It went sort of as planned last night, except that Graeme was wired because of a long nap so Steve laid down with him and somewhere around 9:30 Steve emerged and Graeme was asleep.

Around 9PM: I took a long, hot bath. I get frequent headaches and the bath helps.

Around 10PM: I was out cold in bed.

Around midnight: I vaguely hear Ian screaming (he's 12 inches from my bed, so I must have been in a deep sleep). For the past 2 weeks or so I've ignored his nighttime wakings and he usually goes back to sleep, though it takes up to 2 hours. I just didn't want to listen to him last night. My sleep was so good that I wanted it back quickly. The quickest way to get Ian to sleep is to give him some boob juice. Gave it to him and I must have been making the caffeinated version because next thing I know he is just talking, talking, talking....wide awake and practicing all his consonants. I gave him a bottle in hopes that would help. Nope.

Somewhere around 2AM: I'm still listening to him babble and feeling him kick, kick, kick. I dose him with both tylenol and mylecon and give him another bottle. The babbling continues. Steve and I start arguing about whether or not I can leave him in the basement to work on these babbling skills alone. Steve prefers that I take my own babbling to the basement. I do, but can't settle down either. I return to bed at 4:54AM and everyone is finally asleep.

5:04AM: 8 minutes after climbing back into bed Graeme wakes up. I kid you not. I take him back to bed and lie (or lay) down with him where he proceeds to play with my hair until about 6 when he announces that he wants breakfast. We all get up and start the day.

Amazingly, I can survive like this in the adult world. I can't do kids when I sleep-deprived. Takes too much patience. Thinking like an economist I can do in my sleep. Obviously.

Fast forward to 6PM on Monday, July 7: I return home. Everyone is in a good mood. We eat, quickly, because Graeme wants to go to the pool. Ian is falling asleep in his dinner, which he proceeds to regurgitate as I'm giving him the last bite, so Steve takes G to the pool and I stay back to put Ian to sleep. Ian screams for about 2 hours, which keeps Graeme from falling asleep. So, about 9PM I give up and bring them all downstairs where Steve takes over because I have the "I'm losing it look" on my face (and in my words). I took a break to help Steve and it's now almost 10PM and the kids are still awake. The adults are running on the fumes of fumes.

Were we to add a 3rd child to the mix I am fairly certain that our sleep opportunities would consist of the null set. Ergo, we are done with kids.

Mommy Test

2008-06-09T16:07:00.004-05:00

I know it's cliche, but I'm just now realizing that Graeme is testing me. My mother observed this when she was here putting our lives back together last week. (Side note: Last week was the first week since the beginning of March when we didn't go to the pediatrician. And where was I this morning? At the pediatrician. I seriously may be crazy. Perhaps I would have gone to the pediatrician last week were it not for my mother reassuring me that we could manage my child's health issues in-house. Anyway, I digress. My sanity, or lack thereof, is a running theme in this blog.)

I probably knew on some level that Graeme was testing me, but it was driving me crazy. Haven't I passed enough f----g tests to be a parent? I had my FSH, LH, estrogen and all sorts of other hormones measured and tested billions of times while trying to get pregnant. I charted and cycled and clocked and timed and did all sorts of other humiliating things while trying to get pregnant. I read every book I could on recurrent miscarriages, optimal nutrition, exercise and stress reduction, and more while trying to get pregnant. And now I'm a parent. I PASSED the test. What does this child think by TESTING me? I've had enough tests to qualify me to write the SAT, LSAT, and MCAT in three languages. But, it seems as though that wasn't enough. Or, maybe it was just the beginning of the REAL test. The one that really matters. Who cares what my hormone levels are and whether or not my cycle is 28 or 35 days or whether I have ripe follicles or old ovaries. None of that really matters when it comes to parenting. Now that I realize that the real test is right now in front of me I'm actually enjoying it a bit more. The years of infertility were just an irritating warm-up (irritating being the operative world....but since this post isn't about my anger at infertility I'll try to stay on topic).

Graeme is constantly testing me. I'm not sure if he's making sure I'm up for the job (and he has good reason to doubt my capacity, for sure). Or, if he's testing boundaries and stretching his own wings. Or, if he's just messing with me. But, he tests me all the time.

If I kick the walls at 6:00am will she respond? When she tells me NO does she mean it? What will happen if I keep kicking? Will she really take away the pacifier? What happens if I don't eat my dinner? How about going one step further and throwing the plate? Will she give me a bowl of cereal, a stern look, or a time-out? Do we really have to hold hands in parking lots? What exactly constitutes a parking lot? If I pull away will she carry me instead - I kind of like that. Or, do we have to forgo the library trip?

When I think about it this way, Graeme is just trying to figure out how the world operates and I'm the teacher. Only instead of administering the tests I'm taking them. And, I'm probably a confusing teacher (I sort of knew that from my days of teaching Econ 101). Some days throwing food results in a time-out and other days I deliver a tired look. Holding hands in parking lots is a constant, but sometimes "hands" means "grab the handle on my bag because my two hands are occupied with Ian, school bags, pump, work material, and coffee."

It's all very confusing...to the teacher and the student. So, while I really hope I pass this is probably good training for how the real world does in fact operate...confusing.

Will They Always Play this Nicely?

2008-06-08T20:56:00.003-05:00

We retrieved this toy from our attic, thinking that Ian is ready for the next stage in baby toys. It was Graeme's, though he never really had much of an interest in it. Then, that is. The minute Steve brought it into the living room Graeme was all over it and has been playing with it pretty much non-stop. It's one of those "boxes" you see at doctor's offices with a different feature on each side. Ian also seems to like it and it's a perfect complement to the Bumbo seat. I wonder how long they will play this well together? I probably should freeze this moment, right?!

Melanoma In Situ

2008-06-07T11:56:00.003-05:00

What is it? Well, I've got it. And, I'm none to happy about it either. Melanoma in situ is skin cancer of the outer-layer of the skin. In situ means, literally, in it's place, meaning that the cancer has not spread to the deeper layers of the skin. It's also considered Stage 0 skin cancer, with Stage V being the worst. This is good news, according to my dermatologist. He caught it early and the treatment merely involves a small surgery to remove the spot. However, I'm a bit unsettled nonetheless. Yes, I'm covered with moles or freckles, as I like to call them. And, I spent a good 15 years worshiping the sun with the goal of getting the deepest darkest tan I could by June. Often this involved baby oil, with iodine added for extra measure. No idea what the iodine did except stain my skin, but I did it. So, I have every risk factor imaginable. But, I'm still a bit scared by the whole experience.

I went to the dermatologist about a month ago for a plantar's wart and he suggested a "body scan" while I was there. He "scraped" two spots at that visit and scheduled a surgery to remove two others that were bigger and deeper. One of the spots on my leg I've been watching for several years and had examined by a crack-pot dermatologist about a year ago who said it was fine. Dr. Glassman took one look at it and said it needed to go. I dragged my feet on scheduling the surgery for a time when it was convenient for me and finally had it done about 10 days ago. Last Tuesday he called to drop the "melanoma in situ" bomb and said I needed to come in ASAP for additional surgery to make sure they get "clear margins" (i.e., at least 0.5cm of cancer-free skin around the site). I went that day and now have a nice 2 inch scar on my leg with internal and six external stitches.

I'm just a bit unsettled and haven't quite processed all of this. Truthfully, it is good news, but it's news that I'd rather not have. I'll go back for future scans every 4 months and he'll likely continue to scrape and dig at my skin for many years to come. I'm OK with that. I'm on an anti-sun campaign right now. I ordered some sun-protective clothing from LLBean. We have every type of sunscreen imaginable. I'm in a hat all the time and avoid the sun like the plague. And, I'm about to go get some new prescription sunglasses. You can do me a favor by getting into healthy sun habits and getting a body scan if you haven't had one in the last year. Please.

I Make You Happy

2008-06-01T12:58:00.002-05:00

The other day Graeme gave me a big kiss when I was leaving the house. I hugged him and said "I love you." "I love you too, Mommy," was his reply. Which made me cry and hug him more. "I make you happy, Mommy. I don't make you sad."

How is it that the deepest insights can come from a 2 year old?

(The wheels are being repaired on the Maguire bus. My mother is now here helping us put ourselves back in order. Bless her. I could feel the stress melt away as soon as I heard she was on her way. Ian is a sick little fellow (ear infection #7, or just one non-stop infection since January, depending on how you look at it), so her presence is very, very, very welcome.)

Just What the Doctor Ordered

2008-05-30T08:20:00.003-05:00

Last night I went out with my RESOLVE friends. We hadn't really been together since the annual conference in April so it was nice to reconnect. I had been moaning about going....I'm so NEEDED on the homefront, the drive to Bethesda is irritating, Rock Bottom Brewery is boring. But, I had a commitment and went. How wrong I was on all my excuses. My family NEEDED me to get OUT of the house. The drive to Bethesda was long and quiet and peaceful and gave me time to think and reflect. The booth at RBB was comfy, the service good, and we sat for hours without any hint of over-staying our welcome. And, these are people who know how hard it is to face infertility and how hard it is to parent a toddler and how hard it is to struggle with the parenting when it was the one thing I longed for for years. So, while we each walk through this world in different shoes it was comforting and fun and silly to connect with people who have tread the same ground as me on the journey to and through parenting.

Quick Update

2008-05-29T12:04:00.002-05:00

Thank you all for your support, calls, and kind words. We, I mean I, seem to be better right now. I have several running theories about why we are out-of-whack. A couple of my latest...

1. This is a problem about ME, not Graeme.
2. I'm wracked with mommy guilt (damn that Catholic upbringing) and compensating in ways that aren't very healthy or productive for my family.
3. Sleep deprivation is chipping away at my patience and confidence to parent.
4. It's been exactly a year since Knox passed away and the milestone is difficult, causing some underlying anxiety and pain in the household.
5. I like to be liked and therefore can't so NO to my child, or deny him any requests, and then I'm resentful at all the pulls and tugs on my physical and mental self.

#2 is the one I'm fixated on today. But right now it's back to the paycheck job.

Searching for Help

2008-05-28T03:37:00.002-05:00

We were up no fewer than 6 times last night between the boys, including twice with Graeme screaming and throwing things around his room. At one point he was kicking me and trying to push his furniture over. This does not seem normal to me. He can't be happy. We struggled through the morning with him and while I was feeding Ian at 7:30 I decided to just call the pediatrician. I'll admit to being close to tears. They had an appointment with our primary guy at 11 so I took the boys to school, came home to do some work so that I can get paid at my day job and while it's great that I have some flexibility I also was given a new, not-so-fun assignment because I'm told that my current "time allocation" allows for it even though I hit the ground running when I get to the office and don't stop until the very last minute and even then I can't get all the work done but who cares since the environment isn't really all that important right now, but this post isn't about my job now is it? I was able to talk to the doctor without G present (he played with the nurse). I felt like a crazy mom who just can't control her son, but I figured that if that's what I am then I might as well put it out there and get some help. He examined G, who I'm pretty sure has a sinus infection, but the doc said it's just a cold. And, then I talked to the doc some more. He tested G for diabetes (doesn't have it) and we talked about bi-polar disorder (pretty sure he doesn't have it because he's able to "contain" his fits to home). So, we talked about him just being a "difficult child." He gave me a book to read, with the creative title of The Difficult Child and told me to find a psychologist who can help us with some strategies for dealing with him. I sent him a list of psychologists who will take our insurance and he's supposed to get back to me with some recommendations. This all feels so damn crazy and I have to wonder if it's because we don't get any fucking sleep, which you'll notice is happening right now. Ian has decided that he just wants to be up at 4AM today. Graeme knows I'm having a hard time with him. I can see it in his eyes. The last thing in the world I want to do is let him down, but there are lots of times where I just don't have the reserves to handle uncontrollable yelling, kicking, pushing, shoving and I just get mad, mad, mad at him for making this so difficult. But, he's also teaching me more about myself than I've learned in my 39 years and I'm just hoping and praying that we all pop out of this experience as better people. That's my job, right? And, probably a lot more important for the planet than the stupid assignment I just received.

Chaos

2008-05-26T20:23:00.003-05:00

The wheels on the Maguire bus fell off this past week and seem to be rolling around town with no signs of reappearing. The boys both had colds at the end of the week. I was home with them on Thursday and Steve stayed home on Friday and we paid our pediatrician a visit on both days. At Friday's visit Ian was diagnosed with his 6th ear infection, though by now they all just blend together so it's easier to just say that his ears have been infected since about January and he just gets a daily antibiotic like some people take a multi-vitamin (he gets one of those too). Because of the ear issue he doesn't like to be horizontal (my understanding is that the pressure builds when you are lying down). To help him sleep we prop him up - usually on us. But, he has the annoying habit of rubbing his head back and forth on you, kind of like he's trying to itch his forehead (maybe he is, I swear he has allergies already even though he's supposed to be hooked up to my own defective immune system - I'm allergic to a lot of crap - through b-milk). And, when he itches his forehead the pacifier pops out and then he starts crying. This happens no fewer than 8 million times a night. So, we don't sleep. Seriously, I don't think I've had more than 45 minutes straight sleep in months.

But...back to the wheels.

Graeme, as you may recall from previous posts, can be a pain in the a--. Well, when he's sick it's all magnified. He was pretty pathetic from Thursday to Saturday. By Sunday he was feeling better, but he was absolutely unbearable to be around. I feel as though something is not firing correctly, or there's a chemical imbalance, or something. He gets out of control dozens of times a day at everything from the spoon I give him for cereal to turning off the TV (which is rarely on for just this reason, but when he's sick we rely on it more frequently). I often will take him outside when he has these fits. It's a combination of hoping the fresh air will break the cycle, getting him away from the trigger, keeping the house quiet for other occupants and our neighbors, etc. My dog-walking neighbors saw me in my pajamas at the crack of dawn many times this past weekend because these fits were non-stop. By fits I mean full-blown, top-of-the lungs screaming for anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour, along with kicking, pushing, shoving, throwing. Usually about 20-40 minutes into I can offer up my arms in a kind of peacefully way and he'll collapse into me, exhausted. Getting to the collapsing point is challenging and frustrating and I don't always perform my best in the process. These fits have also started to bleed into our nights. Last night he was up at 2AM with all sorts of issues and Steve ended up sleeping in his room in the toddler bed just to get him to stay put. It's to the point now, though, where we really can't live like this. I can't even find a way to inject humor into this post to make it entertaining for you (and me). We need serious help. The fact that I'm looking forward to work for a break tells me that something isn't right on the homefront. I'm really not sure where to turn, so I'm going to start with the pediatrician. My expectations are low, frankly. I'm sure it all just sounds like typical 2 to 3 year old temper tantrums. If that's the case, then we just need some parenting guidance. Either way, something has got to change here.

Trying to be Cool

2008-05-22T20:15:00.003-05:00

I'm a bit on the socially awkward side, or at least that's how I perceive myself. Probably not the coolest person on the planet, a bit nerdy, intellectual snob, not very quick witted, don't make friends easily, but a good person. So, in an attempt to be cool (or because I have so much free time these days) I decided to try socializing like the kids do these days by opening a Facebook account. Steve got me started on this. He googled a person and their Facebook page came up so he joined to learn more about this person. And then he started getting requests from old high school buds to be "friends." I was totally intrigued so I opened an account too. And, since I've been obsessed, intrigued, fascinated, and dumbfounded by this "social networking." This afternoon I spent an hour searching for "friends," which makes me feel about as pathetic as I did in high school when I didn't get an invitation to the coolest party in town. However, I was oddly obsessed and couldn't stop myself from typing in name after name and getting excited when I found someone I knew. Steve came home and I happily reported that I now have 18 friends. Wow, I feel so cool. And then I see people who have like 500 million friends. Oh come on, I bet my friends are more meaningful than your friends.

The other day I invited our oldest (in terms of years of service as Maguire affiliates and not chronological age) friends over for a BBQ this weekend. Before they even responded Steve reported that they were going to the Cape this weekend and wouldn't be able to make it...information he gleaned from Vaughn's Facebook page. So, here we are "friends" and we can totally socialize and keep up on each other's lives without even opening our mouths or speaking a word to each other. I feel so hip.

Really, though, I feel pathetic. And, not because I don't have a billion friends, but because this really doesn't feel as satisfying as a warm hug from an old (or new) friend and a cold beer and some good conversation with eye contact.

I can't say that I won't stop searching for "friends" though.

Mother's Day Essay

2008-05-14T20:11:00.004-05:00

The essay below was sent to me by a friend. I forwarded it around to a bunch of mom-friends along with this intro. It feels like a good message to post here, in what is turning into a parenting blog. As much as I do want to scream sometimes, I also want to remember how intense and real and alive this feels. (Apologies to those who have read these words already.)

The past few weeks have been particularly intense for us. As difficult as life seems to be right now (after Graeme has hit Ian for the 5th time and drawn all over his arms with a sharpie and demanded juice, no not orange, apple, no not apple, grape, no not juice, milk, and Ian hasn't slept more than 1 hour at a stretch for weeks because he's on his 4th ear infection followed by roseola and just wants to be held all the time and I just want to SCREAM sometimes because I seem to live with a low-grade headache that makes me wonder if parenting is giving me a brain tumor or just testing the limits of personal strength), I wouldn't trade this life for the world.

For All My Favorite Moms
by Anna Quindlen, Newsweek Columnist and Author

All my babies are gone now. I say this not in sorrow but in disbelief. I take great satisfaction in what I have today: three almost-adults, two taller than I am, one closing in fast. Three people who read the same books I do and have learned not to be afraid of disagreeing with me in their opinion of them, who sometimes tell vulgar jokes that make me laugh until I choke and cry, who need razor blades and shower gel and privacy, who want to keep their doors closed more than I like. Who, miraculously, go to the bathroom, zip up their jackets and move food from plate to mouth all by themselves. Like the trick soap I bought for the bathroom with a rubber ducky at its center, the baby is buried deep within each, barely discernible except through the unreliable haze of the past.

Everything in all the books I once poured over is finished for me now. Penelope Leach., T. Berry Brazelton., Dr. Spock. The ones on sibling rivalry and sleeping through the night and early-childhood education, all grown obsolete. Along with Goodnight Moon and Where the Wild Things Are, they are battered, spotted, well used. But I suspect that if you flipped the pages dust would rise like memories. What those books taught me, finally, and what the women on the playground taught me, and the well-meaning relations --what they taught me, was that they couldn't really teach me very much at all.

Raising children is presented at first as a true-false test, then becomes multiple choice, until finally, far along, you realize that it is an endless essay. No one knows anything. One child responds well to positive reinforcement, another can be managed only with a stern voice and a timeout. One child is toilet trained at 3, his sibling at 2. When my first child was born, parents were told to put baby to bed on his belly so that he would not choke on his own spit-up. By the time my last arrived, babies were put down on their backs because of research on sudden infant death syndrome. To a new parent this ever-shifting certainty is terrifying, and then soothing. Eventually you must learn to trust yourself. Eventually the research will follow. I remember 15 years ago poring over one of Dr. Brazelton's wonderful books on child development, in which he describes three different sorts of infants: average, quiet, and active. I was looking for a sub-quiet codicil for an 18-month old who did not walk. Was there something wrong with his fat little legs? Was there something wrong with his tiny little mind? Was he developmentally delayed, physically challenged? Was I insane? Last year he went to China . Next year he goes to college. He can talk just fine. He can walk, too.

Every part of raising children is humbling, too. Believe me, mistakes were made. They have all been enshrined in the "Remember-When-Mom-Did" Hall of Fame. The outbursts, the temper
tantrums, the bad language, mine, not theirs. The times the baby fell off the bed. The times I arrived late for preschool pickup. The nightmare sleepover. The horrible summer camp. The day when the youngest came barreling out of the classroom with a 98 on her geography test, and I responded, "What did you get wrong?" (She insisted I include that.) The time I ordered food at the McDonald's drive-through speaker and then drove away without picking it up from the window. (They all insisted I include that.) I did not allow them to watch the Simpsons for the first two seasons. What was I thinking?

But the biggest mistake I made is the one that most of us make while doing this. I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of the three of them, sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages 6, 4 and 1. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night. I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less. Even today I'm not sure what worked and what didn't, what was me and what was simply life. When they were very small, I suppose I thought someday they would become who they were because of what I'd done. Now I suspect they simply grew into their true selves because they demanded in a thousand ways that I back off and let them be. The books said to be relaxed and I was often tense, matter-of-fact and I was sometimes over the top. And look how it all turned out. I wound up with the three people I like best in the world who have done more than anyone to excavate my essential humanity. That's what the books never told me. I was bound and determined to learn from the experts. It just took me a while to figure out who the experts were.

New Wheels

2008-05-11T20:31:00.004-05:00

Mama and the boys got a new set of wheels for Mother's Day. We are so excited about the new ride. Graeme slept soundly through the first jog and Ian babbled happily. I should be running laps around Steve any day now since I'm pushing an extra 100 pounds (35 for Graeme, 15 for Ian and 50 for the stroller) on my runs.

Pacis are for Mouths

2008-05-09T20:38:00.002-05:00

Graeme has been driving me nuts lately. It seems every month or so we go through a week of pure hell. Whining, defiance, throwing, hitting, biting, yelling, crying....you name it. This week, while Ian has a double-ear infection and roseola Graeme has head-butt him, pushed him off the couch, squished his belly, and taken every toy he's tried to play with. We are totally worn out. Usually by the time it breaks I find myself wondering about all the other things I'd rather be doing, like shoving bamboo shoots up my finger nails or cleaning the grease out of oven vent with a q-tip or writing a dissertation (the last time I remember truly hating the moment). Usually about 2 weeks or so after an episode I zero in on the cause. In early April I decided it was because I had given him too long a leash and needed to reign him in. I had basically tossed in the towel on parenting because everything was a battle, which only made for more battles. Kids need boundaries, yada yada yada. Well, it seemed to work, sort of. I don't know what his deal is now, but he's a 35 pound pain in the ass. Usually in the middle of one of these "events" Steve and I give each other the "throw the f---- pacifiers out the window" look because G screams for them in the midst of his hourly sobs and we get sick of the battle. Well, last night I pulled the "if you don't brush your teeth I'm taking paci" threat. He wouldn't brush, so I took the paci. And he started screaming for 2 hours. Steve, bless him, had the patience to sit through it. I was dreaming up ways to escape, but still keep my really cool Mother's Day present.

Today G asked for the paci a few times and I was able to divert him, but decided that maybe this was the time to get rid of them for good. I don't want to just go cold-turkey. It doesn't feel right to take away his favorite comfort with little warning. So, I decided to take a tip from the Dockins' and told him that there is a special store where you can buy toys with pacis. The idea is that we buy a toy for him in advance and arrange a "deal" with the store owner, and then he goes for the actual pick-up and "pays" for the toy with his pacis. G liked the idea of buying something with his pacis and wanted to go right away to get a Spider Man. We have to wait for daddy, I said. Steve is game for the idea. So, at bedtime tonight he asked for a paci. Steve gave it to him, but reminded him that we are going to use the pacis to buy a special toy. "Pacis are for mouths, Daddy, not toys," was his reply. Sigh. He's on to us....again.

My Poor Feet

2008-05-09T20:30:00.004-05:00

One of my favorite things about the warmer weather is that I can break out my nice collection of fun shoes....wedges, flip flops, sporty water shoes, birks, strappy sandals, etc. However, I dread the month it takes for my previously confined toes to get used to the elements and rubbing on the leather (or canvas or pleather or whatever) in the summer footwear. For the past few weeks my poor pinky toes have been rubbed raw and are working hard to develop a callous or two so that we can withstand an entire season of show.

Today I found myself in the unusual position of having about 15 1/2 minutes to myself. Shall I caulk the bathtub (a running project in our house, it seems) or paint my toe nails? I went for the latter (we can continue showering in the basement despite the inconvenience, but my toes needed attention NOW). I pulled out the supplies and did a quick in-home pedicure. I'm pretty good at it, I must say. Buffed the nails and everything. I was proud of the result and headed downstairs to do a quick check on email before my peace was over and on the way I ran smack dab into a Fisher Price special and scraped the polish on the right big toe. Holly F----- Shit, why the h--- am I even TRYING to look decent. I'm a mom of two young-uns. Who am I kidding with pedicured digits? In order to dispel any myths that I can do it all - pedicure and parent - I'm walking around with half-painted toes for the next few months.

P-U

2008-05-05T20:40:00.003-05:00

Now that we are feeding Ian more than just mama's milk we have the unwelcome side effect of stinky poop. I forgot about that part and am all the more thankful that I waited until he was 6 months old to introduce solids. Isn't it kind of weird that food tastes so good yet produces such a nasty waste odor? Yet, breastmilk, which I believe has a pretty bland taste produces such a fine fragrant waste product. Is this what happens to my analytical skills now that I'm doing the mom-thing? I had hopes of using this blog to explore all sorts of social issues and interesting economic challenges that used to run through my brain. And now all I can seem to muster up is the irony of smelly poop.

Feeding Ian

2008-04-30T21:01:00.004-05:00

We have a new routine in our house....solid food for Ian! He's digging the rice cereal and sweet potatoes, and Graeme is quite a help, literally. I love this stage with babies. There's something about introducing new foods that excites me. I mean each taste, smell and texture is so very new in such a tangible way. You can see it on Ian's face. I don't really consider myself a foodie, which is maybe why I can get excited about mashed sweet potatoes. I'm hoping to do a better job with Ian's taste buds than I've done with Graeme. Steve reminds me that taste is probably primarily hard-wired, but I don't think I was ambitious, or patient enough with introducing Graeme to new foods and now he's a chicken nugget kid. Ian is getting an avocado for breakfast, and he's going to like it, by gum!

Mouse in the House

2008-04-28T20:44:00.003-05:00

Oh yes, you read that correctly. We have an unwelcome guest in our house. I came downstairs this morning and Madison was scurrying around a trunk we have at the base of the landing on the stairs. I got a sinking feeling and called Steve. Sure enough, she had found a mouse. It ran into the corner by the door. Graeme, Ian and I jumped onto the couch, while Steve went to the basement to retrieve mouse evacuation equipment (i.e., a broom and a bucket). We then opened the front door and tried to politely encourage it to leave peacefully. When that failed it ran behind the couch and we gave up. I sent Steve to Rite Aid for some traps (on the advice of
the neighbors who were walking their dogs and witnessed all the commotion at 6:30AM). We put a trap by the couch and were hoping for some remnants this afternoon. I am so uninterested in being humane right now. The damn cat retreated to the bedroom where she probably slept all day while the thrill of a lifetime ran loose throughout our house.

At one point the mouse ran into the play farm we have in the living room. "Mousie's in my farm," Graeme declared. Yes, dear, it does belong on a farm, but not this one. I grew up in the country and love returning to my roots, but I'm all about being a city girl here in Arlington and have no interest in playing farm for real.

We returned home to a very untouched trap. Graeme and Ian were both exhausted after a long day at school, so the dinner hour was a chorus of various decibels of wailing. We scarfed down some food and stuck them in the tub. About half-way through the bath Graeme decided that he had to poop - and once that train leaves the station there's no stopping it. Yes, please feel my pain and don't really try to imagine how very, very, very disgusting it is to have poop floating in your tub. I scooped Ian up before the offending material hit the water and yelled for Steve to retrieve Graeme. I then went to stick Ian in the crib while we got Graeme together only to find what I am pretty darn sure was mouse droppings on Graeme's sheets. Did we like forget to say thank you for something, or is all the shit quite literally hitting the fan (or water) at once this week? I put Ian on the toddler bed instead and got Graeme put together while Steve changed sheets. Both boys are finally asleep, even Ian who is on day two of sleep training (another post - I was up no fewer than 4 times last night getting him back to sleep).

We now have two traps set with the finest peanut butter and are hoping Mr. Mousie enjoys the dinner party we've arranged for him.

Pull-ups

2008-04-27T08:02:00.002-05:00

For months now we've been easing Graeme into potty training. A long time ago we pulled out the potty that my friend, Victoria, gave us. Every night at bath time we have encouraged Graeme to use it. At first he was using it about once a week, and now we are up to several times a day. I spontaneously created a little song when he was successful and now he asks for the song when he wants to pee. "Can you do song, Mommy?" He gets so excited to hear the little song and dance that I do. We've now graduated into pull-ups. Not exclusively, but on occasion, because the buggers are about double the price of diapers and he goes through them just as quickly. In fact, he goes through them quicker because he can put them on himself. More than occasionally I will find him stripped naked and putting on a brand new pull-up because "I don't want McQueen anymore. I want Mater," referring to the characters from Cars that don the boys size 2T-3T Huggies brand pull-ups. The other day we were in the bathroom together (parents don't pee on their own, you know) and Graeme, very excitedly said, "Mommy you have pull-ups too!" So now in our house we talk about Mommy and Daddy's pull-ups and how it's important not to pee in your pull-ups. A lesson I've thankfully mastered.

Where'd I Go, and Happy Birthday to Me

2008-04-26T21:52:00.003-05:00

I didn't fall off the planet, I just went back to work. I guess that's sort of like falling off the planet. In addition to returning to work 3 days a week on March 31, RESOLVE had its big Family Building Conference on April 12 which I had somewhat ambitiously agreed to chair last fall when I was doped up on pregnancy hormones. The conference was a success, but a ton o' work, and not without it's headaches. It felt good, though as the chair I spent most of the day of the event talking to hotel staff about AV equipment, tables, chairs, signage, sandwiches, drinks, elevators, lighting, table skirts, outlets, parking, etc., etc. All of the absolutely mundane details that make a large-scale conference work, but provide very little soul-feeding, which is part of why I do this stuff. There were definitely a few "touched people's lives moments" which I'm not up for summarizing now, plus it's easier to just link here where it's summed up much better than I could do. At any rate, it's over, glad I did it, need a big fat break. Since that event, I have been indulging myself in my family and haven't had a chance to sit down and write about it.

Today is my birthday and the last year of my 30's, though Steve likes to tell me that I'm in my 40th year. I can't really wrap my brain around that fact, kind of like I can never remember if we're in the 20th or 21st century. It was a fabulous birthday that started with Graeme serenading me with Happy Birthday Mommy at 8AM (Steve and my mom let me sleep in which was nice because I drank way too much wine the night before at a great, I mean "tight" dinner party - did you know that "tight" is the new "awesome", or so I'm told by the 15 year old son of the hosts). The serenade was followed by an immediate card and present opening fest. Graeme could not contain himself with the presents and insisted that I read his card about 42 times. Steve gave me a fabulous dress - he really, really, really always picks the best clothes for me - and the boys gave me a cool necklace. After breakfast and a good run with Graeme in the jog stroller I showered and then did something totally crazy, but it was rather fun, I think, maybe, no not really, it was hell, but I did it and never have to go again. I took Graeme (and Ian) to a 3 year old birthday party at Chuck E Cheese. What the h--- was I thinking? It really deserves a post in and of itself. In exchange for allowing Steve to nap while we were at the party Graeme and I took a long nap this afternoon. We then had a family BBQ and ended the day with a walk to Maggie Moos. It was really one of the best birthdays I can remember. If the RESOLVE conference didn't remind me that I'm a damn lucky girl, than today did.

My Boys

2008-03-21T14:17:00.002-05:00

I love these pictures. Who is who?

The top picture is Graeme when he was one day shy of being 4 months old. The bottom is Ian at about a week shy of being 5 months old. Everyone says they look alike, but I see two very different kids in these pictures.

Will the Crazies Please Leave Me Alone

2008-03-21T13:17:00.003-05:00

Many of you know our troubles with our not-to-be-named nanny that we had to fire when I was 36 weeks pregnant last October because she suddenly went from being the most wonderful person in the world to a raving lunatic almost over night. I recall the day in September when she showed up at our house in a not-very-friendly mood. Odd, I thought, but we're all entitled (some of us more than others) to off days. It was just a bit doubly-odd because over the course of the previous 14 months she hadn't had one off day, at least by my judgement. The following 4 weeks her mood only worsened, much to my frustration and exasperation. We had given her a week of paid vacation at the end of August so I was very puzzled by this - vacation leads to foul mood, hhhhmmmm. I tried everything I could think of over the course of September, eliciting the help of the other families in the nanny share who had also noticed a change in her moods. We tried talking to her, coming home early, buying craft supplies to entertain the kids, planning activities, etc. The big to-do was at the end of September when I showed up to pick up Graeme and the house was in chaos - VERY out of character - and she started ranting at me for overworking/underpaying her, and complaining that Graeme was uncontrollable and that she couldn't take it. I called time-out and set up a meeting with one of the other moms. We had a 2 hour discussion where she cried about missing her family, needing more money, feeling isolated, etc., etc. It ended with us giving her a raise and agreeing to try to communicate better. I was feeling pretty wiped out by the daily attempts to please her, but willing to do almost anything because of the amazing care she had provided over the previous year plus. That meeting was on a Friday and on the following Sunday the other mom called to basically say that psycho-nanny still wasn't happy and was probably going to look for another job. I decided I was done with the bullshit and fired her (with a voice mail message - how professional). I seethed about it, cried about it, and wondered what the f--- went wrong. Eventually, I just had to get over it though I admit to still harboring much anger. Well, yesterday I received a little thank-you note in the mail that said:

The MacGuire Family. It has been my greatest pleasure caring for your precious angel Graeme. I had lots of fun with him. Steve 7 Kelly (sic) I want to thank you for my W-2 form, your kind words and allowing me to work at your house. "Thank you." I did enjoyed working with you all with great respect and appreciation. Love Psycho Nanny (I made the last part up).

What the f----? Is this some passive aggressive move? A note written out of guilt? All it took was a W-2 form? Was I just in a late-pregnancy induced fog last October?

I seem to have developed a pattern of bringing out crazy behavior in other people, but this is really the cat's meow.

Embracing my sleeplessness

2008-03-19T09:44:00.003-05:00

Sleep, or lack thereof, is a running theme in this blog and my life in general. If anyone had told me how little sleep you get as a parent I would have, I don't know what. I wouldn't have believed them, I suppose. I get no f---- sleep. That's the damn truth. I didn't get much sleep with Graeme and now with two kids I get none. Yesterday morning I just sat in bed and cried like a big whiny baby at about 7AM. I can't say that I "woke up and cried" because I hadn't really slept. Steve took extreme pity on me and went to work late, and then volunteered to come home early. But, by noon I'd composed myself (an exciting shopping trip to Rite Aid provided just the retail therapy to snap me into a good mood - never know what treasures you'll find in the "home goods" aisle). Last night I decided to embrace my sleep-deprived state. I get so sick of people saying, things like...."These years go so fast." "Embrace every moment." "You'll be sad when it's over." Yeah, yeah. I'm sure their right, but in the meantime I'm a walking zombie and basic hygiene like applying deodorant sometimes takes too much energy (I wore it yesterday so surely there's some leftover to get me through day 2, right?). So, in my embracing mindset I decided to enjoy this gift of sleeplessness. How did it go? Well, G-boy went to bed late because his parents were too busy watching a really bad American Idol to get him to bed (yup, our fault all around). Ian squawked and fussed and did his baby thing until about 11PM. Great, this is going so well. I hit the pillow immediately and was thrilled (seriously) when Ian slept until 12:45. Wow! I almost got 2 full hours of sleep. This embracing thing really works well! Ian ate, fussed, and was back down around 1:30 and then about 2:45 he was moving again. Amazing, almost another 1.5 hours. I've practically had a full night's sleep and it's only 3AM! This time he just wanted a little taste and so I was back on the pillow at 3. I lost track after that, but there were 2 or 3 more pacifier-replacement sessions, nibbles, and rockings. Just when we were all settling into the home-sleep stretch I feel I little poke on my face. G-boy is up at the fine hour of 5:53AM. This is great - I get to spend so much quality time with my boys around the clock. Graeme climbed into bed and played with my hair. It's really quite comfy to have four people in a queen size bed (damn, why didn't we buy that king bed). Finally at about 6:45 Steve took Graeme downstairs and Ian and I settled into our best sleep yet until about 7:30. So, all told I probably had about 6 hours and I feel great. Got my deodorant on and even wore earrings.

Deal with me

2008-03-16T20:21:00.003-05:00

When my patience is thin (which correlates strongly with sleep deprivation, and hence happens more frequently than I'd like these days) I will walk away from Graeme's antics. Yesterday he woke from his nap and we needed to get moving to a birthday party. He wouldn't budge from his crib. I wrangled a new diaper onto him, but couldn't get him to cooperate on anything else. So, I just calmly walked away and said, "you tell me when you're ready to get out of bed." I went downstairs and told Steve that maybe he'd have better luck getting him up. Steve went upstairs and Graeme said, "Mommy doesn't want to deal with me right now." A truism for sure, but not what I expected from a 2 year old.

Catching up on News with Grandma E

2008-03-14T19:55:00.005-05:00

Graeme and my mother spent a recent Saturday morning catching up on the local news. This really isn't staged, despite the fact that my mother reading the sports page seems preposterous. She'll do anything to entertain her grandsons.

Milkshakes for Ian

2008-03-14T14:47:00.004-05:00

Last night I had a RESOLVE meeting, which means some productive time spent planning our Spring conference followed by wine with Jane. I planned to be gone for about 4-5 hours so I left Steve with a few bottles of formula for Ian. I am out of pumped milk due to the antibiotic spell a few weeks ago. We rarely use formula so I only have these prepacked "tubes" that each contain enough formula for a four-ounce bottle. I made one bottle and left two tubes on the counter, thinking this should be more than enough to get him through the night. When I returned home at 11PM (well under my 2.5 bottles of wine limit, so I didn't have to pump 'n dump) everyone was sound asleep in the house. It's rare that Ian is konked out at 11PM, so I was surprised, but pleased. I noticed that the bottle was finished and both packets of formula were empty - hungry boy, I thought. Ian woke at 2'ish and I fed him, but he was fussy and didn't really settle down. Finally at 3 I asked Steve to take over. He said he thought Ian was hungry and suggested a bottle. Fine, I said, in my groggy state. Steve made a bottle and took care of Ian until morning. I enjoyed the slumber. Well, when I went downstairs there were two more empty formula tubes. I asked Steve how he made the bottle - two tubes to four ounces of water, right, he said. Ah, nope. You just made Ian a milkshake - a nice, thick creamy, double-Enfamil shake. No wonder he was in a deep-slumber at 11PM and then pissed off at 2AM. I was trying to feed him nutrient-rich, but very watery breastmilk, albeit laced with a bit of Sauvignon Blanc. The latter, however, was not enough to slake his thirst for a thick, creamy shake. I can't imagine what Steve will be doing behind my back once he has the boys as true partners in crime.

I'm Tired

2008-03-10T22:34:00.002-05:00

I think I've finally hit the point where you could call me chronically sleep deprived. I function fairly well for the most part, but I never really feel fully energized. I'm either hyper-energized on adrenalin or I'm kind of just pushing through the day. Everything I do happens in 10 minute snippets - eat a quick breakfast, take a quick shower, do a quick load of laundry, send a few emails, read a quick econ article, change a diaper, set up a craft project, clean up a craft project, throw together dinner, take a quick run, I could go on and on. I can operate this way on very little sleep because no one task takes much energy and I'm constantly moving so there's no time to relax (and sleep). But, of late I've felt like the crazy energy is more prominent than the balanced energy and it makes me prone to feeling moody, weepy, agitated, excitable. I try to embrace this crazy state because it's not forever, but I don't think staying up until midnight or 1AM with Ian and then rising at 6:30AM (with many interruptions along the way) with Graeme is sustainable. Oh, Steve is right in there with me - I usually do the late-night shift and he takes care of the morning, but the size and configuration of our house means that quality sleep is hard to come by when kids are awake. I may have to reintroduce the mama-nap time, though sometimes this is more frustrating than it's worth. First, I've taken to taking in some caffeine so settling down at 1PM'ish for a snooze is difficult. Second, getting two kids to sleep at the same time is a feat. I can't tell you the number of times Ian falls asleep and 5 minutes later Graeme is up. I have to un-irritate myself on those days. I return to work in 3 weeks. On one hand I'm terrified of how we are going to make it all work. On the other hand I'm delirious with the thought of long lunches and lazy afternoons in my government issued cubicle...and I'm one of the more productive ones, if I must say so myself.

Another Day in a Life with a Toddler

2008-03-07T20:26:00.002-05:00

I woke up today feeling groggy because Ian was pretty squirmy most of the night. (We've moved out of our apartment and he and I are in bed with Steve - not sure how Steve feels about this.) I managed to squeeze in time to make a pot of coffee only to discover 10 minutes later that I hadn't properly put the pot on the base and there were coffee grounds EVERYWHERE. I cleaned up and somehow Graeme ended up in his room reading quietly, which NEVER happens. I decided to let him be and engrossed myself in a crossword puzzle, something I haven't done in eons. I checked on him a few times, but then obviously let a few too many minutes go between checkings. As I went upstairs after completing all of the upper left corner of the puzzle I smelled powder. Uh-oh. By the time I'd hit the 6th step I saw a dusting of powder on the stairs. By the time I got to the landing it was like a blanket of snow. Powder EVERYWHERE. And there was Graeme sitting in the glider rubbing Vaseline all over the cushions, just dipping all of his fingers into the container and globbing as much as he could wherever it would stick. His room was covered in powder...in the laundry basket, in his dresser drawers, all over his books. I later discovered that he had dusted our room and found it all over our clothes, on the dressers, everywhere. I didn't know whether to laugh, cry, yell, whimper, or cleanup. I decided to do none of the above. I snapped a picture, changed Graeme's clothes and headed to the park...forgetting about the whole thing.

Good-bye Gregg and Elise

2008-03-07T20:20:00.003-05:00

Our very good friends, Gregg and Elise, have moved to Colorado and we miss them dearly. Gregg and Steve worked together and we quickly hit if off with them when we first moved to town 8 years ago. They taught us to climb and we spent many a weekend afternoon on the rocks at Great Falls, Carderock, Seneca, and more. They were also our good hiking and camping pals, and the people we called at the last minute to join us for pool and beer. They have been very kind and supportive while we struggled to have kids and then to raise them. You don't find friends like this often and we are sad, sad, sad not to have them in our daily lives. Fortunately, we now have a great place to visit in Colorado. Though, I prefer if Colorado weren't several states away.

Value of Ian

2008-03-06T14:18:00.003-05:00

We are all on the mend here, thankfully, and nature's experiment to trick my body into continued milk production seems to have worked. Worked much better than the $40K I paid to a large local fertility clinic to try to trick my body into greater egg production several years ago.

Thermometer usage has been on the rise in our household and Graeme needed to check Ian's temperature (with an ear thermometer) this morning. He knew just how to use the device. So, I turned it on, Graeme stuck it in Ian's ear and when it beeped he declared "Ian is 7 dollars." Perfect, I replied! The other ear was only 3 dollars, but I told him that was OK too.

For the record, EPA applies a value of statistical life of $6'ish million dollars to value the mortality risk reductions from its policies. And, the literature is pretty mixed on whether or not children should be assigned a higher or lower value than adults. We can consider Graeme's pronouncement an additional data point in the debate.

My Poisonous Milk

2008-03-03T20:06:00.002-05:00

Well, I got what I asked for....powerful drugs. But, as with all things in life there are tradeoffs. In exchange for three not-so-small wonder pills I have to give up breastfeeding for three days. Not a bad deal one might say. Don't tell that to Ian.

I woke up this morning still feeling lousy and thoroughly irritated. This was more than just a run-of-the-mill sinus issue, for which I have a miracle cure. So, I called my trusty primary care physician who squeezed me in at 10:45. The very kind and young physician's assistant was willing to hand over some mild antibiotics, even though she was pretty sure it wasn't bacterial sinusitis. However, she thought she should confer with Dr. O'Donnell first. He came in, took one listen to my lungs and pronounced that there was no need to go further. You have a romb'something'itis...an infected mucus ball in the base of your right lung. Lovely. He then took a look at Ian and said, you don't happen to be breastfeeding are you? Oh yes, and I'm allergic to z-pacs, the miracle drug for pregnant and nursing moms. The ONLY drug in the world to which I am allergic. Well, the only choice is to take this power master drug. But, you can't come near your baby with your milk for fear he'll grow horns or something. What is a hard-core nursing mama like myself to do? Pump 'n dump, as we say in the "industry." This involves hooking myself up to a 10 pound motor (courtesy of my co-worker, Lanelle - bless her generosity, this pump has serviced many, many NCEE babies) every time Ian eats and letting it suck the milk out of me just like we do for bovine in the modern world. Lovely, again. I'm to do this every time Ian would normally eat in order to "trick" my body into continuing to produce milk during this break in service so that I can resume providing Ian with nature's best when my body has evicted the gnarly mucus ball. Oh, and I'm to dump the fruits of my labor down the drain, with gloves on. (I made that last part up.) To a breastfeeding mother the only really good reason to pump 'n dump is after you've had 2 1/2 bottles of wine (each) with a bunch of girlfriends on a Saturday night and you are sure that pure alcohol will spill from your boobs. Two bottles of wine and you're clear. No one in their right mind would hook themselves up to this machine unless the results were going into the freezer so that daddy could do a late night feeding (usually on that same night when you had 2 1/2 bottles of wine). Otherwise, dumping is worse than burning 20 dollar bills for the fun of it.

What does Ian think of this? Funny you should ask. Feeding #1 today brought on a full-fledged riot. First, I had to find myself some formula. Then I had to dig up a bottle. By now he's screaming at the top of his lungs. By the time I figured out how to mix it all up and get it to the right temperature social services was on their way. I finally managed to get a bottle in his mouth. No way, he said. What is this silicone thing? Haven't you heard of the leaching of dangerous chemicals from plastic? What are you trying to do to me? I eventually tried to enlist Graeme's help. You know things are bad when a 2 year old is needed for assistance. Graeme tried to give Ian the bottle, but Ian was too worked up for his liking. Eventually, after much soothing Ian succumbed to the bottle and finished it. Then it was time for the pumping. I put Ian in the bouncy seat and started the pumping production. I kid you not, Ian stared at me and just sobbed, with big fat watery tears streaming down his face. How could you? Those are mine. Is money that tight that you have to sell my food? I was equally upset.

Feeding #2 went a bit easier. Now, of course, I'm fearful that he's going to turn on me when I can resume the old fashioned feeding style on Thursday at precisely noon (24 hours after the last monster pill). In the midst of this hoopla to get my child fed and myself well I'm supposed to rest.

Ready or Not

2008-03-02T21:06:00.002-05:00

We've all been sick as can be over here for what seems like weeks. Both boys have had ear infections and Steve and I can not seem to shake whatever virus has invaded our house. I'm off to the doctor tomorrow to see what drugs I can wrestle out of him to get this thing off my back. In the meantime, my dear mother came over (from the Eastern Shore) to provide some help. Bless her soul. Exposing herself to our germ infested house so that our lives could run a bit more smoothly. She loves being useful and has been thoroughly entertained by Graeme, who has weathered this thing the best of all of us.

Today, she was playing around with Graeme and said, "Ready or not, I'm going to get you." He waited a beat and said "not." We all looked at each other in disbelief and then just started laughing. As with the previous post, my child is either very literal or a pain-in-the-ass. Based on other observations, I'm beginning to think it might be the latter.

Teeth are white

2008-02-21T21:32:00.003-05:00

At Graeme's school they did a lesson on brushing your teeth and the teacher gave the kids cut-out pictures of teeth and a toothbrush to color. They glued them to giant popsicle sticks and hung them on the class bulletin board. Everyone's teeth were colored except for Graeme's. The teacher reported that he wouldn't color the teeth because he said that teeth are white. My child is either very matter-of-fact or a pain-in-the-ass.

Life Just Isn't the Same

2008-02-20T22:16:00.002-05:00

In the division of labor in our household one of my responsibilities is managing all of the appointments that happen in our lives...oil changes, dentists, doctors, heating system checks, and vet visits. Madison was due for her annual check-up, so I made an appointment with the vet we used when Knox initally got sick, almost exactly a year ago. I knew that making this appointment would stir up some emotions, but I felt ready for it. When I called to make the appointment I was audibly disappointed when I learned that Dr. Dugan had left the area. He was a very, very kind and thorough vet and I hadn't seen him since Knox's diagnosis, so I had been looking forward to this visit for the opportunity to thank and hug him. With Dr. Dugan gone, I made an appointment with Dr. Brown, the owner. Ian and I took Madison to the appointment, which was a bit of a feat since she adhors the car and had me genuinely fearful for my life on the ride over to the office. She was writhing around in her carrier making guttural sounds and pushing her head out of the zipper (we have one of those hip, purse-like carriers because there are so many times when it is important to look really stylish while toting your pet). I had visions of her springing loose from the carrier and landing on my head so I was prepared to ask the vet for a sedative for the ride home (for Madison, not me, though I probably needed one as well).

I pulled into the parking lot and was a bit overcome with emotion. The last time we were in that lot was the end of May when we arrived to bring Knox's life to an end. I managed to get into the office with my yowling cat and then we all quickly settled down. The office is warm, friendly, comfortable, and literally feels like a living room, complete with house cats wandering around, one of whom took an interest in Ian.

The visit with Dr. Brown was entirely uneventful. He knew our history (which is more attention to detail than I get from my pediatrician, whom I've seen, oh 85 million times in the last two years) and we talked about Knox more than Madison, actually. In fact, when I turned to leave I wasn't entirely sure that he had even looked at her, though such a visit did manage to set me back $150.

I left the office in much the same way I arrived, calmly, but with a bit of emotion. I cried on the way home and spent the afternoon thinking about Knox and realizing that life really just isn't the same without him around. I don't think a day has gone by since he died that I haven't thought about him and wished he was here. I still look in the living room window when I come home half-expecting him to be waiting for me and I can't open the door without making sure he doesn't escape before I realize that he's not here. I still think twice about leaving a glass on a counter-top because he would knock them over if they weren't full enough for him to drink from. And, I very much miss him just following me around the house and sitting right next to me when I work on the computer. I feel so very fortunate to have Madison in our lives. She has definitely come out of her shell over the last year and seems to enjoy life as a single kitty. She's a bit more social than she was when Knox was alive; I think she lived behind his vibrant personality and now shines on her own. Sometimes when I look at Madison I think it's Knox. And, so while I am very grateful to have Madison I miss Knox dearly and long for him daily. Life goes on, but it sure isn't the same without him. I miss you buddy.

Diaper Duty

2008-02-19T07:05:00.002-05:00

Graeme has decided that he can and will remove his diaper on occassion. Yesterday, when Steve went in to get him in the morning he was sitting in his crib almost buck-naked. He had removed his pjs, unsnapped his undershirt, taken off his diaper and thrown it across the room. Thankfully, it had #1 contents only. He declared, "My diaper is gross. It's full of pee-pee. PU." Steve contained his laughter and then responded in a matter-of-fact way. Oh, of course, let's get you a new diaper, or something like that.

We laughed about this throughout the day. Apparently enough to encourage him to do a repeat performance. Last night he went to bed at 8, but then chattered for a while. At 10PM we still heard him talking and this time he was saying, "Daddy, can you get me a new diaper." Oh no. We went upstairs and found him naked again and the nearly-dry diaper thrown across the room. I asked him why he took all his clothes off. His response..."these aren't clothes, they're jammies." Duh, mama. Steve put him back together, we got him back in bed and haven't heard a peep yet. Though, I have a feeling he'll be up momentarily. I hope this is all a sign that potty-training is on the horizon. I'm not sure I dig the idea of diaper-chucking as a new pastime.

Making cookies

2008-02-13T07:52:00.009-05:00

One of Graeme and my favorite ways to spend an afternoon is cooking. Here are some pictures of our latest adventure. (I've also added a picture of Ian lest you think that he has become a forgotten child.)

G'isms

2008-02-12T22:43:00.003-05:00

I've heard that parenting is sometimes like walking around with a mirror because kids will fully reflect the mannerisms and behavior they witness. This weekend while doing a puzzle with Graeme he said "good job, mommy" when I put two pieces together. And, when he and Steve completed a puzzle he said "I'm proud of you daddy" Too cute.

My Day Out

2008-02-12T22:33:00.002-05:00

I like the stay-at-home mom gig that I have going right now. I'm not sure if its the temporary nature of it that allows me to settle into a pattern of mid-morning coffee (decaf, still), a few puzzles and books, some outdoor time and lunch, naps, and then dinner. I plan it all out as though I'm preparing for my graduate school comprehensive exams. I have the meals organized for the week, laundry neatly folded, and I praise myself when a day goes smoothly (like today) and analyze endlessly when things go awry (every other day). I also enjoy the kinship that comes from being part of the how-do-you-do-it, life-is-so-hard-with-two-kids, you-must-be-exhausted club. So, yesterday when I went to the dentist to have a tooth filled I really did settle into the chair and stretch open my mouth with a bit of relaxation and pleasure at the break that it offered from my day-to-day routine.

Skiing-G Part 2

2008-01-31T21:37:00.000-05:00

Our ski weekend experiment was a success! We don't have any "action" shots, but I'm happy to report that Graeme seemed to like skiing. It took about an hour for me to figure out how to "teach" a toddler to ski. Ski equipment, boots in particular, are cumbersome at best and down-right dangerous at times. Graeme doesn't always want to walk on his own in slippers, let alone boots that weigh half as much as he does. And, when Graeme doesn't want to do something...forget it. It's like pushing a rock up a hill. Why the bunny slope is located a good 100 yards from the ticket line is beyond me, but after a lot of deep-breathing and breaks we managed to get ourselves and our equipment to the base of the bunny slope without any tears or bribes. An accomplishment in and of itself. I then thought, "now what, smarty pants." We proceeded to move around on the skis and walked in the boots and then Graeme lay down on his back and said "I want to go home." Sigh. Steve suggested we revise our goal to be just getting on the lift. Good idea, daddy. Graeme was excited to go on the "ride." However, he really couldn't move at all in skis and I'm not exactly a graceful swan myself with 5 foot boards on my feet. But, we managed to slide and move to the front of the line, though by this time I was sweating buckets and my upper-body was aching. Once on the "ride" Graeme was thrilled. We managed to dismount with ease. At this point I'd picked up some tidbits from watching a few other parents teach their toddlers. And, I fielded about a dozen different questions about Graeme's age and comments about how brave we were (or completely nuts, as they were probably really thinking). So, I swung Graeme between my legs, told him to make a slice of pizza with his legs (oh yeah, he doesn't eat pizza), put my own legs into a familiar wedge position and off we went! He lllloooovvveeeddd it. My quads were SCREAMING, but we had a blast! We rode the ride 3 times before it was time to get back to Ian (who was entertaining my dad and his wife back at the house). At one point Graeme was singing Frosty the Snowman as we went down the hill. It was adorable and I was excited. Maybe those Olympic dreams aren't so crazy afterall!

Skiing-G

2008-01-24T22:56:00.000-05:00

We are taking Graeme skiing this weekend. I'm both fearful and excited about how this might turn out. I've skied since about the 7th or 8th grade, which really meant I attached some boards to my boots and slid around the ice-covered hills of central New York until about the 10th grade when I figured that it was much more fun to just hang around the lodge and flirt with the 10th grade boys from other schools. When I was 23 I ditched my job as a commercial underwriter (what a terrible title - just a few letters from being a mortician, which would have been much more lucrative) to be a ski-bum in Colorado which was a great time despite the fact that I left behind a great boyfriend and met up with a psycho one. It was there that I really learned how to ski and then eventually snowboard. I felt really cool doing the latter. For one, I was much better at it (could never master the moguls on skis) and it was at a time when snowboarding still wasn't allowed at all ski areas so it felt really edgy. Side note: I was snowboarding at Ski Liberty a few years ago and one of the 20-something (I seem to have issues with this particular age bracket) stopped me and asked if I'd be willing to sell my snowboard because their shop collected antique Burtons. I drop-kicked him. Anyway, I spent a few years perfecting my skiing, snowboarding, bartending, and drinking skills before deciding I should probably do something else and eventually I ended up in graduate school, then a job with the federal government, a house, mortgage, car payment and two kids. My life used to fit in the back of a pickup and now I need an 18-wheeler and a few PODS. As you can tell I have a lot of emotional energy wrapped up in this skiing thing which makes me all the more cautious about taking Graeme. I want him to have a great time and learn to be a great skier so that we can be uber-cool and take fabulous ski vacations and then he can try out for the Olympics and I can boast about how I was one of the first snowboarders in the West. But, you know, I don't want to pressure him at all or be one of those parents who lives vicariously through their kids and make them miserable in the process. Then again I may be getting ahead of myself if Skiing-G won't budge from the lift, which is an entirely possible outcome. Regardless, I'll post some pictures of him either wearing, standing next to, or throwing the very cute skis we have rented for him and if this is as far as his ski career goes I'll still be proud.

Date Day and Why the Unemployment Rate is Too Low (or Why I Hate JCrew and Macys)

2008-01-21T22:49:00.000-05:00

Anyone who has spent much time with Steve and me knows that we rant about the unemployment rate being too low and the need for open border policies. This post addresses the latter...and what does any of this have to do with Date Day, you ask? Let me tell you.

Today being a federal holiday Steve was home. We took Graeme to school and made date day. It began with me going to the dentist (how romantic), Steve going for a run (more romance), and then a long lunch at Harry's Tap Room (now the date really began). Afterwards we decided to go to the mall to take care of some Christmas returns. We started at JCrew where I waited 20 minutes in line while ONE check-out person rang people up. Actually, there were two people until the "floor girl" wanted to go on break so the manager decided her time was better spent on sweater folding duty so she closed up her register with nary a nod to the long line, which is a good thing because we were all giving her dagger eyes. When I got to the front of the line I said something like, "so, they have you working by yourself on this busy day?" He responded, "well, we don't make any money in January so they only have three people working today." A reasonable economic argument for a very short-sighted or cash-strapped establishment. And a very honest answer. I didn't want to engage in a long-debate with the poor cashier. But I couldn't help myself when I said, "well, you will continue not making any money because I'm not shopping here anymore."

Then we headed to Macy's where Steve saw some shoes he wanted. I bought him shoes for Christmas, but he thought they were too trendy. He found some at Macy's that were trendy, but not too much. Well, at Macy's the shoe clerks work on commission. So Maurice was, smartly, rounding up as many customers as he could, retreating to the shoe dungeon to collect a bunch of shoes half of which were the wrong size or color because he doesn't have more than two wits in his brain to remember all of the various size and color combos. He returns 20 minutes later to deliver the wrong shoes and collect more customers while the first customers place their requests again for the shoes they asked for the first time. And this continues until some miraculously gets the shoe they want or walks off in frustration. Meanwhile, slim chick with attitude who has come over to help in the shoe department wanders around avoiding eye contact and when approached says, "I can't help you if you're already working with someone else." Well, eventually Steve gets the right size/color combo and goes to the counter to pay. Slim attitude chick says "I can't check you out because you are working with someone else." Maurice is in the bowels of the shoe dungeon and Ian is crying. After a few minutes I plead (probably not nicely), "can you please just take our money, we've been here a while and I have a fussy baby." Attitude girl turns to me and says "we work on commission." I say, "can't you use his code or something, we've been here forever." She gets mad and says, "no, it's a courtesy." This is where it gets ugly - Steve and I simultaneously and a bit too loudly say "a courtesy to who, the employee?????" Attitude girl says, "I'm calling security." "Please do, can they take our money?" I say. By now, Maurice has appeared and gladly takes our money and we march out of the shoe department. Next thing I know some squirrely 20-something is grabbing Steve's arm and pushing him through the men's tie section. "Who are you?" I ask. "I'm nobody," he responds. And I realize this is very ugly. He stops Steve and gets about an inch from his face and starts spewing words about how he's watching out for her (attitude girl, I presume) and Steve had better watch out and be careful and not to run over his toes with the stroller again and to be careful and watch out and more about the stroller...over and over because he also has two wits and nothing to lose if he's hanging around "protecting" attitude girl while she makes $5/hour selling stinky shoes. Holy f----ing shit, we're in the middle of the men's skivvy department and some squirrely thug is going to kill us. Steve, thank the lord, kept his cool (which is really unbelievable) and just stared him back 'til squirrel man finished. He (squirrel man) ended it by - I kid you not - slapping Steve across the face. I start ranting about security, but the lady in the fine acrylic sweater department just looked at me blankly so we left. So, we are never shopping at Macy's again either which is probably a realization I should have come to long ago.

What does this have to do with unemployment? My theory is that if the unemployment rate weren't so stinking low employers could be more selective about who they hire and we wouldn't have to deal with shit-for-brains workers like these. In the meantime I've added Macy's and JCrew to the list of places I won't spend money (Safeway is also on that list and I must say I've faithfully avoided the one adjacent to the Bradlee Shopping Center for about 8 months now.)

And thus ended date day. Maybe it's a good thing we don't get out very often!

Things I Love

2008-01-20T07:58:00.001-05:00

1. The way Ian smells, even when he's kind of "gamey."
2. The scrunched up face Ian makes when he stretches.
3. Graeme turning up his hands to emphasise a question - "where did the -nowman go?"
4. Graeme dragging his little stool across the kitchen floor to get better access to the counters.
5. A good, long nap with Ian on my chest and Graeme next to me.
6. Graeme mixing up his pronouns - my favorite is "hold you."
7. When Ian thinks I'm the funniest person in the world and gives long belly laughs.
8. Watching Steve and Graeme play.
9. A stretch of uninterrupted time to do nothing.
10. My boys.

Superheros

2008-01-14T12:15:00.001-05:00

It's a little blurry, but these are the cutest Superheros I've ever seen!

What Not to Wear

2008-01-14T12:04:00.000-05:00

I'm fearful of facing an intervention some time soon, something akin to what happens on the show What Not to Wear. I don't particularly like this show, but it is often the best viewing option late at night. Thankfully, I've started a new book that will hopefully supplant my stupid TV viewing habits. My clothing these days consists almost exclusively of fleece and I have a small selection of both pants and tops that I interchange to create what might be called a wardrobe. Fleece means you don't have to shower, so I top off the outfit with a baseball cap. I usually force myself to bathe before the days-end, but I certainly don't apply any make-up after said bath. To forestall the intervention that I'm sure is being planned I decided to spiff things up this weekend and actually wore a real sweater, make-up, jewelry, and these fine red shoes that Graeme loves to wear around the house. My two-year old seems to have a better sense of style than I do.

Godparents

2008-01-14T11:58:00.000-05:00

Graeme finally met his godfather, my cousin Bob who is a lacrosse-playing Sophomore at LeMoyne College. He and his brothers have "good moral fiber" and hence are suitable for this role. Here's a picture of Ian with Graeme's godmother, my Aunt Karen.

More Imbalances

2008-01-09T23:01:00.001-05:00

Seems that everything is off-kilter these days. I have a foremilk-hindmilk imbalance. What in the sam-hill is that you ask? It means I make too much milk and therefore Ian fills up on the high-caloric, sugary foremilk and doesn't get enough of the fatty hindmilk making his digestive system (and moods) go haywire (read: he has lots of gas).

Ian has always had a steady supply of gas and he seems to have a love-hate relationship with nursing. Loves it, but hates the milk that sprays all over his face when he nurses. I hate that part too. It means we are both covered with bodily fluids which is really pretty disgusting. I've come to accept that parenting means contact with all sorts of fluids that one would never consider touching or talking about pre-kids. I just sort of added milk to the list of fluids I regularly have smeared all over my clothes, arms, hair, skin, furniture, etc.

Two nights ago Ian seemed particularly uncomfortable all night long. Finally at about 5AM I turned to the trusty Internet for some answers. Within minutes I had a link to a La Leche League site. These are hard-core long-term nursing mamas, or so that's my impression. But, the information on their website resonated so clearly that I called about attending their next meeting. Ian had 10 of the 13 bulleted items listed on a page about an oversupply of milk. What to do about this? Start selling milk on Craigs List? Worth consideration, but I'd rather just correct our supply-demand problem in-house. Turns out that I need to feed him LONGER on each side so that he gets the creamy hindmilk. I'm not the patient type so it's no surprise that I wasn't nursing him long enough (and my mother, darn her for being right, has long complained that I feed my babies too quickly). We tried the new system and last night was our best night in months (well, two months). Ian was particularly fussy today, but I'm going to blame that on something else (that I'll find on the Internet in the wee hours).

Knock knock

2008-01-08T12:33:00.000-05:00

Me: "Knock knock"
Respondent: "Who's there?"
Me: "Control-freak. Now this is the part where you say control-freak who."

Thanks to Jane for sharing this one! (Even Steve laughed.)

Grump-a-saurus

2008-01-02T21:48:00.001-05:00

I've spent a better part of the day identifying various dinosaurs in our new 600 sticker book. Most end with 'aurus' and are barely pronounceable. It seems fitting given that I'm a big grump-a-saurus right now. Can't shake the crabbies. I had high hopes of starting 2008 with some great new plans, including:

1. Running 3 times a week for 10 minutes, increasing the time by 5 minutes each month. Modest goals are the key to success.
2. Planning a date-night per month with my spouse. Again, modest goals.
3. Giving Ian a good infant massage 3 times per week.
4. Really engaging Graeme. I think I do a pretty good job of engaging him as it is, but I would like to pay closer attention to what he really likes and dislikes.

And then there were the "if I get to them" kinds of things like:

5. Figuring out how to get out of my job-rut. I love the job, I think. It's the "I think" qualifier that needs exploration.
6. Taking Graeme skiing.
7. Finding my ab muscles.
8. Writing a good article not related to economics. (Not that I write good economics articles. I've wanted to explore creative writing. This blog is supposed to be an attempt to get the juices flowing, but it's turned into more of a Kelly bitch session.)
9. Getting Graeme to eat more than cereal, turkey meatballs, and PB&J.
10. Letting go of stale friendships and nurturing some new ones.

But, instead of jumping into 2008 with enthusiasm, I've been slapped in the side of the head with "you're a control freak" a few too many times lately. I know this. I work on it. I try to keep it in check. I think about it. I work on it some more. But, apparently not enough. So, I'm in a funk. I don't want to make life miserable for those around me. But, directing the show is part of who I am. The past few days I've done nothing. Kitchen is a mess. We don't have any food in the house. Meals are a fend-for-yourself affair (except for the kids, of course). Toys are everywhere. Bills sit unpaid. Mail is tossed if it looks uninteresting. I barely answer emails and delete without a care. Pretty daring of me, eh? In some ways it's been kind of liberating. I don't want to be a control freak, but I don't really know how to selectively uncontrol. So, I've just stopped controlling everything. I have done some deep cleaning in Graeme's room, the linen closet, bathroom and hall closet. I guess this is my way of having control in ways that aren't harmful to anyone around me. I really don't like this self, but I don't really know how to put the old self back in a way that doesn't piss off those in my life.

So, I've tossed #1-10 above and replaced it with nothing, sort-of. I have run the past two days, spent some great time with Graeme and given Ian a massage. Perhaps this is where I should focus my efforts. And, please find me that sticker with "controlalopholus" on it. I know exactly where to find the dinosaur.

New Year

2008-01-01T21:20:00.000-05:00

2007 ended like a train wreck and 2008 came in like a flippin nightmare. Can't wait to see what the rest of the year has in store for me.

Greetings from the road

2007-12-28T21:07:00.000-05:00

We are currently on day 5 of a week-long road trip between home, the Eastern Shore, and upstate NY. It has been great to see all of my side of the family, but a week-long road trip in the middle of winter with a 2 year old and newborn baby to four different over-night locations won't go down in history as our best road-trip agenda. In fact, it may be the worst. We are a particularly high-maintenance family right now. We travel with enough gear to outfit a small army and Graeme is a very fussy eater. Between our two kids we are awake until at least midnight and then again at 6AM, and ideally we need two separate sleeping areas. Graeme needs a room with dark and quiet. Ian needs a room with a light on most of the night and decent sound-proofing. It's hard to find accommodations that will patiently satisfy even a few of our needs. And, when the formula isn't close to accurate chaos erupts, as has happened on several occasions. Add to this the fact that I'm avoiding alcohol in an effort to stave off Ian's screeching makes for one not-so-happy mama.

The bright side is that Graeme is getting to know his grandparents, great-grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins quite well and he loves the constant attention. Also, everyone, especially Graeme, is holding up very well and handling the constant change with relative ease. Never the less, I'm looking forward to returning to our own digs soon.

Hoodwinked

2007-12-21T13:50:00.000-05:00

An interesting exchange has developed with Graeme that has me agreeing to all sorts of crazy ideas. It goes something like this:

Graeme: "I want cookies for dinner."
Mama: "You want cookies for dinner?"
Graeme: "OK"

or

Graeme: "Let's put Madison's food on floor." (Madison is the cat.)
Mama: "You want to put Madison's food on the floor?"
Graeme: "OK" (sound of cat food being poured all over the kitchen floor)

These are real world examples. I think I developed this habit of repeating what he says for clarification purposes. Even now, but especially a few months ago, it was difficult to discern what exactly he was saying. So, I would repeat what I thought he said to make sure I was understanding him correctly, as any good conversationalist would, right? Now, it's a habit, or perhaps a way for me to gather my thoughts while coming up with a more appropriate response that won't elicit wails of protest, such as, "cookies, what a great idea AFTER we eat dinner." Or, "Madison sure would like her food in this special bowl."

Instead, by repeating Graeme's requests I have inadvertently turned them into offers he gladly accepts.

My Pet Peeve of the Moment

2007-12-18T00:48:00.001-05:00

...the anecdotes in parenting books that claim a particular technique worked miracles on the first try and with little effort.

I'm currently reading Happiest Baby on the Block and I must say that it has provided some of the better advice on getting a baby to sleep compared to some of the other books I've read over the past two years (sleep is important to me, but not so much for Graeme...or Ian it seems). The 5 s's (swaddle, side, swing, shhh, suck) resonate with Ian, particularly the side one. However, we are long from the "my child was asleep at the mere sight of the swaddling blanket" claimed by many of the parents quoted in the book. Who are these people? I hate them.

I've been 5 s'ing for 3 hours and as I type Ian appears to be in a slumber. I'm going to add a 6th 's', slogging. Slogging = putting Ian to sleep by creating blog entries.

Here Comes Santa Claus

2007-12-17T15:02:00.001-05:00

I can't believe that we were able to get Graeme to sit on Santa's lap without (1) promising him lots of cookies, (2) Steve making a complete fool of himself jumping up and down on a Sunday afternoon in the mall, or (3) drugging him. We waited for about an hour in line. Well, I should say that Ian and I waited about an hour. Steve and Graeme rode the escalators 400 times. When it was our turn Graeme willingly went to Santa and then climbed on his lap after Santa offered a sticker. I quickly snapped a few good shots and then we scurried on our way without nary paying a dime. I'm not sure if I should be sharing this information, but Santa seemed didn't seem to mind and in fact suggested that we take a photo on our own camera with each of the boys individually. The operation at Pentagon City mall is inefficient at best and to wait for the opportunity to pay $25 for a 5x7 print would have added a good 30 minutes to our trip. So, we just took our photos, thanked Santa for the chocolate and stickers, paid our $1.50 parking fee and headed on our way. If I get coal in my stocking next Tuesday I'll know that this wasn't a good idea.

Ian's Screech

2007-12-08T23:42:00.000-05:00

Ian has developed a few annoying habits. Poor guy, he's on the verge of being only 6 weeks old and I'm already complaining. He has a screech that sounds like someone is stepping on a cat's tail, repeatedly. This screech usually means he desperately wants to fall asleep and just can't. It usually ends abruptly when he finally succumbs to a good slumber. During the day I can manage it by putting him in the sling and carrying on with our day. However, this is more difficult at night. The house is asleep and pacing our basement gets monotonous. And "carrying on with the day" means "going to bed" for me, which doesn't satisfy little Ian. He has also taken to a 9PM-midnight waking during which time he screeches almost constantly. The sling doesn't calm him and I haven't found the magic solution to either preventing or curtailing this screech time.*

For example, he woke at 9:15 tonight, ate, screeched for a while then sat awake in the sling until about 11:15 when he ate again. I then walked, bounced, and sang until he miraculously fell asleep at 11:45PM (a few minutes ago). Now I must decide if I can risk transferring him to the car seat (where he sleeps) or continue typing until he's in a really deep sleep. Regardless, there are usually about 30 minutes of fidgeting that happen once he's in the car seat during which time I rock and sing and shhhhh him for fear that he wakes. By then it's usually about 1AM and then he wakes at 2 to eat again. This isn't making mama happy.

Fortunately, Steve has been saint-like with entertaining Graeme in the morning while Ian and I sleep-in until 8'ish.

I've now wasted enough time that Ian seems sound asleep. If you see another post in an hour you'll know that the transfer was unsuccessful. Wish me luck!

* You may notice a fair number of late-night postings which occur while I'm attempting to quiet him, or keep myself occupied while he screeches in the background.