Babies, babies everywhere.

Hugo
Son of my oldest and dearest friend, who unfortunately lives on the other side of the country, he was born February 20th. His mother was the first person I told about my pregnancy last summer. We were due exactly one month apart (me, April 1st; her, March 1st). For a few weeks we were each others' rock, venting daily on the phone: my troubles with Lance, my horrific morning sickness; her toddler's speech issues, her exhaustion. That was an extremely difficult period for me, physically, emotionally and mentally but she made it bearable. We went through it together.

Then I miscarried. The daily phone conversations slowed down. She felt uncomfortable discussing her pregnancy woes with me when I was no longer pregnant, and I felt uncomfortable small- talking with her about other things, with the elephant of her pregnancy taking up all the breathing space. We still talked, frequently, (she is my best friend after all) but it wasn't the same. Every day her pregnancy progressed reminded me that mine had ended. Fortunately, a few months later, I was pregnant again. Our phone conversations began anew in earnest.

Hugo was born in February, a healthy beautiful baby and I was happy for her. I really was. Crushed, too, that my baby would not be born in a month, the way we had hoped, but okay. After all, I was pregnant too, by this point about 12 weeks pregnant, and I knew I'd have my baby come September. (I am due September 1st, 5 months to the day after my first due date)

Then I miscarry again. April 2nd, the day my baby should have been born; instead I had a D&E. After that, the black time, which I finally started to pull myself out of in June. I took the kids home to see family. And to see my best friend, and her three wonderful children, including the 4 month old Hugo.

He is the cutest baby you will ever see. I loved holding him and smelling him. But when I got back to California I cried for hours. I will never have 3 children. I will never have a baby again to smell, to hold, to love.

I am thrilled to get to watch this little boy grow up. But every milestone he reaches, from the first crawl to the first college acceptance letter--will remind me of my own lost boy--lost boys--and the milestones they should be reaching too.

***
Leah
Daughter to Lance's best friends' sister (got that?), she was born in the beginning of February. Her mother lives in Northern California but used to visit frequently, which I loved, because she has two girls similar ages to my two. One night in September she was visiting--we were both pregnant at the time and I went over to a friends' house to see her. We spent the time commiserating about the 3rd pregnancy, how no one seems to care about the 3rd, how people are actually kind of rude about it. Like, 'why would you have a 3rd? That's so irresponsible.' I bitched about my husband, told her what an ass he was being. "Yeah, you know what I told him? It's too late now, babe. What are you going to do? Pray for a miscarriage!" I said, laughing. She laughed too, and we clinked wine glasses. It was my first glass of wine of the pregnancy. I was 13 weeks pregnant, and feeling human for the first time in months. It seemed like a good time to have a glass of wine.

The next morning I discover the dead baby at my monthly OB appointment.

When Leah was born, in February, I was already pregnant again. I had the same pang on her birthday as I did with Hugo, but again, it was okay. I would have my baby, just not exactly when I expected.

A few days later we learned that Leah had Down Syndrome. Her mother had passed the 1st and 2nd trimester screenings with flying colors and so there had been no need to take the diagnostic tests. But an anomaly, and Leah was born with the syndrome.

It's a very difficult diagnoses. We go to visit in May, when I've lost the second baby. Leah is 3 months old now, but still very floppy, more like an infant than a 3 month old. Kendra, her mother, is having a really tough time but she is trying her best, she is muddling through. I ask her how she's doing.
"Bottom line, she's my daughter. And I love her with all of my being. So I have to do everything I can to help her." She says. "But it's hard, " she adds, in a whisper.
Turns to me, asks,"What about you?How are you doing?"
"Oh, you know. I'm okay. I'm pissed off at Angelina Jolie. But I'm okay." I pick up Leah and rub her back, drink in her baby smell. Pause.
"But I would kill to have Leah." I say quietly.
"I know", Kendra responds.

****
Genevieve
October 2007. I am sitting in Vivian's ballet class , smiling at the other mothers but not joining in the conversation, sitting off to the side, pretending to be engrossed in a book. I have just miscarried, I am still bleeding from the d&c. None of these mothers know I was pregnant. I notice some squealing where the other mothers sit, watch as one after another they get up to hug Betsy. "Congratulations!", I hear. "You are due in July?!"

Every week, she comes in with tales of the pregnancy. How she has explained it all to her 4 year old daughter (She is not even out of the 1st trimester yet). How she hopes it's another girl, but if it's a boy she is considering the name Isaac. How her clothes don't fit but she does not feel sick at all (She never gets morning sickness, isn't that odd? (I'm rolling my eyes here, if you can't tell) She just loves being pregnant!)

Then, in January, I am pregnant again. I start engaging in the conversations more. Asking about OBs, asking who will do a VBAC, counting the days until I, too, can tell everyone that I'm pregnant, when I can share in the squeals and the joy and the love. But in March we switch to a ballet class that is more convenient for us. I don't see her anymore, though I get periodic updates from another mom who has also switched.

In May, I have lost the 2nd pregnancy. I sign Isaac up for soccer, which meets every Wednesday at a nearby park. By coincidence Betsy is there, with her now huge belly, watching her daughter. She is thrilled to see me, and again I am regaled with pregnancy tales every week. This time I can't really bear it, so I have the neighbor start taking Isaac to soccer. Before I do, Betsy tells me, excitedly, that her daughter and Isaac will be going to the same kindergarten. I will be seeing her all the time in the fall.

In July, I get an email:

'Genevieve Theda, born June 30th. Healthy and happy, mom and baby doing great!'
***

Daeva
At Vivian's new ballet, there is another pregnant mom, this one very pregnant. We have switched over in March, and to my untrained eye it looks like this woman will have the baby any minute. But week after week, she still shows up, looking bigger than the week before. I am intensely jealous of her large belly. I myself am starting to show, but still gun-shy about telling anyone. Still unsure that I will actually bring home a live baby. I decide I will tell them the next week.

Then I miscarry.

That week, the pregnant lady (I have never gotten her name, though we exchange pleasantries) is not there. The following week she is, this time carrying a teensy infant in a sling. This is Daeva. All the moms ooh and ah over the baby--really, there is nothing sweeter than a helpless newborn--but I can't look. I escape down the hall to get coffee, keenly aware of the bloody pad in my underwear.

She has been there every Monday since, growing rounder and stronger, a peaceful sweet baby who rarely cries. She is just a few weeks younger than my boy would be.

****
Avia
At the kids' Karate class, I sit next to another mom, watching our girls in the "tiger tots" class. It's pretty cute, and I enjoy watching Vivian do something physical. Generally speaking, she is not an active child. I have struck up a friendship with this mother, Collette. She is friendly and funny and our daughters seem to like each other. It is January or February, I am pregnant, but not obviously so. She confides in me that she is pregnant, due August 2nd. "Really?" I exclaim. "I feel like I look more pregnant than you do, and I am not due until September 1st!" This cements our friendship and we spend the next several weeks discussing our pregnancies. How the siblings will handle it, how it's been so long we have to buy all new stuff, whether we want a boy or a girl, and so on. She is one of the only mothers I have told. I love our Friday afternoons together.

Until I miscarry.

The next Friday I have to tell her that I am no longer pregnant. And then every Friday after that I sit next to her and watch her belly grow. She is extremely cognizant of my feelings but I insist that we keep speaking of her pregnancy. I ask how she's feeling, what she's done to get ready. I am not purposely torturing myself, I genuinely like this woman and I do want to hear about it. I am living vicariously through her, I suppose.

I have not seen her since the baby was born, a few weeks ago. But I think she will be at karate this Friday, teeny infant in hand.

***

Kaylana
One of Vivian's best friends at school is a little boy named Dylan. His family moved to LA from London in February. When I first met his mother, I thought she was a little heavyset; however, after a few weeks it became clear that she was pregnant. She is due in May, and in March I try to work up the nerve to tell her that I am pregnant too. That never happens, and I miscarry in April. A month or so later, Kaylana is born. Her dad gleefully comes to pick up Dylan, waving around his iphone with pictures of the beautiful infant.
"That's the way to do it, right, love?", he says to me, watching as I herd my kids into the car. "First the boy, then the girl, then done!"
Smiling, I say, "Oh, right."
"No more, though! Done now!" He grins at me, and waves, and heads off with Dylan.

Every day at pick up, Kaylana and her mother are there. The other children, my own included, are fascinated by her teeny tiny toes, her squawks and, later, her smiles. She looks exactly like her brother.

She is 4 months old now, getting bigger every day.

***

Beatrice
January 1st, 2008. We head over to a friend's house for their annual New Year's Open House. I am just barely pregnant, about 5 weeks. In the kitchen with the host, Michelle, I grab her arm.
"You're pregnant, right?" I ask. (I had been out with her a few weeks earlier and I noticed her drinking water)
"Um . . ."
"I am too!" I say, excitedly. "When are you due?"
"Oh, yay! Congratulations! Wow. I'm due August 3rd. What about you?"
"September 1st! I'm just a month behind you!"
Then we commiserate for awhile, venting about the exhaustion, the morning sickness, the fear.
Our pregnancies progress the way pregnancies do, each of us feeling terrible but still managing. Both of us are desperate for a VBAC, although I am superstitious enough to not want to think that far ahead yet.
When I am about 14 weeks pregnant, we go over to visit their new apartment. They have moved to a larger place, a little bit farther away, and I realize it is very close to the specialist who will do my 20 week scan. I make plans to stop by on my way home from that appointment.

At 17 weeks, I miscarry. Around the time my 20 week appointment should be, I ask her to come by my house and pick up all my baby stuff. The double stroller, the little boy clothes, all of it.

Shamefully, I haven't seen her since then.

On 8/8/8, Beatrice is born. I speak to both parents and congratulate them, make plans to meet the littlest member of their family in a few weeks.

I will watch this baby grow up, too. If Hugo is the doppelganger for my April 1st pregnancy, then Beatrice is the same for my September 1st pregnancy.

***

Yesterday, at preschool a new mother was dropping off her daughter. She is hugely pregnant. I smile at her, ask when she is due.

"August 30th", she says with a smile. "I can't wait to meet this baby!"

Conversations

BAD
6:53 am, the kids have climbed in bed with us.
Vivian: I want breakfast, Mommy, let's get up!
Isaac: I'm hungry!
Vivian: Is your belly hungry? (Poking my noticeably squishy belly) Is the baby hungry?
Me: There's no baby in my belly anymore, remember?
Vivian: But you can get another baby.
Me: No, no more babies for us.
Vivian: Please? I like babies!
Me: No, sweetie, I have enough babies with you and your brother!
Vivian: I'm not a baby! Hey, Mommy can you go to the doctor today? Go to the doctor and get another baby, okay, Mommy?
Isaac: Get up, get up, I'm hungry!
Vivian: I want breakfast!

Slightly Better
At dinner, apropos of nothing:
Isaac: Mommy, I know that sometimes grown-ups cry when they miss their babies. Like if their children was at camp they would miss them and that would make them cry. And when their babies die they cry too. Like when you wanted your baby and your baby died and then you cried. Right?
Mommy: yes, that's right.
Isaac: And sometimes I cry when I miss you, Mommy.


Best
At lunch, apropos of nothing.
Isaac: I know, Mommy, what if you and me were watching the Tarheels, and they were playing Duke, and Duke had zero points and the Tarheels had 199 points!
Me: That would be awesome!
Isaac: Yeah, awesome!

Random Christmas Thoughts, 2006

Vivian loves the Santa Claus song. Whenever we get to the part that goes: He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake", she chimes in: "HE SEES ME WHEN I'M POOPING!

Both kids loved the claymation Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer show. They call it "the abominable" and Vivian's pronunciation of this is hilarious. They refuse to watch anything else except Frosty, despite the fact that I've Tivo's ALL the other Christmas shows (including the best one, the one with the Heat Miser).

How I know my kids have been spending time with my in-laws: Isaac says, "We're going to church to sing because we are celebrating the baby Jesus".

Way back in November, when we were still in Delaware, I started in with the Santa Claus threat. You know how it goes: "You better be good, or Santa Claus won't bring you any toys". One of the first times I brought it out occurred when Isaac snatched a fairy wand from Vivian and threw it into the fireplace. Ever since then, whenever the subject of naughty or nice comes up, Vivian is sure to chime in with: "Santa doesn't like it because Isaac three my magical wand in the fireplace". Still, a month later, she hasn't forgotten. I just hope Santa has!

Here comes Santa Claus

This year, most of our Christmas decorations are in storage. The apartment is too small for a regular size tree. The door is metal, so you can't hang a wreath.

You should know this about me: I'm a sucker for Christmas. I love it--the songs, the smells, the smiles. So it's a little bit of a bummer to have to fore go most of the decorations this year. I did keep a few items out of the POD: we got all the carolers my mother-in-law has given us (6 in total) out, along with the lighted reindeer. Lance brought home a bunch of the small poinsettias. I bought some festive holiday candles and we hung jingle bells on the inside handle of our front door.

Yesterday, I went to home depot and bought a 3 foot, living Christmas tree. Then I bought some mini-lights and ornaments, and last night, we had our tree-trimming event. No, nothing like last year: the fondue pot is in storage, and I think that tradition will be fine to wait one more year. But I set up a crudites platter and put on the Christmas music, dimmed the lights, and helped the kids hang the teeny tiny balls on our teeny tiny tree.


It was fun.

Then, because trimming a 3 foot tree with 15 ornaments takes about 5 minutes, we decided to go see Santa. Remember our cranky Santa? On the purple sofa? Sadly, when we got to the mall, it was apparent that cranky Santa had been put out to pasture. The new Santa is jolly as can be, decked out in red and green stockings and a snowman shirt. Even the purple sofa has been replaced with a more appropriate red one. No curt directions from Santa this year about where the kids should sit. Instead he laughed (Ho! Ho! Ho!), asked what the kids wanted for Christmas, encouraged them to be good, and was just about the best Santa you could ask for. My kids, for some reason, have never been afraid to sit on Santa's lap, and this year they were especially excited to lay their list of needs on the jolly old man.



See?

Still, I kind of miss the old Santa. Fortunately, other L.A. parents are not aware the the cranky Santa has been replaced, so we still had no line. And that's worth a lot, in my book.

After Santa we headed across the street to dinner, and had an inexpensive, enjoyable meal, all four of us. Now, that is a holiday miracle, for sure.

Wondering

Why pancake batter left too long in the fridge turns blue.

How my feet have shrunk 1 full size since the last time I purchased new shoes (over a year ago).

How to convince Vivian that all girls sit down to pee, so we don't have the "But Isaac gets to stand! I want to stand!" temper-tantrum at every pee break throughout the day.

Similarly, how to explain to Isaac that yes, Vivian is getting rewards in the form of M&Ms whenever she poops in the potty, but he is too old for that, so sitting on the potty and practically popping a blood vessel in the effort to get a poop out is not going to help him.

When the transcontinental flights from L.A. to Philadelphia--me and two kids--will get easier, so I can stop dreading them. (Tomorrow, around 1:30pm Pacific Time? Send some good vibes my way, k?)

Why none of my family members (with the exception of FFB, who as you know already reads this blog) bothered to answer the invitation to the private blog, which I set up just for them.

How long until the poo-poo-head jokes stop being funny.

When Pancake is going to pop the question to Heidi. (Come on already!)

If I will ever go back to the gym, especially now that Lance has taken to going. Now that all the cool kids are doing it, it just doesn't have the same appeal. Yeah, that's it.

If it is a good thing or a bad thing that when we go to pick up my kids from their grandparents house, and they cry because they don't want to come home with us, I don't get my feelings hurt. Shouldn't this bother me more?

Why old habits die so hard.

Happy Halloween!

Also: best threat ever? "If you don't behave I'm throwing all the Halloween candy away!"

Back(s)

We're home--well, home to our new apartment, surrounded by boxes, anyway. I think I'm going to do this everytime I go away--post naked butt pictures of my kids when I return. Good for increasing traffic, no?

Hawaii was incredible, the move was hell, and I have lots to tell.

I've missed you all.

More later . . .

It's all good.

You know when you have to run to the store with the kids to get dinner, and you're already annoyed because 1. neither one took a nap today, and 2. your 3-1/2 year old who has not had an accident in 6 months pooped in his underwear before lunch and then again in his pull-up during his non-existent nap, not to mention the 2 year old for some reason has been pooping 3 times a day for the last forever, and then you go to the store and it's really crowded so there aren't any two-kid carts, which means the 3-1/2 year old has to walk along side you, which really means he runs all over the store pulling shit from the shelves and running into people and NOT LISTENING TO YOU, and when you finally get all the things you need and get in line the person in front of you (elderly, but not old) decides to write a check instead of using her check card and of course she doesn't even bother to get the checkbook out until all of her groceries are rung up and while she is ever-so-fucking-slowly writing out the numbers both kids are pulling the Slim Jims out of the container and whacking each other over the head and also begging for some Altoids and look mom there is a Nemo balloon and I must have a Nemo balloon, and you think you might actually, physically "blow your top" if you don't get out of the line and as you are watching the elderly, but not old, biddy in front of you slowly rip the check out of her book and hand it over to the check-out lady and then root around in her wallet for her id, you imagine for a minute what it would be like to reach over and grab the ball point pen from her hand and shove it deep into your own eye socket in the hopes that you will 1. pass out from the pain. or 2. die right there on the spot?

Do you know?

And then as you are walking out to the car you see a small, blonde, twenty-something breeze over to her convertible with her grocery bag of Honey Nut Cheerios and beer which causes you to actually tear up as you scream at the 3-1/2 year old to HOLD ONTO THE CART WE ARE IN A PARKING LOT AND IF YOU DON'T WATCH OUT A CAR WILL HIT YOU because once upon a time you were that girl and now you feel more sorry for yourself than usual (and this is saying a lot, actually).

But then once you finally get all the damn groceries in the sweltering car and both kids strapped into the carseats and the windows down and the AC on to give you a break from the heat, then the Curious George cd comes on (again), but by some miracle the kids are now quiet in the back and the cd is actually kind of soothing and so by the time you get home you are feeling so much better that when you pull into the driveway and turn off the car and then turn around to look at the hellions who have conspired to put you out of your ever-loving mind all day, all you can see is their blue blue eyes and their sweet sweet smiles, and so instead of marching them immediately to their room so you can have some peace you say, "Hey, beautiful children. I love you".



And they both say, in unison: "I love you too, Mommy."

Gray Matters

It is crazy busy here in POW-land. I never have a second to sit down at the computer anymore, and when I do, I have to work on a project for my dad (beyond boring, but it pays a teensy amount). I've been trying to catch up on all of your posts but--my god! It's like the black hole of blogging: I start with one post--and even if I don't click through from bloglines--when I look up, it's been an hour, and I'm still only halfway through my feeds. Never mind trying to find time to type out all the pretty pretty posts knocking about in my noggin.

We have a playdate this afternoon. This is big news, as I typically do not attend these types of things. Not because I'm a snob, but because I don't have many mom friends, and I'm too shy to suggest anything like it to the other moms at pre-school. In any event, one of the other moms suggested it to me, and we're going, this afternoon. We'll see how it goes.

I am getting more and more excited about BlogHer. I'm still a little nervous, but not like I was. After all, as Y reminded me: we're not in high school anymore. Of course it would be nice if everyone liked me, but I've lived long enough to know this is not a probability. Despite my winning personality and compassionate heart, some people refuse to jump on the Amy love-wagon. But there will be plenty of good people to keep me company, and if it gets all clique-y and ass-kissy, I can always just hang with Y. Personally, I don't give a rat's ass who is a "popular" blogger and who is not, I just want to drink a few beers and laugh a lot.

There is no food in the house. Do you think it's fair to leave it this way for Lance over the weekend? Or should I go tomorrow and buy the appropriate kid food so he won't have to shop with both kids? I'm tempted to leave it, but that wouldn't be very wifely of me, now would it? Hmm.

Since we have no food in the house, I promised the kids a trip to Taco Bell for lunch, if they behaved at Target. Go ahead, guess what happened. I was looking forward to some Nachos Supreme but instead had to come home to this hotbox of a house and cook up some nuggets for the kids and mac and cheese (from the blue box) for me. Yum. Good for my diet, too! (Yeah, yeah, I know. Nachos Supreme aren't that good for the diet either. Whatever.) My children are a joy. I tell you, an absolute joy.

We have lived in this house for 5 years. In those 5 years, there have been 24 days where I wished we had air-conditioning. 14 of those 24 days? In the last 2 weeks. It's fucking hot. As a result, we try to leave the house even more than usual, leaving me less time at the computer. I wish to God I had an office job where I could sit in nice air-conditioning and surf blogs to my heart's content. But I'd only have to go in when I wanted to. And I wouldn't have any responsibilities, unless it was something fun.

Who needs a 4300 square foot house? I'm just curious, since they built one around the block from me, and now they are trying to sell it for over 2.1 million dollars. Don't forget, we live two football fields away from a municipal airport, in a sub-par school district. And yet: a 2 million dollar mansion. I don't get it. I went to look at it, out of curiosity, and it's pretty enough. But--unless you have 4 kids, why do you need 4 bedrooms, each with their own walk-in closet and bathroom? Just seems odd to me, to spend 2 million dollars to live in my neighborhood. Then again, the little shit houses like mine are still selling for 1 million, and that house should be worth WAY more than double what mine is. So maybe it's a steal.

Guess what? Heidi came through for me again, as usual. Last night, we were out at a birthday party, but she dropped off a pair of jeans. Can I tell you how awesome they are? Mid-rise, so no muffin top! Long leg, so they make me look tall! Free, so . . .Free! Best of all, I didn't have to go to the mall. Lucky brand, but I can't seem to find a style name, just this number: 81LZ061. I may bring them to Blogher, although the thought of wearing jeans in this heat is making me itch.

Have a great weekend everybody!!

I may act like Mimi Martyr

but I actually consider myself immeasurably blessed to have these two cretins in my life.

My own personal Abbott & Costello*

Scene: in the car, we drive past a dad with his young daughter.

Isaac: That looks like my friend Nadia.

Vivian: Nania!

Isaac: Nania?

Vivian: Nania!

Isaac: Nadia?

Vivian: Nadia.

Isaac: Do you like Nadia?

Vivian: Yes!

Isaac: Why do you like Nadia?

Vivian: Cuz I like Nania, and . . .

Isaac: Nania?

Vivian: Nania!

Isaac: Nadia? or Nania?

Vivian: Nania! Nadia! Nadia! Nania!

Isaac: Do you like Nonnie**?

Vivian:Nonnie! Nania! Naaaaannnnieeeeaaa!


*Not quite ready for prime time

**They call my mother-in-law Nonnie.

Also, this was funnier in person. I swear!

First things first: traveling with toddlers.

Because my family lives on the other side of the country, my kids are more seasoned travelers than your average 2 and 3 year olds. They have both survived at least 2 or 3 cross-country flights in each year of their lives. I have flown alone with each of them before--Isaac at 10 months, Vivian at 3 months--but I have never flown alone with both of them together. Until this trip.

I have learned a few things about flying with kids in all our travels: schedule the flight around nap/bedtime; bring a few extra diapers in case the flight is delayed; carseats are a pain in the ass to lug onto the plane, but once you get them on, they are a godsend; and it's never as bad as you anticipate, even if it's really bad. The easiest kids to take on a plane are infants or pre-mobile babies. Once they are mobile, things become progressively more difficult until they are old enough to really understand consequences, around 2.5. At least, that's been my experience. Easily the worst part about flying with children is the logistics of it all: getting all the gear and the babies through all the lines and onto the plane without a meltdown (from the babies, you, or airport personnel).

All that is a really long introduction to the story of our flight a few Mondays ago. In retrospect, I should never have planned a trip to Carmel, which involved a six hour drive up on Friday and a six hour drive back down on Sunday, immediately followed by a six hour flight Monday. Yeah, I think that was a bit much for me, not to mention for the kids.

Our flight left at 1:30pm, naptime. Perfect. The difficulty lay in maneuvering both kids, the diaper bag, and two un-wieldy carseats through the security lines. Fortunately, Lance was able to get a pass to help us to the gate. We ate a quick lunch while waiting (airport food, yum) and got in line (Southwest, which allows families with kids to pre-board), then Lance had to go back to work.

With some difficulty, I managed to get both kids on the plane, in their carseats, and after a 10 minute delay, we were off. The first hour or two of the flight went well enough--no screaming, no fighting, but also no napping. Isaac required 3 separate trips to the bathroom; have you ever tried to fit three people in one of those tiny airport rooms? Even if two of them are well under four feet, it's quite a challenge. Around hour two, the captain turned on the seatbelt sign, as we were experiencing some very minor turbulence. Unfortunately, that sign stayed on for 4 more hours, the remainder of the flight.

For reasons unknown, neither Isaac nor Vivian slept at all during the flight. By the end of hour three, they were both tired of sitting in their seats. By hour four, Vivian was crying "Unbuckle me! Mommy! Get down!" at decibels loud enough to be heard in the cockpit. Isaac joined in, too, hollering to pee, grabbing whatever toy Vivian had in her hand, repeatedly kicking the seat in front of him and generally behaving like a jackass. That continued until we landed in Philadelphia around 9pm east coast time.

Here's what I find odd: I didn't really care. Wait, that's not what I mean. I definitely cared that both kids were so upset. I cared that I had to try and calm down both of them for 3 straight hours. But I didn't care what any of the other passengers thought. I didn't care if Vivian's crying was annoying them. I didn't care if they were tired of Isaac asking for more milk. I had enough to deal with, trying to handle the crises that was both of my children, and that's all that mattered. Further more, the way I figure it, if it was annoying any of the other passengers, imagine what it was doing to me, their mother. Cry me a river, people.

This is not my usual attitude. Generally, I'm very aware of the way other people perceive me, my children, and my parenting abilities, and I do everything in my power to ensure that we leave a good impression. But I don't know, on that flight, I just felt like it was all I could do to deal with the kids and I couldn't waste any brain function worrying about anyone else.

In the end, we made it to Philadelphia unharmed and I suppose that's something.

The flight home was easier for two reasons: one, Lance was with me, and two, the flight was scheduled for 6pm, which meant both kids slept for the majority of the flight. There was the unfortunate problem of the flight being delayed for 3 hours, however. This made for some interesting time in the Philadelphia airport. I must admit that at one point Vivian was running around with another two year old--chasing after him, and being chased, giggling hysterically (by this time it was 8pm, way past her bedtime), often running into other very important adult, annoyed passengers--and I didn't stop her. We'd been sitting there for 3 hours, every flight in the area was delayed due to thunderstorms, and I just didn't feel justified making her sit still any longer. I'm sure the kid-less people in the gate area did not appreciate her behavior, or mine, but I still feel no shame about it.

Right before we boarded the plane, a very nice couple who had been talking a bit with both Isaac and Vivian during the wait told me that both children were "adorable, and very well-behaved". I smiled sweetly and thanked them, not mentioning the chasing game which they had very obviously not witnessed.

Oh, and I should mention here too: at one point, a very kind woman, around 60, I would guess, came over and offered to watch the kids for me while I used the restroom. Lance had gone off foraging snacks or magazines, and she thought I was traveling alone with them. Isn't that nice? I just love when people are good, instead of shitty.

That's it for our plane travels, though we also survived another 6 hour car ride, this one from Delaware to the Outer Banks of North Carolina and back. Here's a recap of our schedule:

Friday June 2nd: 6 hour drive to Carmel
Sunday June 4th: 6 hour drive back to L.A.
Monday June 5th: 6 hour flight to Philadelphia
Wednesday June 7th: 6 hour drive to Duck, NC
Friday June 17th: 6 hour drive back to Delaware
Monday June 19th: 6 hour flight back to L.A.




Yeah, I'm glad to be home.

Back.

We had a great time, but I'm thrilled to be home. The kids are exhausted after a long flight last night, I've got piles of laundry to do, there's no food in the house, and Vivian is two. (TWO!)

More to come . . .

This one's for Jennster

The sun has finally decided to grace us with its presence, and after 6 weeks of fog and gloom, we had a beautiful sunny weekend that is still holding strong today. I'm not sure what it says about me that I am so affected by the weather, but, again, I thank my lucky stars that I live in Southern California. Hopefully the gray is gone for the season and we'll be enjoying 80 degree temps for the next few months.

Typically, the weather is grey and gloomy in June (hence the nomiker, "June gloom") so there is still the possibility that the sun will disappear again, BUT . . . we are leaving next week for two weeks back East. By the time we get back on the 20th, it should be all sun, all the time. Just like I like it.

We are also leaving this weekend to head up to Carmel and visit some old friends from San Francisco. We have been taking this annual trip to Carmel for 4 or 5 years now, and we always have tons of fun. Carmel is beautiful, and we stay in a gorgeous ranch owned by a friends' dad. The only small blight on the trip is that it reminds me of Tim, since he was one of the original members of the Carmel crew. (If you don't have time to click the link, Tim was a friend who died in a freak accident about 2 years ago) His old fiance has a baby now, although she is not married, and I don't think she'll be there this weekend. I'm sure we'll toast him at least once, and tell funny Tim stories and reflect--all that is good. But it still leaves me with a tiny ache in my heart--he should be there, to tell the stories himself. To make new stories. I have such a hard time with his death, still, even though we weren't particularly close friends.

ANYWAY. We had a lovely weekend, spent a ton of time at the beach, and now I'm running around trying to get ready to leave.

So, since Jennster loves the family photos so much, here are a few to tide you over until I can write an actual post of substance.

Carnival

Remember the carnival last year? How Isaac was soooo excited to get on the rides but then once they started going he freaked out?



Well, the carnival came to town again last weekend. This year, the rides didn't scare Isaac away at all. In fact, we couldn't tear him away from them.



At first, even Vivian thought the rides looked kind of fun, and for a minute I thought she was going to surprise me, and ride the bumper boats with no fear.



Sadly, it all proved a bit much for her. Although she did attempt to get on several rides, she never managed to sit down long enough for the ride to start. This frustrated her to no end: I could tell she really really wanted to ride, but her fear held her back.

See how pissed off she is at herself?


We had a nice couple of hours anyway, and even though this traveling carnival is pretty low-rent, I look forward to attending every year. I'm hoping next year, both kids will be brave enough for the rides.



(In the interest of full disclosure, I should add that I made Lance ride all the ones that Isaac was too small to ride alone on. Not because I was scared (!) but because I'm such a wimp that even the kiddie rides make me vomit.)


Also, thanks so much for yesterday. I am feeling a bit better--nothing like a cathartic sob-fest to clear your head--and I'm not just saying that!

Loves me, Loves me not

Conversation, 7:15 am

Isaac, running into our bedroom: Daddy! Daddy! I did it! I slept 'till seven!

Lance: Good boy!

Amy: Good job, bud!

Isaac: I looked at the clock and there was a seven right there and I got up!

Amy: I love you, sweetie.

Vivian, calling from her room: Isaac! Isaac! I want to get up!

Isaac, running back to their room: Isn't that great, Vivi? I waked up at seven!

Vivian: I love you, Isaac!

Isaac: I know!

Vivian: I love you!


Conversation: 7:45am

Isaac: GET OUT OF THE WAY!

Vivian: NO!

Isaac: I CAN'T SEE! MOMMY!!

Vivian: Go Away, ISaac! Go Away! Stop doonin that!


Conversation, 8:05am:

Isaac: See, Vivi, this is the elephant book, not that one.

Vivi: Elephant?

Isaac: Here, Viv. Right here. Just turn that page.

Vivian: Why?

Isaac: Do you want me to kiss that boo-boo?


Conversation: 8:15 am

Vivian: NOOOO! Isaac!

Isaac: I want that spoon!

Vivian: MOMMY!!! MINE!

Isaac: Nooo! Mine! My spoon! Mommy! Stop it, Vivian!

Vivian: YOU STOP IT!

So long.

I've been trying to write a post all week, about what a great weekend I had last weekend. How we had dinner with Heidi and her new man, and turns out he's pretty fucking good. How Lance took the kids Saturday which allowed me to go to the mall by myself and actually purchase some garments that look half-way decent on me. How Sunday night we had a impromptu dinner party with some friends, friends who are getting married this weekend. How we are going to San Diego this weekend, for the aforementioned wedding, and how we are leaving the kids with grandma.

But it's been busy, and now it's Thursday night, tomorrow's going to be crazy, and the kids are clamoring for dinner, so. So that's it, that's what's going on.

I'll leave you with this little tidbit from the pieceofwork household:

Scene: 4:30pm. Lance has come home early from work so I can get my nails done before we leave for the wedding tomorrow.

Vivian: Daddy! Daddy! I want to paink*!

Isaac: HI DADDY!!

Me: Hey, babe.

Lance (on the phone): looks up, big smile, holds up a finger in the universal "just a second" sign.

Isaac: I want to paink!

Vivian: No! NO! I want to paink! Mommy! I want to paink!

Isaac: Only Isaac can paint, Vivi. You will get your fingers messy.

Me: Hold on. Everyone's going to paint. You guys sit down at the table, I'll get the paints.

Lance: on the phone.

Isaac: Where's my paink brush? Oh, there it is. Thank you, Mommy! I love to paink with the painks we got at the store called Sav on.

Vivian: Paink! Paink! Paink!

Me: where is the other paintbrush? (Rummaging around the craft/dinner table) Isaac, where is the paintbrush? Is it in here? Did you put it in your room?

Vivian: Paink! Paink!

Lance: Hey sweetie.

Vivian: Paink! Paink! Daddy paink!

Lance: What did you do today?

Isaac: I want to paink! You can't paink, Vivi, Mommy can't find the brush.

Me (calling from the bedroom where I am searching for the paintbrush)**: Everyone's painting, Isaac. Be nice to your sister!

Vivian: MOMMY! Mommy! I want to paink!

Lance (entering our bedroom, where I am now rummaging for the paintbrush): what are you doing?

Me: Looking for the paint brush!

Lance: Paint brush? What do you need that for?

Me: Do you even LIVE here?


*This is the way both my children say paint. I don't know why.

** How is it possible that I have only two paintbrushes in the entire house? How?

Oh, and I almost forgot:

Happy Spring!

Siblings

At the beach:


In mama's bed:


Playing:


Posing on the front stoop:

Breaking News

We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you the following:

Right now it is 4:38pm in California. Vivian has been asleep since 1pm (3 and a half hours!) and Isaac has been asleep since 1:30pm (over 3 hours!).

I know I should wake them up, but oh, it's so nice, to wile away these afternoon hours all by myself.

I'm guessing Daylight Savings Time has them a little mixed up and overtired. Or possibly they are sick. Should I go make sure they're breathing??