Cheese.

Our venture into food-allergy-free land turned out to be short lived after all.

After my success with the Havarti, a few days ago I decided to try yogurt. We had just come back from the grocery store and everyone was starving and tired and cranky. I had about a gazillion grocery bags to unload, plus two lunches to make. So I quickly fixed a plate for Isaac with his leftover banana from breakfast, some cherry tomatos, and what else? Oh, here, let's try a yogurt. I watched him carefully for the first few bites (he loved it!) but no rash developed. Great, since Vivian had commenced wailing and slamming her hands onto the high chair impatiently. By the time I finished feeding Vivian, Isaac had eaten almost the whole yogurt and was working on the tomatoes. Guess what?

The rash appeared. And with a vengeance, this time. Not only the little red spots around his mouth, but all over his face, not to mention a few hives. I took the yogurt away and after a half hour or so, the rash calmed down. He was constipated for a day, then had a few disgusting diapers and that was the end of it.

Hmm, I thought. Well, maybe there's something really "dairy" about yogurt. And he'll just be able to eat cheese, and milk, and butter. I can live without yogurt.

Right.

For the next few days, I kept offering him cheese, which he refused. This I found strange, since he had enjoyed the Havarti. But "Nooooo, Mama, no cheese! Isaac no like cheese. Isaac can't have it." I did give him buttered toast, no problem. A bagel with a very small bit of cream cheese, okay. Today, I put the tiniest piece of cheese on his lunch plate. When he asked for some of his sister's squash (he loves babyfood, I kid you not) I told him to finish his cheese first. He picked it up, stuck it in his mouth for 1 second, then put it back on his plate. "No!" 5 minutes later he had the rash again, all over his face, with hives, and this time also on his arms.

This is 1 second's worth of dairy, for the love of pete! Apparantly the exposure to yogurt has made the allergy worse. I don't understand! I wonder--why did he refuse the cheese? Does it burn or something when he is eating it? If so, why doesn't the yogurt? Why doesn't he react to butter on toast?

I am much more upset about this than I should be. Thing is, even though everyone keeps telling me--"oh, a dairy allergy is very common, don't worry, he'll grow out of it. It's no big deal"-- I have this terrible feeling that he won't grow out of it. Because, yes, dairy allergies are very common in children. But Isaac's reaction is not common. Most kids with the dairy allergy get stomach-aches, bad diarhea, that kind of thing. And many of them can eat cheese and yogurt, just not milk. For some, it's the lactose. This is not what Isaac has. Isaac gets a rash if he eats anything with dairy. Until he was about 18 months old, there was only one brand of bread I could buy him, because he would react to the smallest bit of whey or casein in the ingredients. Even if a product was made on the same machines as something with dairy, but contained no dairy, he would react. Fortunately, he did outgrow that hypersensitivity, but still. I don't want to be making him special meals for the rest of his life. And I don't want him to never be able to have ice cream at birthday parties, to have the kids pick on him when he brings his tofu in for lunch, or to spend his life avoiding Mexican restuarants.

Also, even though, generally speaking, his reaction is very mild (usually the rash doesn't bother him at all, I doubt he even knows he gets it), I still hate it, since everyone tells me that the less exposure he gets, the more likely he will outgrow the allergy. Every time he gets a rash, I feel this sense of failure, like our chances for an allergy-free life are just disipating before my eyes. Plus, he's starting pre-school in a few weeks, and now I have to deal with making sure they don't feed him dairy, bringing him special food, and so on.

AND, Vivian is a complete ball of excema. Even though I refused to start solid foods until she was almost 7 months old, even though she had nothing to eat except breastmilk for those 7 months, even though when I did start solids I started very slowly--still she has excema. People tell me, oh babies get excema all the time, it's probably not a food allergy. But then why didn't she have excema before we started solids? So far, I have been unable to determine what she is reacting to. It keeps getting worse, instead of better, and now she has a big patch over one eyelid. Can't be comfortable for her.

Peace out from allergy-land.

Hell?

You know how I posted a few days ago about the heavenly night we had? Why did I do that? Why did I tempt the fates, as it were? I mean, we can all guess what kind of nights we've had since then, right? Has Isaac stopped screaming before 9:30pm? Uh, no. Has Vivian slept later than 5:30am? Uh, no. Has either one slept through the midnight hours without waking? Well--NO.

And guess what else? Not only have bed-times become a horrible horrible 3 hour struggle and precurser of interupted and non-rem sleep, capped off by insanely early wake up calls--but naptime is now catching up in nightmarish-quality.

Yesterday, I put the kids down for their nap around 1:15pm. At 3pm, they were still awake. Isaac screaming unconsolably in his crib, having had all the blankets, slinky, animals taken away from him and forced to wear his pjs. Vivian still occasionally gigling, lying on her back and periodically banging her binky against the crib bars. Me? I was in a heap on the floor outside their room, completely hoarse from screaming at them for the last 2 hours to BE QUIET! CLOSE YOUR EYES! LIE DOWN!

Eventually they did nap, but they didn't awake until 5:30, which pushed back their bedtime, making it even more "pleasant" than usual.

I am so dreading naptime today. Nothing like screaming at your kids (who are babies, for pete's sake!) for hours on end to make you feel like the world's greatest mom.

I know what they say--you can't make them eat, and you can't make them sleep. But, why not??? There must be some way to force sleep on an over-active 2 year old and his monkey-see, monkey-do sister.

Until then I remain, your sleep-deprived shit of a mom.

Hi! My name is Isaac

and these are things I hate:

1. Having my hair cut
2. Rolling up my sleeves
3. Wearing a hat of any kind
4. Wearing gloves or mittens
5. Peeing in the potty
6. Wearing bandaids
7. Sitting in the high chair
8. Staying in bed until 7am
9. Waiting for Vivian to wake up from her nap
10. When my mom sings anything


These are things I love:

1. Eating my sister's babyfood
2. The feeling of anything soft against my cheek
3. Lollipops, unless they are rootbeer flavored
4. Peeing in the bathtub
5. Watching Elmo
6. Sitting in the front seat of the car and pushing all the buttons
7. Balloons
8. My "Isaac" cd
9. Going to the beach with my dad
10. Looking at photos

News!

Isaac is going to pre-school! All together now: Hallelujah!

I know that 2 is a bit young for school. But, people! I cannot go to the grocery store with the both of them anymore! Do you know what a pain it is to get them both ready and into the carseats, then get them out of the carseats and into the shopping cart and bjorn, then run through the store as quickly as possible before Isaac has a meltdown and starts throwing things, then get them both back in their carseats??I keep forgetting to buckle Vivian into hers! One of these days I'm going to forget her altogether!

So you see why pre-school is the best thing. I can't keep him entertained anymore. Even he has tired of building castles with the Lego set. Plus, since we don't really have any friends with kids, at least this way he'll get to spend some time with other children his age.

And I will have 3 mornings a week with only Vivian to take care of. One butt to clean! One mouth to feed! One miniature, short-attention spanned specimen to entertain! Pure heaven.

Also, and this is for Trisha: I believe he is a genius. In fact, I am so sure he is gifted, I'm getting a little worried about the hardship this could be for us. Today, when he picked the magnetic letter "T" off the floor, he said "letter T"! And even though 2 minutes later he said "Dubbeyu", I'm sure he knows his ABCs. Already! You see? So I must send him to school to stimulate his incredible mind!

The only problem with this pre-school thing is that it costs money. And money is kind of tight these days. So I guess we'll just go (further) into debt, like the rest of the country. Just doing our part to stimulate the economy!


I must also report this: Vivian has been sleeping. I mean really, truly sleeping. 11 hours at night, two 2 hour naps per day. I'm not quite sure what to make of it.

And: yes, Carolina lost the other day. I DON'T CARE. We still got the number one seed and we are still going to win the next 6 games, HANDS DOWN. (Which means we'll win the title, dummy.)

Why

does the cough medicine with codeine work so well some nights, and not work at all on others??


Maybe it's because he no longer has a cough and I was just trying to medicate him into sleeping? Is that bad?

Pink pajamas by Stella. Purse by Grandy. Don't ask.

Cheese! and Peas

When Isaac was 8 weeks old he developed a really scary all-over body rash that the doctors could not diagnose. After blood work and cancer scares we finally realized it was an allergic reaction to the cow's milk based formula he was drinking. I would post a picture of the rash, but it still scares me to look at it. And it's ugly.

Anyway, since that age he has not been allowed to eat dairy at all. No milk, no cheese, no butter. Have you ever noticed what toddlers eat? I'll tell you: string cheese, yogurt, and milk. Oh, and Macaroni and Cheese. Maybe the occasional grilled cheese sandwich. Or how 'bout a chicken nugget (the breading contains milk)? But not Isaac. Oh no. He's been eating tofu, and garden burgers, and soy milk for the last year. Actually it hasn't been all that bad, since he's not a picky eater. But eating at restaurants has been challenging, and I always have to make a separate meal for him, since almost nothing I cook is dairy-free. Kind of a pain in the ass. And also, I keep thinking--will this kid never be able to enjoy cheese? His whole life??

At our 2 year well check this week (which was traumatic for so many reasons I can't begin to blog about it) the doctor suggested we go ahead and give dairy a try. Slowly, she said. See if he can tolerate some yogurt, or a piece of cheese. About 4 or 5 weeks ago, I had given him a sour cream and onion potato chip (by accident, of course!) and he immediately developed a rash. So I'm thinking, no way is this going to work.

Still, I gave him a small bite of Havarti cheese yesterday, just for kicks, and guess what? NO RASH! Last night, we went out to eat at a Mexican place, ordered some taquitos for him, which came with guacamole and chedder cheese on top, and again--NO RASH.

This is very exciting news indeed.

****

I think I have mentioned before that I hate peas. I will never purchase them, frozen or fresh. When Isaac was eating baby-food, I refused to buy the mashed peas. And until last week, I had refused to buy them for Vivian as well.

Vivian refuses to eat green beans. She actually refuses to eat anything that has a hint of green in it. Everything she eats (squash, sweet potatoes, carrots, pasta and vegetables, peaches, pears) is yellow or orange. My sister told me that, as babies, her kids' skin turned orange because they ate too many carrots. I don't want a pigment-challenged 9 month old, for Pete's sake.

So I bought a jar of babyfood peas. Yuk. The smell when I took off the top last night was enough to make me gag. However, since the health of my daughter was at stake, I continued. I fully expected her to refuse the peas, at which point I would move on to spinach, and never have to purchase the horrid things again.

Vivan, do you know what happened when I put the spoonful of nasty mushed peas in your mouth?

You smiled! Then you laughed! Then you opened your mouth, begging for more!

How are you my daughter? Is it not enough that you look absolutely nothing like me, that you have the same dimple under your right eye as your father, that you are almost an exact replica of him, just smaller? Must you also reject my very characteristics, the things which make me who I am?

My god, you are not even 9 months old and already you are kicking Mommy to the curb.

Peas, indeed.

Heaven

is putting the children to bed around 8 and after only minimal chatting and giggling, not hearing another peep until 6:50 am.

We haven't had a night like that since before Vivian was born.

I really need to thank Dr. K for the cough medicine with codeine.

Out

Lately (well, today) I've been out-ing myself to some of my real-life friends. Hi! Jen. Heather. Susanna. Rachel. Lance.

It's funny, you start blogging and everything seems so weird and scary, and you are afraid that someone might actually read your blog. But then, like anything else, over time you become more comfortable and suddenly you're thinking, why doesn't anyone read my blog? Next thing you know you're sending the URL to as many people as you can think of.

Anway, I am pleased to report that I am no longer taking myself so seriously--it's not as if this has to win a Pulitzer prize, for God's sake! It's just a journal.

Next, I may even hand out the URL to my family (gasp!)

(And: yes I realize that Carolina almost lost-- to Clemson-- today. But they didn't. And that's all that needs to be said.)

(And: I am sick. I knew that when I typed #74 in my 100 things list, the powers that be were giggling in anticipation of kicking my ass. So here I am, sick, and kicked in the ass.)

Can she be any cuter?

March Madness

So the time is here, folks. Time for my annual insanity to arrive in the form of brackets, Dick Vitale, and Carolina Blue. I have received my first email correspondance from the "humble poolkeeper" and league championships have begun. Hooray!

My absolute favorite weekend of the year (I think this even beats Christmas) is the first weekend of the NCAA men's basketball championship. This is the weekend of the 2nd round, where you can literally watch basketball for 8 straight hours, both days. And it's really good basketball too. Usually 3 or 4 buzzer beaters, definitely some Cinderellas, and the occasional ass-whupin'. Someone we've never heard of will play the game of his life, a well-respected coach will get kicked out of a game, maybe a really good player will break his nose. Oh, the drama!! I plan to be on the couch with Tivo in hand (to replay all the great shots, of course) for the entire weekend.

I've decided to watch the tournament games live. I just can't live by my TiVo rule (although that did work out well for the Dook game) where the tournament is concerned. While I may be covering my eyes if the Heels are not playing particularly well, I do intend to be in the room, with the television on, while they are playing. They better play well this year. For the sake of my children, fellas, please play well.

I am not a sports fanatic. I like sports, yes. I will watch the occasional NBA of NFL game happily. And baseball is fun, if it's live. But I don't go too crazy.

Unless it is March. Or anytime from November to March and the University of North Carolina men's basketball team is playing.

Here it is, March. And guess who's playing today?

I am SO EXCITED.

Also: Rashad McCants was cleared for practice a few days ago. Yippppeee!

Periscope

dooce wrote a post awhile back about how Jon taught Leta how to sit up, which was really cute, until Leta refused to nap because every time Heather laid her down, she would sit up and peer out over her crib like a periscope. Here, let me try to link it for you.

What does that have to do with anything? Well, nothing really, but I thought of it today.

At naptime today, I was happily blogging away until I heard Vivian start to murmur and fuss. She wasn't being particularly loud, so I thought I'd just wait awhile and maybe she'd fall back asleep. (I know, wishful thinking, but you gotta have a dream, right?) Twenty minutes later she was still talking in there, and getting louder by the minute. I didn't want to risk her waking up Isaac, so headed in to retrieve her.

And what do I see when I open the door? Vivian's head and torso peeking above the crib rails, her arms waving in the air gleefully, her smile bigger than ever, and if I could understand her babbles I'm sure she was saying, "Hey, Mom! Look! Look at me! Aren't I the smartest baby around?"

Yes, you are. And the cutest, too.

A cry for help

Dear Internet:

I am becoming concerned about my husband, and I hope you can help. I have searched the web for a diagnosis, and better, for a cure, but so far I have come up empty. Therefore, I appeal to you, my ever-so-small group of readers, to give me your advice on this problem.

For several months--wait, I think it has been 2 years now--my husband has been exhibiting symtpoms. Unfortunately, there appears to be something wrong with his arm, and it has begun affecting other areas of his behavior.

Let me explain. Our children have a clothes hamper in their room, which has a top. When one is putting dirty clothes into the hamper, one must remove the top first, deposit the dirty clothes, then replace the top. However, and this is what has me so concerned, my husband seems unable to do this. His arm does not function in this way. No matter what, the dirty clothes always end up on top of the hamper top. He is unable to take the top off first.

I keep waiting for improvement--surely, his arm will get the hang of this hamper thing eventually!--but no dice. And so I worry.

Then, just the other day, I realized he has been exhibiting another symptom for years now. When he is rinsing dirty dishes, his arm is unable to open the dishwasher door. So that, similar to the dirty laundry, the (now rinsed) dirty dishes remain on top of the dishwasher, instead of inside it.

What should I do? I have searched WebMD and other medical sites to no avail.

Recently, another symptom, seemingly unrelated, his reared its ugly head. It seems that in addition to the faulty arm, my husband also lacks hearing skills. For example, perhaps I am nursing the baby while simaltaneously conversing with my husband. Isaac begins the wail that breaks glass in the other room. My husband does not react. He continues talking as though the wailing is not happening. Then, when I say something along the lines of, "Could you please go see what the hell is going on in there?" he acts surprised, as if he has heard nothing.

Please, any advice will be appreciated. Thank you.



(Aside: am I the only one having issues with Blogger lately? It has taken me two days to get this post published. And all those fabulous posts that were percolating in my brain have had nowhere to go, and now are lost forever. Sigh.)

Coffee Bean

Do you have The Coffe Bean and Tea Leaf where you live? I don't know if it is national or not and I'm way to lazy to look it up right now. It's a coffee shop, and in LA, there are hundreds of them. Supposedly, they are much cooler than Starbucks. But I will tell you this: the people who work at this fine store, no matter which store you frequent, these people are not quick. And I mean that in all senses of the word.

Now I know that making a fine espresso drink can take some time, but come on, people! Twenty minutes? To make 3 drinks? What the hell is going on back there?

How's that for a random post?

I can't wait until my Starbucks re-opens.

100 things

I keep seeing these 100 things on everyone's blog in the about me section, so I thought I'd jump in. It's possible I can figure out how to put a link to this post in that section, but I'm not guaranteeing it.

1. I am 36(!) years old.
2. I have 2 kids, 16 months apart: Isaac (3) and Vivian (2)
3. We are probably done having kids. My husband says we are definitely done having kids.
4. Secretly I want one more.
5. I grew up on the East Coast, where the ocean is to the East.
6. After college, I moved to California, where the ocean is West.
7. I have a terrible sense of direction.
8. I have a bad hair day almost every single day. Really.
9. I was a jock in high school--captain of 3 sports.
10. My highschool was really small, with only 70 people in my graduating class.
11. I went to high school in Conneticut, at a small private boarding school.
12. I loved it.
13. But I won't send my kids to boarding school.
14. Conneticut has really really terrible weather.
15. For college, I decided to go somewhere warmer.
16. I went to a large public university in the south: The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.
17. I loved it.
18. But not at first.
19. People act different in the South. Once I learned how to understand their language, I fit in better.
20. I have held a job since I was 15.
21. Until I had Isaac, 2 years ago.
22. Being a stay at home mom is the hardest (worst) job I've ever had. And I was a telemarketer, once.
23. It's also the best job I've ever had.
24. I was smart in school and always made good grades.
25. I hated studying.
26. Once I graduated from college I swore I'd never have that kind of stress again.
27. Consequently, I never worked at very important jobs.
28. I'm pretty sure my dad is disappointed in that.
29. But I know he loves me anyway.
30. I hate and fear talking on the phone.
31. I much prefer email even though it is cowardly.
32. I don't like being told what to do.
33. I don't like telling other people what to do.
34. I like being alone.
35. I love my husband.
36. I miss my family. They all still live on the East Coast.
37. My husband grew up in California, and this is where we are staying.
38. I love the weather here.
39. I hate being cold.
40. I can't drink hard alcohol unless it is in a Margarita.
41. I love beer.
42. I drink at least one beer 5 out of 7 days a week.
43. I can't believe I'm only on number 43.
44. I moved to California after college because it was really far away and it sounded cool. Plus I hate cold weather.
45. Unfortunately I moved to San Francisco. It is pretty cold there, all year round.
46. Cold as in 55-65 degrees, not 3 degrees. I don't know how people live in Minnesota.
47. I loved living in San Francisco, despite the cold.
48. When I lived in San Francisco, I often made fun of LA, and people who lived there.
49. Even though I'd never been to LA.
50. I met my husband on a blind date.
51. When he told me he was a middle child, I thought, "Hmm, maybe this will work out."
52. I am a middle child.
53. My husband grew up in LA.
54. LA is not nearly so bad as they make it sound when you live in San Francisco.
55. Never call San Francisco "Frisco"
56. My husband works for Cisco Systems.
57. We moved to LA after we got married.
58. I cried all the way across the bay bridge. Then I stopped crying.
59. The weather in LA is MUCH better than the weather in San Francisco.
60. I have lived on the West Coast now for 13 years.
61. It bothers me that my children will never experience a "snow day."
62. But not so much that I would consider moving back there.
63. I am not outgoing.
64. I feel really shy around new people.
65. It's hard for me to make new friends.
66. I am incredibly unobservant.
67. For example, I never notice what people are wearing, or even what they look like.
68. Unless they are really hot. Or really ugly.
69. I generally think the best of people and give them the benefit of the doubt.
70. Consequently I am let down a lot.
71. I am not a good judge of people.
72. I assume people do not have an ulterior motive.
73. I should know better by now.
74. I rarely get sick.
75. As a result, I am completely NOT germ-a-phobic.
76. Germ-a-phobes really annoy me.
77. I have been known to pick my daughter's pacifier off the ground and put it in her mouth.
78. I don't mind eating something that has fallen on the floor.
79. And I rarely clean the floors.
80. I hate cleaning the floors.
81. I hate ironing even more.
82. And hand-washing. Yuk.
83. I have one shirt that is hand-wash only. It has been at the bottom of my laundry basket for almost a year.
84. I like almost all foods.
85. I can't stand it when people are picky.
86. Or when they send food back at a restaurant.
87. I was brought up to think that if someone gives you something, you should be grateful, even if you hate what they got you.
88. I hate returning things to stores, even if they are defective.
89. If I have to return something, I usually make my husband do it.
90. He doesn't mind.
91. He's kind of picky. I call him fussy.
92. If he doesn't like a gift from you, you can tell.
93. It's really annoying, even though I suppose it's more honest.
94. I know I said I wasn't picky, but I do hate peas.
95. And I was a vegetarian for 10 years.
96. I am really non-confrontational.
97. If you tell me something I don't agree with, I won't say a word.
98. But it won't change my position.
99. I am a democrat, but I am too practical to be liberal.
100. I am practical to a fault.
101. Luckily for me, my husband is a romantic.
102. I know this is number 102, but I repeated myself once. Can you find it?

Need to feel better about yourself? Stop here!

On the way home from the store today I had to stop off at the neighbor's house. You see, last Thursday I left Vivian, (who was sick as a dog) home with her Dad and walked with Isaac up to see the neighbor. The neighbor (Suzanne) has two boys, Tate and Riley. Riley has asthma. They have to be really careful that Riley does not catch a cold, as this could trigger an attack.

Why would I take my germ-infested child to their house, then, you ask? Good question. The thing is, Isaac was not sick on Thursday. Not even remotely. And I thought that Vivian was simply not over the cold she had had earlier. I didn't think it was a new germ. Since Isaac was definitely over his cold from earlier, I figured it would be fine.

Until Saturday, when he started coughing. And now he's got as much snot as Viv. So I had to go to the neighbor's house to apologize for possibly infecting her son with another cold virus. Oy.

We stopped, and Suzanne and her boys happened to be out front. I got out of the car to talk to her (fortunately her boys are showing no signs of sickness yet, cross your fingers). After a few minutes I rolled down Isaac's window so she could say hi. And when I looked in, I noticed Vivian was practically crawling out of her carseat.

How is this possible, you ask? Good question. When I got to the car with the groceries, I had Vivian in the bjorn. Isaac was in the shopping cart. First I got Viv out of the bjorn and into the carseat, but because I didn't want to leave Isaac for long in the shopping cart unsupervised, I just plopped her in the seat, thinking I'd buckle her up after I got Isaac in his. You can imagine what happened next. Thank god we made it home without crashing.

(Want to know what's worse? This isn't the first time it has happened. This is the 3rd time. )

We finally get home and it's almost noon, so I start fixing lunch for the both of them. Vivian is acting really fussy and can't get enough food. "Jeez, Viv, what's the hurry?", I think,--and that's when I remember I haven't fed her since breakfast. Usually I nurse her when she wakes up, feed her breakfast, then nurse her again after her nap, then feed her lunch. Today I forgot to nurse her when she woke up.

So before noon today, I had already fessed up for needlessly exposing an asthmatic child to a cold virus, carelessly put my daughter in danger, and starved her for no reason.

This is what happens when you are sleep-deprived. Or when you are just an incompetant mother. Or both.

Surely whatever motherly sin you made today, you can't beat that. And if you can, hey--give it time. It's only noon here! I've still got 7 more hours to fill with mother fuck-ups!

Yawn

I know I said earlier that I wasn't complaining, but I guess I lied. Maybe my hangover just caught up with me, but LORD, I am tired. Please oh please, dear children, sleep tonight.

Vivian has been on another antibiotic since Thursday, but she doesn't seem any better. Shouldn't she be better by now?? Over the counter medication isn't helping much either. I've decided she sleeps much better without the Pediacare, even though it says it's for nighttime use. The antihistamine in it does make her sleepy, but then it wears off, and the decongestant is still there, wiring her up. This is my new theory. Last night she didn't have the Pediacare and instead of being up from 1am to 3:30am, she only woke a few times before 4, and we were able to get her back to sleep after 5 or 10 minutes. Then of course she woke up at 4, all hungry. The last few nights have been so bad with her that I have ended up feeding her, once at 1 am, once at 3:30 am. But I don't want to get back in the rut of nighttime feedings. So this morning I refused. I made Lance go try and soothe her back to sleep, which worked for about 20 minutes. At which point he returned to her crib to soothe her again. Twenty minutes later, repeat. And so on, until around 5:15 when we finally brought her back to our room so Isaac wouldn't wake up. I fed her around 6:45.

Isaac has caught the damn bug now, so even if Vivian does sleep better tonight, I'm guessing Isaac will be up and raring to go. I can't give him any medication, except plain cough syrup, so at least he won't have that getting him amped up. Antihistamines definitely make him wired. He was up a few times last night, but fortunately for all, went back to sleep fairly quickly. Unfortunately, he woke up for good around 6:30 am.

We did bring the humidifier in from the garage (duh!) so that might have helped last night too. Maybe it will do the trick tonight. Maybe the antibiotic will start working today. Maybe Isaac won't get as bad a cold as Vivian has. Maybe I will find some concealer to hide these bags under my eyes.

God. Aren't you getting tired of posts about how tired I am? Tiresome, isn't it?

Halftime

Okay, so I'm not supposed to be thinking about the game.

(My new rule is to TiVo the game, and only watch it once we have won. I am hoping this staves off my psychosis, and protects my innocent children from Angry Amy Who Swears Like A Sailor.)

However,I just sneaked over to ESPN and guess what? We are winning at halftime, 47-41. Rashad McCants is not playing. But we are still winning.

Please, please, please keep it up fellas.

UPDATE: HOORAY!! Lance just called to tell me we won, 75-73. We were down by 9 with 3 minutes to go but pulled it out! I have to go watch TiVo . . .

Kids' Room

Sharing a room

As I have mentioned before, we live in Southern California. Which means we pay a ridiculous amount of money to live in a hovel. It also means that Isaac and Vivian share a room. A small room. As in, 10' x 10'. Right now it is decorated with a fire engine theme but we are going to change that to something more unisex at some point. Hopefully before Vivian goes to college.

When Vivian was an infant, she slept in her Moses basket in various rooms of the house. But in December we put up the crib and started the sharing of the room. I was a little nervous about this, but we didn't have a choice, as it was either share a room or put one of them out on the front porch. Besides, people with experience had told me that it would be fine, sharing a room was the best thing they ever did for their kids, they won't wake each other up, they will be so much closer as they grow up, and so on.

Problem #1: Vivian's morning nap.
Isaac cannot play in their room if she is napping. Isaac needs access to each and every toy at all times or he will drive Mommy crazy.

Solution: While Vivian naps, Mommy allows Isaac to watch Sesame Street.
Okay! That wasn't so hard.

Problem #2: Afternoon nap.
Vivian only sleeps for about an hour in the afternoon. Isaac will usually sleep 2.5 to 3 hours, so long as his fussing sister does not wake him up.

Solution: Mommy simply runs in and snatches Vivian out of the room the first minute she starts to peep.
Okay, this has worked in that Isaac isn't waking up anymore. However, it does not give Vivian the chance to go back to sleep on her own, so she is perpetually tired. But she's perpetually tired anyway, since she refuses to sleep, so I can live with this.

Problem #3: Isaac learned how to climb out of his crib, and worse, into Vivian's.

Solution: Fortunately for Mommy, and perhaps not so fortunately for Isaac, this one solved itself. Twice in a row when Isaac climbed out of the crib, he really bonked himself. He has remained in the crib ever since.

Problem #4: When Vivian wakes up in the night to be fed, she wakes her brother up.

Solution: The only solution to this problem is to teach Vivian to stop waking up at night. So far we have mixed results.

Problem #5: Anyone who wakes up in the night usually wakes up his/her sibling.
This is true about 75% of the time.

Solution: There does not seem to be a solution to this problem. Anyone?

Problem #6: Although Isaac is no longer climbing out of the crib, he does have a new trick.
He throws all his blankets, stuffed animals, socks--anything he can reach--from his crib into his sister's, much to their mutual delight.

Solution: we make sure there is nothing heavy or sharp in his crib. W go in and check on them periodically and pull the extras out of Vivian's bed, not returning them to Isaac.
This has not worked well at all. We put the kids to bed at 7:30, and lately it is almost 9 before the fun of throwing things into Vivian's crib and being reprimanded by Mom is over.

So this sharing a room, it's not going so well.

Happy Birthday

Yesterday was Lance's birthday (34). I really hate it that he is younger than me (35), but that's another blog.

Because Vivian kept us up again Friday night I was really tired all day (read: cranky) which translated into not being particularly sweet to Lance, although it was his birthday. I even suggested more than once that we postpone our dinner out so we could get to bed early.

But we did make it out, and in fact had a really nice time. We so rarely spend time together anymore, just the two of us. The food was great, the restaurant was beautiful, we had a nice intimate table in the back, and sort of found each other again. What I mean is: we actually had things to talk about, besides the snotty (literally) children. We talked, and listened, and laughed, and it was really great.

So great that I'm not even complaining this morning, even though Vivian of course kept us up again, and I have a hangover.

Happy Birthday, babe.

FYI, part II

I don't have much to say today--another sleepless night with Vivian has sapped my of any coherent thought--but I did want to warn you:

The Duke-Carolina game is coming up. In two days. And Rashad McCants is still not playing.

So I may be freaking out until around 4pm Sunday. By then all will be right with the world, Tarheels will be assured the regular season ACC title and secured a number 1 seed-- or all hell will break loose and you will be subjected to another pathetic drunken post, bringing into question the sexuality (how original!) of any and all dookies.


Aside: why does anti-histimine cause both my children to become crazed monkeys? It is supposed to make you drowsy, dammit! As in, ASLEEP. Not wide awake and laughing from 1 to 3 am.

Hooray!

Thanks to Psycho Kitty, you can now see the text of my blog without having to scroll down. The fact that I am ecstatic over this is just more evidence of how blogging has become an addiction to me.


It may also have to do with the fact that Vivian is sick (again!), and the little shit refused to sleep all night. Slap! Happy! Anyone?

Voices

After my little pity party yesterday, I had to post this: I know I am blessed. I know I am lucky to be able to stay home with the munchkins, and I know that lots of people would love to have it as "bad" as I do.

The thing about blogging--maybe about life, in general, actually--is that it is more interesting to write about the bad stuff. It's that whole--"you think that's bad, you should have my life" kind of thing. When I'm feeling happy or content, then I don't usually have the urge to write. I usually have the urge to keep doing whatever it is that is making me feel so good. But when I'm depressed, or overwhelmed, or frustrated--that's when I write.

In a lot of ways, I love my life, and I love it more now that I ever did before. Which doesn't mean I don't have bad days or weeks or moments, or times when you couldn't pay me to admit that. Writing is a way for me to let off steam, a place for me to vent so my husband doesn't have to bear the brunt of a 10 poopy diaper day alone.

Which is all to say, this blog could very well be skewed in a negative direction. Just to let you know.

One other thing. There is a little nagging voice in the deep recesses of my brain, one who says, "SIDS can happen up to 1 year of age." or "Don't they say that babies who don't play peek-a-boo are likely to have Autism?" or "It's awfully rainy out, I wonder why isn't Lance home yet. Wasn't there a really bad accident on the 405?" I just can't keep that damn voice quiet. Every time I admit how great things are, how much I love my children and my husband, that little voice is there, whispering how I don't deserve them, or how bad things happen to good people all the time, so why not me. On some level, I am in a constant state of apprehension, waiting for the other shoe to drop, just so my little voice can have a good laugh and say "I told you so!"

And writing about how bad things are generally keeps the little voice away. Writing about how good things are--well, that just makes him* speak up.



*Of course the little voice is a man, what did you expect?

Blogxchng

Okay-- I signed up for "Blogxchng", which is a service I found on another blog. You can see the link under the blogroll (if I did it right). It's a place to register your site so that other people can find you, and so you can find new blogs. Seems pretty cool, and it's free, so I signed up.

I think I was being impulsive. Because all of a sudden I feel kind of nauseous. Now random people are going to be directed to my blog. They will probably be expecting to be amused or at least interested, and they will be sorely disappointed. Ack! What have I done?

Also--I feel like blogging is addictive. And you can waste a lot of time reading blogs. Currently I spend most of naptime either writing my blog or reading others. When I could be doing more productive things. This signing up for Blogxchng is just going to get me in deeper.

Oh well.

Some days

are harder than others. Some days it just all seems so endless and overwhelming. I'm awake for 45 minutes and I've already been working harder than I used to at the office all day. And there is still more to do.

What makes it even more depressing is that most of the work is not even remotely challenging or rewarding. At least when you are working, there is a sense of accomplishment, a certain amount of pride that comes with doing your job. Of course I am proud of my job as a mother, but here there is no one to validate that feeling. At work, you get a paycheck, you get pats on the back, you get the respect of your peers. But here, at home . . it's not like Isaac and Vivian are doling out strokes every time I fold their clothes for them. And I can't validate myself either--after all, folding laundry is not rocket science. An 8 year old could do what I do.

Changing dirty diapers, taking out the trash, changing the sheets, grocery shopping, cooking, feeding, cleaning, bathing, paying bills, sweeping--GOD. Thankless, thankless, thankless grunt work. And it ALL has to been done, SEVERAL TIMES A DAY. Over and over and over again, no end in sight.

Every night I lie in bed and think of things I need to do the next day. People I haven't talked to in ages who deserve a phone call, doctors' appointments (mine) to make, letters to write. And every day for that 1.5 hours when both kids are asleep, it's all I can do to clean up the kitchen from lunch and lay down on the couch for some TiVo. Or pop on the computer to blog. So the next night I make the same list in my head, and add whatever else I've thought of that day. (Arrange rental cars for Hawaii, send thank you notes from the birthday party, make reservation for Lance's birthday dinner . . .)

To all my good friends out there who I have lost touch with, I'm sorry. To my dentist and OB, who keep sending me "Its time for a check-up!" notices, I'm trying. To Grandma, who is having a hard time and who really needs some love, I am going to call you soon, I promise. Really!

I am just struggling ever so slightly today, but tomorrow will be better.


Update: since I am feeling particularly whiny and woe-is-me today, I'll just add this: Vivian, the incessant crying, fussing and whining for no apparant reason is really wearing. So stop it already.

Overheard

from the kids' room last night when Lance was on diaper duty:

"Vivi need cream?"
Vivi butt hurt! Vivi need cream!"
"Aga need cream. Crap. Crap smells. Aga need cream."
"Butt hurt. Fresh diper. Smelly. Oh ma gossh."

Yay! Ray!

I'm so happy that Jamie Foxx won the Oscar for Ray last night. I absolutely loved that movie, and I thought he was incredible in it. Granted, I haven't seen any of the other movies but I just can't believe anybody did a better job. And apparently, I'm right!

I didn't watch the Oscars--I find them really boring--but I checked this morning to see who won. I can't believe how well Million Dollar Baby did. Maybe I'll have to see it after all. Wonder if it's out on video yet?

One thing about this year's nominees: I might actually watch most of these movies. Usually, the movies that are nominated don't interest me at all. I really hate period dramas and those slow arty movies the critics love so much. But this year, it seems a lot of the nominated movies are my kind of movie. Even Hotel Rwanda, which is the kind of thing I usual avoid (graphic violence, true story of people behaving cruelly), is somehow appealing to me this year. Probably because Don Cheadle is such a favorite of mine.

*** *** ***
In other news, Vivian slept until 6:30 both Saturday and Sunday mornings. However, this morning (she must know that it is Monday), she woke up at 5:15. Screamed bloody murder until she finally passed out at 6:05. Woke her brother up who started yelling "Mommy! Mommy! Daddy! Trash truck!" around 6:10 and didn't stop until we finally went to get him around 6:50.

I know if I feed her when she wakes up, she will eat quickly and quietly and then go back to sleep, so it is really difficult to just let her cry and wake up the whole household. But she is 8.5 months old, for pete's sake! I know she can sleep 11 hours without a feeding, she just doesn't want to. I am so hoping that just a few more weeks of this torture and she will be doing that on a regular basis. Pray with me, now.

Oh, but guess what? She has started coughing again, the same phlegmy hacking cough she had a few weeks ago. I can't believe she is getting sick again, and I am dreading returning to the pediatrician. Why, you ask? Um, well: 1. Dr. Kaminker prescribed an antibiotic and told me to bring her back in to make sure her ears were clear after 10 days. 2. The pharmacy didn't give us enough antibiotic and when I called, the nurse told me 7 days of it was probably enough, but just to make sure and bring her in the be sure her ears were clear. 3. Guess who hasn't brought her back in yet? (It has been almost 3 weeks.)

And there's this: when I brought her in the first time, I had Isaac with me, and he completely freaked out as soon as he saw the room. His last trip to the doctor was traumatic, and apparently he hasn't forgotten it. I really don't want to put him (and me, and the doctor) through all that again, especially since he has his 2 year check up coming up. So I need to find a time to take her when either my husband is home from work, or my mother-in-law is available. Unfortunately, MIL is out of town skiing (the nerve!) and Lance is busy. So I'm not sure what to do.

Wondering

As I sort the laundry this morning: when did I acquire 10 pairs of jeans and where did all my non-denim clothes go?

John Mayer

Before I start this post, I should just lay it out there: I'm not much into music. Not that I don't like it, I just don't pay much attention. If its on and it sounds good, then okay. I don't listen to lyrics much, don't know what an MP3 is, have never even heard of many bands that others listen to daily. I am not a complete idiot: I know about Britney Spears, Matchbox 20, Coldplay. But I don't know that I could name a song by each of them. And those are mainstream bands, that get lots of radio play. I have to admit that the non-mainstream stuff, the really really "cool" stuff, like Radiohead or um, I can't think of another--that stuff I generally don't like listening to. If I had to pick a genre that I appreciate most, its R&B. But really, I don't know what I'm talking about here. So proceed at you own risk.

Have you heard the new John Mayer song--"Daughters"? Well, of course you have, it's all over the radio and I think he won a Grammy for it. Either that or he was nominated. (The Grammy's did happen, right? Or did just the nominations come out?)

Anyway. This song, "Daughters", is on the radio a lot. And I hear it as I'm driving to the playground or grocery store or Target or wherever. It's a nice song, with a pretty melody, and I can sing a long to it fairly easily. I don't hate it. It's nice, whatever.

But when I listen to the lyrics, it starts to bug me. "Mothers, be good to your daughters, too". Specifically, that line bugs me. It's so damn patronizing. Who is John Mayer to tell me to be good to my own daughter? Isn't he like 21 years old or something? I'm sure he doesn't have kids of his own, so what the hell does he know about it? It just sounds like he's sitting up there in his nice shiny "Aren't I perfect in every way" box, teaching all us mere mortals how to raise our kids. And, GOD! He's a kid himself.

Blech. I shouldn't let this bother me. It's not as if he's talking to me personally. But I'm taking it that way. And I hope to hell he didn't win the Grammy for it. I hope those Grammy voters sent him a nice little note instead, something along the lines of "Dear John, while we appreciate the sentiment of your song, "Daughters", we suggest the next time you write a song, you write about something you actually have experience with, such as high school. Or junior high. Perhaps the bad haircut you got a few months ago. Or your experience with mood altering drugs. Leave the parenting advice to the NY Times. Thank you."

(Aside: I once had a roommate who actually said, in a room full of people, "Who's Ringo Starr?" I mean, I may be a music idiot, but that's ridiculous. )


Also: While writing this post, I ate almost an entire bag of Ghiradelli semi-sweet chocolates plus 1.5 Amstel Lights. Yuk.

Judith's baby

So our friend Judith, Tim's fiancee, sent an email the other day. Turns out, she's pregnant. She went to Spain a while back and now she's back, pregnant by a guy she met there. She sounds really happy about it, and for that reason, I am happy for her. If Tim hadn't died, she would probably be pregnant right now too, so there's that.

Judith has a very supportive family and she will be living at home for the duration. Tim's parents, who have maintained a close relationship with Judith since Tim's death, are also thrilled and very supportive. Apparently the father will come for about a month in August when she is due. It doesn't sound like they are still in a relationship, but that he will be part of his child's life in some ways. So it sounds like she will have a lot of help. And this is good.

But.

There is a little part of me that is thinking, "Oh, no." I hate to think of an innocent child being brought into this world with such a weight. Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm afraid people are expecting this child to somehow make up for Tim's death. A child always brings joy as no doubt this child will. And I want Judith to experience that. And I want Tim's parents to be grandparents. But isn't it a little soon?

Oh, this sounds wrong. Like I am in any position to judge. And I'm not really judging, because honestly, I do want Judith to be happy, and if this makes her happy, then so be it. I don't want to be sitting here in my happy little house with my very alive husband and two beautiful children and say--"Oh, gee, I don't know, is that the right thing to do, Judith?" I mean, I have NO IDEA what she has been through this year. And I don't even know her well enough to know how much grieving she has done, whether she is coming out of the black place or still stuck there.

So. I am just going to be happy for her. She does sound thrilled, and she should be. Maybe this baby is exactly what she needs, and what Tim's parents need, and what the world needs.

I'll just shut up now.

A word about blogs

So I am (obviously) new to the whole blog thing. It's whole different world I have discovered here in cyberspace, and I find it so strange how all the bloggers know each other, and visit each other's blogs and comment on them, then comment on their blogs about what they've commented on the other's blog, and so on. I guess not strange really, but surprising. I would never have guessed that blogging had a whole subculture of its own, complete with popularity contests and bitch fights, just like in high school, or the local Moms club. Human nature, I guess.

But that's not what I wanted to write about.

The thing that I like so much about my blog is the potential audience. I realize that no one has ever read my blog and it would take a lot of work for anyone to find me, but still, when I write here, I write as if I do have readers. And that makes me write better than I do in my journal, which I know no one will ever read or judge.

When I started this blog, I thought that maybe I would send my mom or other family members the link, so they could read about what was going on out here in California with the two little munchkins. All my family lives on the opposite coast, so we don't get to see each other often. And I'd read that blogs were one way to keep in touch with family and friends. But so far I haven't been brave enough to fess up. Although I do still consider it, and every now and then I even compose an email, with the link included. I guess one day I'll do it, but until then I just write knowing that someone I love might just be reading this.

The other thing is this: what if I want to bitch about one of my family members? If they know about this site then they will be reading, especially if we are fighting. So I am also keeping my privacy for that reason. I am sure there is a way to keep certain posts private, and maybe that's what the other bloggers do when they need to vent about something that could hurt a loved one's feelings. But, as you may have figured by now, I have no idea how to do that. I suppose it's possible that one day I will learn.

The other day I left a comment on another blog. When you leave a comment, there is a place for you to enter your blog web address, and so I did, albeit nervously. I suppose that is how you get people to read your blog, by leaving the address around. But I'm still not sure I want anyone to read this. God knows the last thing I need is perfect strangers criticizing me. Although lots of people make nice comments, too.

(In any event, if anyone ever did come to my blog, they wouldn't be able to see any text, since my blogroll has pushed all the text way out of sight. So one look and they would run away, probably thinking all kinds of snarky things about me and what an idiot I must be.

And to be honest, when it comes to code and blogging in general, I am an idiot. I don't know what the hell I'm doing here. )

So far no one has come to see my blog. But it is possible that I may start leaving comments in an effort to get some more traffic. But the thing is, once I start doing that, then I'm all caught up in it. Then I'll get competitive and want more hits than everybody else. Maybe I'll even take away my blogroll so nobody can get to someone else's blog from here. You see? Its a slippery slope.

Right now I am happy in blogging wasteland. But who knows how long this will last. . .

Two

Two

Dear Isaac,

Two years ago today, I was lying in the bathtub trying to make my contractions ease up. I was so excited! So excited I didn't even mind the pain so much. (Of course, this was at least 30 hours before you were born; suffice to say, the pain got much worse.) But still, I was excited. Finally, I would meet you. You who had caused me SO MUCH SUFFERING in the form of morning sickness, dire pre-natal diagnoses, bed-rest, heartburn, and overstaying your welcome in my uterus. You would soon be here!

I cannot believe 2 years have passed. And I cannot believe how much has changed. How much YOU have changed.

I know that we are entering the terrible twos, and this means you are supposed to be extremely difficult and pig-headed. And in fact, you are. But you are also going through the absolute sweetest phase you have been through yet. (Aside from your newborn stage when you made up for being such a terrible in utero guest by being the world's best baby.) This is what it is like to be Isaac's Mom these days:

"Mommy? Mommy? Git up?"
"Good morning, sweetie. How did you sleep?"
"Giving a hug?"
"of course! Mmm"
"Giving a kiss?"
"Okay!"

"Daddy working in the office?"
"No, Daddy's still sleeping."
"Poor Daddy. Giving a hug Daddy?"
"Yes, let's give Daddy a hug!"
"Giving a kiss to Daddy? Make Daddy all better?"

And so on. I don't know why you deciding that hugging and kissing was so much fun, but please, keep it up. It is the best feeling in the world for this Mom to get a big hug and smacking kiss from you.

Another really cute thing about you: you seem to really like your sister. I was all ready for you to ignore her or pretend she didn't exist, but that's not how it is with you. You think she's really funny. And you hate it when she cries. True, any toy she has is the toy that you need to have RIGHT AT THAT MOMENT, but generally speaking, when you snatch something out of her hands, you replace it with something else. You love kissing and hugging Vivi, too, and if she grabs your hair or clothes while you are doing it, that's a bonus.

You have recently begun singing. Singing came late to you, as most one year olds love to sing. However until recently, singing has never been your thing. In fact, whenever I start singing the ABC song, you always say "No ABC! NO ABC!" until I stop. The only song you permit me to sing is "Wheels on the Bus". And you refuse to sing a long with me. But suddenly just the other day, you want to sing. Twinkle Twinkle Little Star is a favorite. You can sing a long with Wheels on the Bus. And you even sing the ABC song on occasion now. I'm not sure what changed, but hearing you sing is pretty dang cute. Unfortunately I don't know how to put a recording on a blog, or I would do so, for all the world to hear.

(One thing you should know: your mother is tone deaf. And your dad isn't much better. Although your singing is really cute, it's definitely not on key. So don't be thinking American Idol is in your future.)

Here's something I find strange: You weigh under 30 lbs, yet when you are walking around, your feet are so heavy, the whole house shakes. Really. It's kind of hysterical. You come stomping around the corner and there's no way we don't know you're coming, since it sounds like a herd of elephants. The candles shake in their sticks, the leaves on the house plants rustle, chairs rattle on their legs. And then there you are, grinning as always, and often with something in your hands that you are not supposed to have.

You have a great smile. And if I knew how to post a picture to a specific spot in a post, I would post one here. But I don't know how. So I'll just have to post it as a new entry later. Then all the people out in the blogosphere will have to agree with me--what a smile! Although you have become a little more shy lately and will rarely speak when a stranger talks to you, you always smile. And it's so cute no one generally minds that you won't answer their questions. (Note, I do mind. I'd like you to show off all your tricks to my friends. So when I say, "How old are you? Or "Can you count to ten?" It'd be great if you would actually speak, and show everyone how incredibly smart you are.)

Your favorite thing to do is "Keeping the mess" which translates to "cleaning up the mess". Although your pronunciation is actually more acurate, since there is rarely any cleaning going on. What this usually entails is sweeping, or mopping, or wiping the floors with a paper towel. Luckily for me, this provides minutes of entertainment for you. Not so luckily, the mop and the broom are considerably taller than you and you don't have quite the control over them that one would like to see. So as you are wielding them through the house, you inevitably knock things over or bang your mother or sister in the face. I do see the allure of the pile of crumbs that your mother has swept into the corner but not yet vacuumed up, but it would be a lot "cleaner" if you would just leave those piles be.

There are some areas that need improvement. Noteably: can we do anything about your attention span? I mean, I know you are two, but jeez. Mommy was not born to be an entertainer. Why is Elmo the only creature that can keep you quiet for longer than 5 minutes at a time? Remember all those great toys you got for Christmas? And how much fun it was to play with them for 5 minutes? Well, they are still here--and guess what? You could play with them again, for AS LONG AS YOU WANT. Like maybe 10 minutes. It would be fun! And then Mommy could lie on the sofa and close her eyes.

Also: the melt downs. It would be so much MORE fun to walk around the block with you if you did not have a complete screaming fit every 10 yards or so, because I won't let you eat the fertilizer the neighbor left out, or pet the stray german shephard that is foaming at the mouth, or run into the street without looking for cars. And going to the playground is considerably less fun for Mommy when everytime we have to leave you scream the scream of the terrified, or the horribly abused. Mommy does not like it when all the other mothers stare at her in horror.

But this is small price to pay for all the Isaac I get in my life. Even when you are being loud in your crib at night when you are supposed to be sleeping--even then you end up being impossibly cute, with your running litany of expressions: "No, Aga, don't do dat! No climbing!Trash truck comes once a week. Trash truck is NOISY. Aga want to look out da window. Mommy? Mommy? Mommy taking a nap. Mommy soo tired. Mommy have ice cream. I scream you scream we all scream. Vivi okay. Okay, Vivi? Giving Vivi hug?" And so on.

Oh, I almost forgot about the sweetest thing you do. You love love LOVE the feel of anything soft against your cheek. Especially skin to skin contact. So there we will be in the grocery store, and suddenly you'll stick your thumb in your moouth, grab my hand and start rubbing your cheek with it. It kills me everytime.

I fear I may never finish this post because there is so much about you I want to remember. I want to freeze you like this so I will never forget how exquisitely perfect you are. I am tempted to say "Don't get any older!" and "Stop growing!". Because the way you are now is so wonderful, how could you ever get better? Then again, I had the same thought when you turned 1. And look what I would have missed if you never changed from that.

So Happy Birthday, Wonderful Boy. I promise to relish in your "two-ness" this year, to try and live in the moment, appreciate your quirks, and stop working working working just to get to nap time every day.

I love you.

Absence makes the heart . . .

So we have been out of town for the last 5 days, visiting my brother in Chapel Hill, NC. (And yes, I did witness a game in the Dean Dome, more on that later.) Because we are not masochists, and because we wanted to be able to enjoy at least some of the weekend, we left Isaac here with his grandparents, and just toted Vivian along for our cross-country trek. 5 days, 4 nights--the longest we have ever spent apart from him.

And, on many levels, I missed him. It would have been fun to "show him off" to the assorted family members and friends we saw while there. It would have been fun to see how he reacted to his first visit to God's country*. But I must confess that for most of the time we were there, when I thought of him, I was thinking, "Thank God Isaac isn't here". I'm sure that sounds terrible-- but having a hyperactive 2 year old along for not only the plane travel (layover in Dallas, 12 hours total each way, including driving time), but also for a weekend which included 3 straight evenings at restaurants ending after 10:30pm, jam-packed days with no time for the daily 2 hour nap, and a 3 hour time change (just to mention a few obstacles), is nothing to take lightly. He would have been miserable, and so would we. And honestly, a few days without him was kind of nice for me. Not having to be on constant watch for 4 days was really relaxing, so much so that on the way home from the airport I felt a sort of dread at the thought of our next days together.

But then.

Lance went to pick him up at his grandparents' house and when they came home, he actually tripped over himself in an effort to get to me as quickly as humanly possible. He just flung his arms around me, giggling hysterically, and I couldn't pick him up fast enough. I planted his face with kisses and felt like my whole body was going to explode I was so happy to see him. I guess I did miss him after all.

Oh, and he is talking so much more! Really! In five days. I swear! I do think I forgot just exactly how sweet he is as we spent the next 5 minutes in a dog pile on the floor, tackling each other for kisses. Lance joined in, and for a while we were like lunatics, climbing over each other, kissing and hugging and grabbing at each other. I suppose, if you were sick in the head, it could have been a little perverted.

Then, just to break my heart a little more, Isaac suddenly looked up and said, "Vivian?"

So we had to quickly wake her up and let her join in the kiss fest on the floor of the family room.

My family, in the family room. My god, what did I do with myself before this??


*If you don't know, then you haven't been there. Chapel Hill is God's country, because it is the most beautiful place on earth--and of course you've heard the saying, "If God isn't a Tarheel, why is the sky Carolina blue?"

Again, with the tech support

Okay, so I found powered by blogger and used it to finally add a blogroll to my sight. But as you can see, it has bumped all my posts down out of site. This is much more annoying than not having a blogroll.

And, guess what? I DON'T KNOW HOW TO FIX IT.

So, bear with me for a while.

But I do wonder: who are these bloggers and how do they know so much about code? Is it a requirement to be some kind of techno geek before you have a blog? And if so, how did I slip in? And who the fuck do I ask to help me fix it??

And you think you have it bad

Last night.

7:30pm Lance is at the Laker game, so I do the whole bedtime routine alone. Somehow I forget to feed Vivian.

10pm Realize my mistake, wake her up and feed her. Think--well, at least she'll sleep till 6 or 7 tomorrow. (foreshadowing, anybody?) Go to bed myself.

12:01am Hear cat's sick screaming meow, which means she is about to huck up a hairball. Lance jumps out of bed and throws her outside.

1:12 am Cat is meowing as loud as she can to be let back in. This goes on for at minimum 10 minutes. Lance finally gets up to open the door.

2:21 am Vivian wakes up crying. WTF? I go in, stick her pacifier in, pat her back for a while. After 5 minutes, she falls back asleep. Phew.

3:23 am Isaac wakes up crying. Lance gets up to see what is going on. Whispered conversations interspersed with loud crying ensues. After 5 minutes or so Lance returns to bed. Isaac is still crying, loudly.

3:33 am I get up and go into the room. Attempt to quiet him down, rub his back, threaten him with bodily harm if he doesn't shut up, and so on for 15 minutes. Eventually turn his radio on very low and convince him to be quiet. Go back to bed.

3:48- 4:12am Attempt to sleep while listening to Isaac talk to himself, NOT QUIETLY.

4:49am Vivian wakes up screaming. ARGH. Go in, roll her over, stick the pacifier in her mouth. This does not calm her down. Pat her back for a few minutes and sneak out. As soon as I open the door, more screaming. Return to my bed anyway.

4:56am -5: 31am Listen to Vivian screaming bloody murder. By some miracle she has not woken Isaac up. Finally go back in, roll her over, stick the pacifier in, pat her back. No dice. This only makes her scream louder. Give up and return to bed.

5:31-6:42 am See above.

6:48 am Vivian finally sleeps.

6:49am Cat begins sickly meow again. Get up and throw her outside.

8:05 am Cat's meows are so loud they have woken the entire neighborhood. Get up to let her in, and feed her.

8:10am Isaac wakes up.

8:40am Vivian wakes up.


At least they let us sleep from 7 to 8.

Vivian 8 months

8 months

8 months old

Dear Vivian--

This has been a jam-packed month for you. Not only have you mastered the art of sitting up, you are also trying to crawl. Stop that, would you! Mommy can't run after you AND your brother! Fortunately for me, you are having difficulty with this skill, and usually wind up face planting several times for every inch of forward motion you achieve. Sometimes this pisses you off, but more often you just grunt and try again. You look like an inch worm, and you can move about 1 foot every hour. You do better turning in circles. We all love watching you crawl--even your brother giggles at all your machinations--but, seriously, love-bug, don't get too proficient. We love you just as well when you are sitting still. Remember how much fun it is to just sit up so strong and watch the world go by? Only a month ago, sitting was s0 difficult for you, you were always toppling over and bonking your head. Try and relish this new skill before moving on to the next, k?

Also, this month you learned consonants. You can babble with the best of them now, and babble you do. Lots of DA DA DA BWAH BWAH BLAH and, just yesterday, perhaps in honor of upcoming Valentine's Day, MAMA. I about died. The only thing is, darling girl: perhaps 6:15 am is not the best time to excercise these new-found face muscles.

You are becoming much more definite about the way things work. For example, when your brother snatches aLeggo out of your hand, you no longer simply look around mellowly for something else to chew on--you immediately start crying, a sound that stops even Isaac in his tracks. Pretty soon there are going to be some knock down drag out fights between the two of you, this I know. And you don't like being put down by yourself anymore. That exersaucer that used to keep you entertained while I administered to your brother? You won't be left there anymore. You stick your legs straight out and refuse to put them through the leg holes. Oh--and you hate green beans. You absolutely REFUSE to open your mouth for green beans. I keep telling you, "hey, these are NOT peas", but this doesn't seem to affect your decision.

The other thing you hate, and this one I don't understand, is medicine. Now, Vivi, let me remind you: baby medicine tastes good. The people who make baby medicine fill it full of suger and tons of artificial flavors so it tastes like candy. There is NO REASON to spit it out. Your brother, for example, loves his medicine. He would drink it all day long if he could. (And no, that is not the last time I will compare you to your brother. If you work harder, perhaps next time the comparison will go in your favor.) You have had a terrible cold and cough with accompanying ear infection for a week now and getting tylenol, Triaminic or your antibiotic into you has been quite challenging. So instead of feeling better -- because that is what medicine is for! -- you continue to feel miserable. And you are doing a very good job of making all of us feel your pain.

This weekend we went to Carmel to visit some friends, and despite your illness, you behaved very well in the car. (The same cannot be said for your brother. There, see? In this comparison, you come out the winner!) On the way home, we stopped at the cemetary in Santa Barbara where Tim is buried, so you could meet the man for whom you are named. You would have really liked Tim, and he you. We left him a "rude boy" (some fraternity term for Heinekin), told him we missed him, and went on our way. The world is a much quieter, paler place without him. But I do think you will make up for his loss, in your own way, whatever that is. (No pressure, though!)

Next weekend we are going to Chapel Hill to see your Uncle Chip. He turned 30 on Sunday, so we are all going to surprise him. Your brother is not coming with us, so already you have something you can lord over him for the rest of time. See how good we are to you? The truth is, I can't leave the both of you with your grandparents for 5 days, and you are much easier to handle than your brother. Plus we don't have to buy you a seat. So you win, and get to travel across the country for the 3rd time in your short life. I trust you will bring out your angel behavior and parade it around all weekend. While we are there, we will be meeting baby Kayleigh, who is not even 4 months old. And guess what she can do? SLEEP THRU THE NIGHT. Yes, Vivian, a baby who is not even half your age can sleep thru the night. This leads me to believe that your nightly 4:30 am wake up is not so much a necessity as a habit. So we may have to do some serious breaking of the habit when we get back. Consider yourself warned.

One last thing: you still love your feet. In fact, on our way back from Carmel you were sucking on your feet so much that when I took off your socks, they actually dripped. I am not making that up. You like to sit in your seat with your left leg pointing up at a 90 degree angle. Perhaps you will be a yogi one day. This is also another reason to stop with the crawling. Right now, your feet are pretty clean. But once you start moving around the floor, forget about it. Mama has enough to do without cleaning the damn floors! But you know what? Its actually pretty cute, the feet sucking, as is every! other! little! thing! about you.

You are my little love bucket, my muffin, my Miss Viv, and I love you with every ounce of my soul.

brand new bathroom

New bathroom

Old bathroom

New bathroom

I live in Los Angeles, near the beach. This means that the house I own would sell for a ridiculous amount of money. This does NOT mean it is worth a large amount of money. In fact, the house was built in 1953 and is a complete piece of crap. The four of us live here, in 1400 sq. feet, with 1.5 baths, and pay almost $2000 a month to the bank.

But wait--we're the lucky ones! We bought 3.5 years ago!! If we bought this same house today--we'd have to pay almost double. Oh, and did I mention: no central heat or air, no insulation, tiling in bathrooms and kitchens from 1953. We replaced the roof and plumbing when we moved in. Every time it rains we have a lake both in front of the house, on the side, and in the rear. We have no gutters. We have relandscaped the entire house, front and back. (I say we, but truly, my husband does all that. I'm not good with plants. . .but that's another blog) . And the kicker? Oh yes, we live right next to a municipal airport! Hooray! Airplanes taking off and landing all day long a few hundred yards away. Pure Eden.

So. We have decided to redo our bathroom. That is, the one full bathroom, which the four of us currently share. (This actually not being that big of a deal, since both children are under 2 and not potty trained. They don't use anything but the tub). Our bathroom is small, and unfortunately there is no way to make it bigger unless we completely remodel the house. So we are re-doing it, but all that really means is getting rid of the 1953 appliances and tile and replacing with new.

But since we only have 1 full bathroom, for the week or so they are working on it, we have nowhere to shower. Not exactly convenient. I mean, yes, it's true I don't always get a shower every day--but come on, even I draw the line after 2 days. While the bathroom is being re-done, we are packing up our things and driving down to the beachclub to bathe, about 2 miles away.

Things I overheard the contracter say:

"Son of a bitch!"

"No, that one doesn't fit. Where's the one that fits?"

"I don't know how to do it. I thought you knew how to do it."

"Well, that's gonna cost you an extra day's work, but yeah, we can do it."

But despite all this--the bathroom is done, we only went over budget by $300 and the contracter actually did a pretty decent job. So I don't have anything else to bitch about, no matter how good blog-reading it would make.

I'll send some before and after photos if I can figure it out.*


*You may have noticed the non-functioning link to dooce at the top of the page. This was to be my blogroll, but obviously I can't figure it out. That is NOT where I wanted it to go, and of course I wanted the link to work. Bear with me, at some point I may fix it. (However, since I have no readers the only person that would use the links is me, and for now I just go to SBFH. So there's no hurry.)

He was trying to be helpful!

This morning around 6 I stumbled back into bed with Vivian, having spent most of the night and the entire last hour trying to get her to sleep. She has a terrible cold and cough and it's really pissing her off that she can't breathe. She can't nurse very well, either, which contributes to her generally pissy mood and inability to sleep. And I don't blame her--hey, it sucks to be sick!-- but at 4 in the morning empathy is hard to come by.

So last night was a tough one, involving trips to the bathroom with the hot shower running, numerous doses of cold medicine, tylenol and anything else the medicine cabinet offered up, and lots of patting of the back, rocking and shushing. Finally around 6 I figured I had to get some sleep somehow so I dragged her into bed.

At which point my husband said, "Babe, you really need to take her to the doctor."

Ya think??


UPDATE: Perhaps fearing his upcoming death, my husband did make up for his nighttime transgression by taking child #1--wide awake loudly at 6:30--out to get coffee and newspaper while Vivian and I finally slept this morning.

Now, that's helpful.

And yes, we have a doctor's appt today at 1:40.

FYI

My game is tipping off in a few minutes, and I am already drunk. Off one Amstel Light, one glass of 5 day old chardonnay, nerves, and the fact that Vivian screamed for 3 hours (no joke) before her nap today.

(Go heels.)

UPDATE: at halftime we don't even have 30 points. What is wrong with Raymond and why can't we shoot a free throw???

UPDATE: So Raymond finally showed up, but we still couldn't hit a free throw and tell me--how did we not get a shot off in the final 15 seconds, down by 1??

Why, why why why why?

(Okay, look, I know. This is sports, this is entertainment. This is not life or death. And I realize that it is pure narcissism to assume I have anything to do with whether they win or lose. But permit me this indulgence, okay? I am drunk, remember????)

First the Eagles, now the Heels. Have I angered the gods in some way? Is it because I harbor so much hate for the dookies in my soul? Because I honestly believe JJ Redick is actually Satan, in a homosexual form? Is it because I was not a good mom today in so many ways, including forcing my children to wear Carolina gear all day long? Or perhaps because I wore the same Carolina shirt I wore last year to the Dook games (both losses)? Please, tell me, so I can correct the error of my ways.

The day will come when the Dookies will pay. This I promise you.

Until then, we will not speak of this again.

Why it's worth it

Today

We were playing with Vivi's Peek-a-block set (thanks, Grandy!). To be more precise, Isaac was playing with it--dumping the blocks in the tower, hearing the song, letting the blocks fall out of the tower--I was watching him and offering encouragement (what a good mom!), and Vivian was trying to reach any block Isaac put down for a minute (though not having much luck, as forward motion is still a new concept to her).

At one point, she turned too far and fell over backwards. Not too hard, so I just said, "Uh oh! Vivi fall down and go boom!"and picked her up. Which, for some reason, completely tickled Isaac. He laughed hysterically and proceeded to repeat the phrase for the next 5 minutes, despite the fact that Vivian did not fall down again.

A little while later, I was changing his diaper and out of the blue he said, "Giving Vivi hug?"It took me a minute to understand what he was saying but I finally got it. And although I didn't know what prompted it, I thought, "Aw. What a sweetie!"

And then he said:

"Vivi fall down and go boom? Giving Vivi hug? Make it all better?"

Tell me that doesn't warm your heart!



Yesterday

I lay on my back on the sofa with Vivian sitting up in my lap. Isaac was happily wreaking havoc with his toys in the same room. Suddenly he looked up and noticed where his sister was.
"Up! Up! Up!" Trying to climb on top of me and Vivian.

"Hold on, buddy. Vivian's in my lap right now. Why don't you keep playing with those Leggos?"

"Up! Git in mommie's yap! Up!"

"Okay, okay. Here let me help you."

"Aga carry Vivi! Aga carry Vivi!'

And so I helped him up, seating him on my lap behind Miss Viv so he could "carry" her. There they were, my two precious angels, Isaac with his arms tight around Vivian, Vivian turning her head to grin at her big brother, and for a minute we were the happiest family on the block.

Tip

If you have packed up the kids and driven to the park only to discover you left the double stroller at home, turn around and go get it.

Do not, I repeat, do not attempt to carry 8 month old and diaper bag in one arm while holding the hand of 23 month old the 100 yards or so from parking lot to playground.

Also: do not request help from random 8 year old when trying to get tantrumming 23 month old and crying 8 month old back to the car because 1. random 8 year old's mother will think you are a kidnapper, and 2. random 8 year olds are not the most reliable help.

What you don't want to see

. . when you enter your son's room after a nap and immediately smell that there has been poop:

Said son standing in his crib, completely naked, having completely disrobed and wrestled off his diaper.

Entertaining Isaac

8:30 am
Isaac: "Go Car? Go Car? Go Car?"
Me: "No, sweetie, we can't go in the car yet, Vivi's sleeping."
"Go Car? Go Car? Go Car?"
"How about coloring? Do you want to color?Mommy will get the markers."
"Go Car? Go Car? Go Car?"
"Let's color! Which one do you want? Red? Do you want the red one? Look, what should we draw today?"
"Geen one!'
"You want the green one? Okay! Let's get the paper. Sit down at your table."
"Geen one! Geen! Lello! Bown. Bown. Bown one!"
"Okay, brown one then. Here you go. Remember, we only draw on the paper, nothing else, okay?"
"Dump it out? Dump it out?"
"No, sweetie, we're not dumping out the markers. Only one at a time. You tell me when you're done with the brown and I'll get you a new color."
"Lello! Lello!"
"Okay, here you go. I'll take the brown back." --"Hey! Isaac, what are you doing? We only color on the paper! Okay, no more coloring. Come on, give Mommy the markers."
"Go Car? Go Car? Go Car?"
"Let's build a castle!"
"Build castle?"
"Yeah! Let's build a castle! Here we go! Where does this one go?"
"Wowsa Dowsa look at that big castle!"
"Wow, you're right! Look at the big castle! Here's another one, where does it go?"
"Here? Here? Here?"
"Okay, great! Good building!" "Oh, no! There goes the castle! You knocked it over!"
"Build castle again?"
"Okay!"
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
"Hey, I know. Let's read a story. Can you pick out a story?"
"Okay! Story!"
"Go ahead a pick one. Okay--oh, that one. Hmm, Mommy doesn't like that one. Pick another, okay?"
"Barney! Barney!"
"Really? Don't you want another one? How about The Napping House?"
Barney! Barney!"
"Okay, Barney it is. 'Hugs are special, hugs are nice . . . '"
"Read again?"
"Okay, let's read it again."
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
"What about The Napping House now?"
"No Napping House!"
"Alright. Hey--I see a mess over there. Should we sweep it up?"
"Seep! Seep! Ceen up the mess!"
"Let's get the broom. Here you go."
"Seep! Aga's ceen up the mess!"
"Thank you, Isaac. What a big help you are. Thanks for cleaning up the mess.--Okay, broom stays on the floor, though. Broom on the floor! Thank you."
"Boom on foor. Boom on foor. Messy, messy."
"Hold on, hold on, let's not go back there. The mess it out here, sweetie. Isaac, NO. Vivi is sleeping."
"Check on Vivi? Hear her? Hear her?"
"No, Vivi is still sleeping. I don't hear her. But there's a mess over here. Dont you want to sweep it up?"
"Check on Vivi? Go car? Go car? Go car?"
"Hey--what's Elmo doing? Look who I found? Here's Elmo!"
"Elmo sad! What appened to Elmo?"
"What happened? Did Elmo fall down? Better give Elmo a hug. Good boy! Oh, and a kiss, too. I bet Elmo feels better now."
(Elmo is thrown to the floor.) "Elmo sad! What appened to Elmo?"
"Did Elmo fall down?"
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

8:45 am.
Me: "Do you want to watch Sesame Street?"

Go Carolina

For the latest in sports blogs: check this out.

And another link, brought to you by my brother, Chip, who has no idea that his whole family is converging on Chapel Hill to wish him a happy 30th birthday next week (watch for it in coming blogs!) Note this is a link to the actual Duke Student newspaper, not a spoof.

Guess what game is coming up? Yeah, that's right-- Carolina vs. Dook. There's a wee bit of a rivalry there, so forgive me my obseesion for a moment.

The real link I wanted to send you was a picture of Coach K on the floor after he fainted this weekend, but since the powers that be at Duke have made sure all such photos are banned, I am out of luck.

I did find this one instead. (Yes, of course its doctored, so not quite as funny--but it will do.)

Anyway, apologies to all my non-existent readers for this crazy post. I admit to being nervous already, and the game is not until tomorrow night.

I. can't. help. myself!

Why I love my coffee guy

When my daughter was first born, and I was in the black hole known as "new motherhood", one of my only pleasures in the otherwise hellacious days was strapping both kids into their carseats and heading to the Starbucks drive-thru. Those days, I was recovering from my c-section (which was MUCH more difficult than expected, but that's another blog), trying to keep up with my 16 month old son, who was acting out constantly (jealousy, I'm sure, but knowing why doesn't make the dealing with it any easier), adjusting to being mother to two instead of one, and tending to a crabby newborn--all on little or no sleep. It was not a happy time, and my daily jaunts to Starbucks may have saved my sanity.

However, Vivian did NOT enjoy the daily run to Starbucks. She despised being in her carseat, so that driving anywhere with her was an exercise in torture. She screamed BLOODY MURDER from the time you strapped her in until you got home, unless she by some miracle fell asleep. Once she was asleep, all was fine, until you had to slow down. God forbid you stop altogether at, say, a red light. Then the crying, the wailing, the blood curdling screams would begin again in earnest. I spent a lot of time turning right on red in those days, whether or not I actually needed to go right.

As you might imagine, a Starbucks drive thru often has a line. Let's be honest here, folks: there is ALWAYS a line. Which means you must slow your vehicle to a stop and wait, anywhere from 2 to 20 minutes, before getting your life-giving serum.

So, my daily fix entailed spending a known period of time in a closed space with a screaming infant.

Still, it was worth it to me, just to get out of the house. Every day I'd pack the kids up, strap them in the carseats, drive to Starbucks, then wait in line. Some days I could get there before the screaming started, sometimes the screaming started the second we got in the car. Either way, as soon as we got in line to wait, the screaming would commence again. I always had to shout over her wails into the drive thru box. After a few weeks of this, the conversation went like so:

In the background: hysterical sobbing, sniffling and screaming.
Me, yelling: "TALL DECAF LATTE PLEASE!"
Coffee guy: "$2.70 at the window."

Driving to the window, several minutes later, infant still screaming:

Me, grabbing coffee, handing over 3 bucks: "Thank you."
Coffee guy: "Yeah." Pause. "You know, every morning you order a decaf, and I just keep thinking, maybe you should order the regular strength."
Me, looking up, startled. "What-oh, HA HA HA HA" Commence, hysterical slap-happy giggling and continue cackling as I drive away.


Maybe 3 weeks later, we had leased a new car. This time when I got to the window in my new car, with Vivian screeching in the back, he said:

"Wow, new car. Same baby, though, huh?"

He's not there anymore (I think maybe it was his summer job) and I don't need to go every day anymore. But every time I do, I think of him, if only to be able to point to the back at my charming 8 month old, who NO LONGER SCREAMS IN THE CAR!! Hooray!

A blog about sports?

I know this is probably against all the blogging rules, but I just can't help myself.

InsideCarolina.com: Heels Stuff State: "CHAPEL HILL, N.C. � Second-ranked and Atlantic Coast Conference leader North Carolina had little problem dismissing rival N.C. State, as the Tar Heels rolled to their 18th win in 19 games with a dunk-filled 95-71 win Thursday night at the Smith Center."

I realize that what I am writing is probably classified as a "mommy blog"-- which dictates appropriate blog text as my failures as a parent, mixed with commentary about how adorable my children are, and perhaps the appropriate liberal political witticism. Don't get me wrong, I will do plenty of that, but I want to admit this up front: I like sports.

In particular, I like college basketball. This should come as no surprise to anyone who knows I attended the university of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. After all, if that's not a college hoops town, then what is? So I will probably be blogging about sports every now and then, especially Carolina hoops, and especially this time of year. And especially since, oh, we kick ass. Did you know that? I don't care who Dee Brown is, Carolina over Illinois any day, any way.

But that's not all-- I also enjoy football to some degree, and have been known to attend an NBA game or two. The Super Bowl is this weekend, and guess where I grew up? Right outside Philly. So get ready for some sports talk. In fact, since we are talking about the Super Bowl, here's an article * that my brother sent to me this morning. It's pretty funny, especially to an Iggles fan.


*I did it! I posted a link! And I think it worked! Watch this: I don't care who Dee Brown is, Carolina over Illinois any day, any way. Ah, the joy in learning a new trick.

Did I mention that Carolina kicks ass?

How to win an argument

The other day, I was feeling (and perhaps acting) a little bitchy. I can't remember why, probably I got no sleep because the children are insane and maybe my husband wasn't helping me enough. That's usually it. Although, to be fair, he actually does help quite a bit. And I do appreciate that, sometimes.

Anyway, we got into an argument because he didn't want me to run back into the house to get Isaac's jacket. He insisted it was warm enough and I was being ridiculous. I realize that I live in Southern California, and yes, it was a warm sunny day. But it wasn't that warm! It was 69 degrees, according to the car. In the sun, it felt warmer, but who's to say we would always be in the sun? In the shade, it feels colder! And colder than 69 degrees warrants a coat, in my book. Not too mention the boy was wearing shorts and a short sleeved shirt! All I wanted was to run in the house and get a jacket just in case he got cold. But noooo, that is an absurd and outlandish idea! How could one even suggest such a ridiculous thing!!

So we didn't get the freaking jacket, and we were driving along and I was giving the cold shoulder and then being snide when forced to speak (can you tell I'm 35? What, you thought maybe a teenage mother?). We stopped at the local store and Lance ran in to pick up some snacks.

(I will add a sidebar here: while Lance was in the store, I had the following conversation:
"Mommy stoopid."
"What?"
"Daddy stoopid."
"Hmm. Well, uh, lets not say that, okay?"
"Mommy stoopid!"
"Wait, what are you saying, sweetie? I don't think I'm understanding you."
"Fuck! Fuck!"
Cough. Clear throat. Look outside car to be sure no one has heard.
"Wow, look at that doggie out there! See the doggie? What do doggies say?"
"Doggie! Doggie say bow wow wow. Doggie driving!"
Ahem. Crises averted, I suppose. And no, we were not swearing during the argument, although I suppose it is possible that "stupid" was tossed about.)

To continue: When Lance returned from the car I was still giving the cold shoulder, and so couldn't even relay above conversation. Considered repeating conversation and blaming spouse completely for it. But then . . .

Lance hands me the bag of groceries and a 5 dollar bill.

"Jeez, do you have to throw things at me? What is this?"

"I'm paying you to be nice to me."

"Oh." Long pause. "Okay." Smile.

Where is Mars and how do you get there from Venus?

Fact: when child #1 is yelling "git out! Git out! Fresh diper! Fresh diper" at the top of his lungs, and child #2 is bleating "da da da DA BLAH BLAH BLAH da da da" also at the top of her lungs; it is physically impossible for mother to ignore them and go back to sleep, even if it is only 6:03 in the morning.

Fact: if all above conditions are met, father has no problem snoring away peacefully, even if mother huffs and puffs and kicks covers off.


Good morning.

Vivian, oh Vivian

I was going to write this wonderful post to you--a monthly newsletter ala dooce*--but right now it is 1:43 pm, and that means you have been screaming in your crib for 43 minutes--wait, now it's 45. You are so pissed off at me, dear sweet wonderful child, and you are there in your crib, screaming as loud as you can so that the WHOLE WORLD can hear you and know--I am killing you. I am poking you with large, sharp objects and then pouring salt on your wounds. If only you could tell me that sleeping during the day in your world is akin to being forced to eat mounds of mushy peas in mine. But listen to me carefully, darling daughter: I will ALSO force you to eat mushy peas if you dont STOP SCREAMING. And I KNOW how much they suck.


*no, I obvioulsy haven't figured out linking yet. And anyway, who needs all these links? Are you that lazy, oh internet, that I have to provide one click links for you? You can't just google it yourself??

Where is my personal IT guy?

Ack. I wish I was more web-savvy. It just took me over an hour to post those two photos. And what I was trying to do, actually, was post them to my profile. But fuck it. I 'm not spending any more time on it.
I was also trying to add text to the same post that holds the photo, but . .

Anyway, next on my agenda is to figure out how to link to other blogs and websites. Be back in a few hours. Probably feeling really cranky.

Just for fun . . .

Isaac and I

Daddy and Mini- me