Holding your baby at bedtime is special. It isn't like holding him on the living room floor, or at the doctor's office or in line at the grocery store. No. Holding your baby at bedtime when he is peaceful, warm, secure, still, and contentedly sucking on his pacifier is so gratifying.
I was just down stairs putting Theo to bed for the evening. Or the next 3 hours. As I sat on the bed and gently rocked him, the same boy who five minutes prior was a wiggly screaming little thing, I looked into his eyes which were looking somewhere past me. Everything about his posture said, "I feel safe. There is no place I would rather be." I leaned over and breathed deep, hoping to breath in long enough and hard enough to forever remember that sweet baby smell. As my cheek touched his and I gave him little kisses on his cheek his eyes closed. He was the very image of all things peaceful.
No amount of money could convince Theo to leave my arms. No special toys or treats. He is in a special, unspoiled phase where he doesn't know the excitement of new toys, the sweetness of candy, the false promise money holds to happiness.
As I was holding him I was trying to think of all of the things I would jump out of bed for - and to me sleep leads to peace. Lovely, lovely peace.
Stacey London and Clinton Kelly from TLC's "What Not To Wear" offering me $5,000 in exchange for my current wardrobe.
Done.
Peter Walsh, organizing guru, offering to straighten out my house and help me (and Ryan) purge.
Done.
A meal cooked by Tom Douglas - complete with dessert, of course.
Done.
Oh, wait. I suppose we could just go to the Dahlia Lounge and pay for it.
Done.
Maybe Ryan and I should consider the Dahlia Lounge for our anniversary dinner date. We are not high brow diners - we save our one big spendy meal for our anniversary.
I'm hungry.
A massage by... just about anyone. Well, professional, that is. Creeps need not apply.
Does all of this say I don't value sleep and peace or that I'm hungry and in need of a new wardrobe?
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Dirty Looks
After Jessica left today I thought it would be a good idea if we went outside for a bit. I had a duvet cover to return to Bed, Bath & Beyond and Gavin likes to ride the train so I loaded my cute crew into the Bob and we took the train downtown.
It was pretty smooth sailing getting there. Today was the first time I didn't walk up Pine (or Pike.. I think it's Pine) and go to the 5th Ave and circle the block and find a city ambassador in a yellow jacket to point me in the direction of BB&B. I took a right out of the elevator and went straight to 3rd Avenue. It's the small things that make me happy. Like going the right direction to a store I've been to a million times.
As I was pulling the bag with the duvet cover out from under the stroller I remembered I forgot something: the receipt. Fortunately, I made the purchase with a debit card so the clerk was able to find the transaction and give me a refund; in cash because I bought it two days ago. Unfortunately he only had $5 bills. Even with the 20% off coupon I used and it already being on sale it was a lot of $5 bills that he gave me.
On our way back toward the transit tunnel we stopped to listen to the Out to Lunch band perform. It was a fun rock/ska band. I don't remember their name. People were generally enjoying the music. Swaying a bit, bopping their heads... and then there was this dude who brought new meaning to the afternoon music lunch series namesake:
Did he hear the band, go home and get his colorful scarves and come back to dance? Or did he already have them and had the good fortune of being at the right place at the right time?
Gavin did not like the band. He did not enjoy it when I took him out to "dance". (Yes, the quotation marks are necessary any time I reference myself and dancing). Since the G was not enjoying the impromptu concert and dancing session my mommy radar went off: a meltdown will ensue if food is not proffered soon.
Some Starbucks carry a kid friendly snack box. It has cheese, crackers, raisins, and some sort of teddy graham cracker. Both Starbucks I stopped at did not so at the second place I found some mostly nutritious food items and we sat outside on 5th Ave to enjoy the "air" (in city, on street - the air can only be so fresh). When I offered him milk he screamed.
Oh boy. If that's how things were going to start...
After he had a few crackers the milk was suddenly welcome. Sandwich, yogurt, crackers, milk. Good stuff. Theo had some milk. We had lots of people staring and saying, "how cute."
I thought, "Uh huh. Just you wait."
It started on the way back to the train. Gavin was walking. He let go of my hand. Not cool. Crowded city sidewalks are not the place to test boundaries with this mama. I told him if he let go one more time he was going back in the stroller.
He decided to let go as we were crossing 4th Avenue. It was a very sad choice on his part. I took his hand and made our way to the sidewalk so I could safely wrangle him into the stroller. Of course he went limp so I was pushing the stroller out of the street and trying to not completely drag Gavin. It's not like I had a lot of choice. The middle of the street is probably the worst possible place to throw a tantrum.
Safely on the sidewalk I locked the brakes and began the wrestling match. *ding* *ding*
In this corner we have Cranky Pants Gavin! and in this corner we have Fed Up Mama! *ding* *ding*
As I was trying to put Gavin in his seat and he was arching his back and screaming I realized it must look like I'm the worst mom in the world. A man smiled as he must have heard me say, "Yes, this is sad. You chose to let go of Mama's hand in the middle of the street so now you have to ride in the stroller."
The crying on the train was my fault. As I was maneuvering the stroller to be as least obtrusive as possible I squished Gavin's arm against a bar. Oops. I apologized and kissed it but he was tired so mommy kisses are no where near as effective. A not so helpful stranger piped up about how Gavin must be tired. I know he was trying to be nice but I'm the one who gave him a boo boo so I didn't like anyone putting the blame on Gavin. I said, "Yes, he's tired, but I did hurt his arm when parking the stroller."
He kept talking to us. Almost until we got home. He wasn't that bad; I just was feeling awful because I was the source of my son's pain. And I got to do it in front of a bunch of people.
Round two of the meltdown started brewing when Gavin wanted to get out of his stroller. In hopes of staving off a battle in the train I started in with the bribes.
"Stay in your seat and you can push the button on the elevator when we get off the train," I said.
He stayed. I don't think it was so much that he could push the button but that he couldn't get out of the straps.
Once we were off the train and we were near the elevators I let Gavin out and told him he could go push a button. But there was a problem with that.
Some jerk already pushed the button. I mean, really! How dare a complete stranger think he had any right to push the elevator button when unbeknownst to him a grumpy toddler was making his way to push the beloved elevator button. The nerve!
When we arrived the doors were opening. I tried to tell Gavin to stay back and we would get the next one but he couldn't hear me above his indignant screaming. So we boarded the elevator.
"Go push the button, honey. The one with the start next to the 'P'", I said somewhat hopefully. He made his way to the front of the massive elevator and in front of a passenger and his bike to push the already lit up button. He pushed it a fraction of a second before we started to ascend.
"Just in time," said the bike owner (aka the jerk, Mr. Happy Button Pusher himself). He must have known that if Gavin thought he was not the one to command the elevator to go up it would have led to another meltdown.
I smiled at Mr. Jerk and nodded, "Whew." It really was a close call.
But never fear the next meltdown was not far away.
Once at the top Gavin sensed our fun trip was over. The only thing left to do was to go home, get a clean diaper and take a nap. Even though I didn't say, "nap" or "diaper" he is a smart cookie. He knew.
In an effort to stave off the inevitable and to give him a bit more fun before we went home to the house of horror where little boys must take naps and are forced to wear clean diapers I handed him my Orca card to let him tap it to complete our fare transaction.
"Go tap it," I said, pointing to the Orca card tapping station thingy.
He swiped the card from my hand and tapped it. Correctly. The first time. I was very impressed.
The machine made it's boop sound which confirmed all went well. As I congratulated Gavin on doing a good job he must have heard something differently with the boop.
To him "boop" meant: "It's over, kid. Time to have your mom take you out of your own filth and put a clean diaper on you. Then you will have to lay down and close your eyes! Bwahahaha ! BWAHAHAHA!"
Oh, I failed to mention exiting the elevator. We had another scene similar to that on 4th Ave when he let go of my hand. This time he let go of my hand as we were exiting the elevator. Not wanting the stroller with the diaper bag - which had house keys, car keys and wallet to go careening into the busy street - or even just stay up there without me - while we went back to the train level - so I grabbed Gavin's hand and exited the elevator. As we were leaving (me holding on to a screaming toddler by the hand as he went limp) a childless duo entered. They looked at Gavin with big sympathetic eyes. They looked at me with much less sympathy in their eyes. One might even say they looked at me with a big dose of criticism.
Fortunately for everyone I was too engaged trying to drag my son to a safe place to give them the stink eye in return. Besides, giving them the stink eye would have only served to reinforce their erroneous belief that I was being a monstrosity.
It was time to once again stuff my beloved first born into the stroller since he didn't want to walk home. He just stood there when I offered him his two choices, "You can hold my hand and walk or you can ride in the stroller. Which would you like to do?"
In the Love and Logic series that preaches the virtues of offering choices they make it sound like your kid will choose one of the options. Ha! Gavin likes to refuse both options or to give us a third option, which, we of course, rarely find to be an acceptable alternative to what we are offering.
The screaming continued as we strolled home. This time the pace was not so leisurely as I wanted the screaming to be over.
I took a short, very short, video of the tail end of his meltdown. It in no way represents the fullness of what he can do. I'm always posting the cute happy photos - which I love to do - but for your viewing pleasure I'm showing you the 5 second clip I took when we got home.
He and his brother are now resting peacefully in their respective cribs. I had two coffees today so I don't need a nap. The silence in the house is heavenly.
It was pretty smooth sailing getting there. Today was the first time I didn't walk up Pine (or Pike.. I think it's Pine) and go to the 5th Ave and circle the block and find a city ambassador in a yellow jacket to point me in the direction of BB&B. I took a right out of the elevator and went straight to 3rd Avenue. It's the small things that make me happy. Like going the right direction to a store I've been to a million times.
As I was pulling the bag with the duvet cover out from under the stroller I remembered I forgot something: the receipt. Fortunately, I made the purchase with a debit card so the clerk was able to find the transaction and give me a refund; in cash because I bought it two days ago. Unfortunately he only had $5 bills. Even with the 20% off coupon I used and it already being on sale it was a lot of $5 bills that he gave me.
On our way back toward the transit tunnel we stopped to listen to the Out to Lunch band perform. It was a fun rock/ska band. I don't remember their name. People were generally enjoying the music. Swaying a bit, bopping their heads... and then there was this dude who brought new meaning to the afternoon music lunch series namesake:
Did he hear the band, go home and get his colorful scarves and come back to dance? Or did he already have them and had the good fortune of being at the right place at the right time?
Gavin did not like the band. He did not enjoy it when I took him out to "dance". (Yes, the quotation marks are necessary any time I reference myself and dancing). Since the G was not enjoying the impromptu concert and dancing session my mommy radar went off: a meltdown will ensue if food is not proffered soon.
Some Starbucks carry a kid friendly snack box. It has cheese, crackers, raisins, and some sort of teddy graham cracker. Both Starbucks I stopped at did not so at the second place I found some mostly nutritious food items and we sat outside on 5th Ave to enjoy the "air" (in city, on street - the air can only be so fresh). When I offered him milk he screamed.
Oh boy. If that's how things were going to start...
After he had a few crackers the milk was suddenly welcome. Sandwich, yogurt, crackers, milk. Good stuff. Theo had some milk. We had lots of people staring and saying, "how cute."
I thought, "Uh huh. Just you wait."
It started on the way back to the train. Gavin was walking. He let go of my hand. Not cool. Crowded city sidewalks are not the place to test boundaries with this mama. I told him if he let go one more time he was going back in the stroller.
He decided to let go as we were crossing 4th Avenue. It was a very sad choice on his part. I took his hand and made our way to the sidewalk so I could safely wrangle him into the stroller. Of course he went limp so I was pushing the stroller out of the street and trying to not completely drag Gavin. It's not like I had a lot of choice. The middle of the street is probably the worst possible place to throw a tantrum.
Safely on the sidewalk I locked the brakes and began the wrestling match. *ding* *ding*
In this corner we have Cranky Pants Gavin! and in this corner we have Fed Up Mama! *ding* *ding*
As I was trying to put Gavin in his seat and he was arching his back and screaming I realized it must look like I'm the worst mom in the world. A man smiled as he must have heard me say, "Yes, this is sad. You chose to let go of Mama's hand in the middle of the street so now you have to ride in the stroller."
The crying on the train was my fault. As I was maneuvering the stroller to be as least obtrusive as possible I squished Gavin's arm against a bar. Oops. I apologized and kissed it but he was tired so mommy kisses are no where near as effective. A not so helpful stranger piped up about how Gavin must be tired. I know he was trying to be nice but I'm the one who gave him a boo boo so I didn't like anyone putting the blame on Gavin. I said, "Yes, he's tired, but I did hurt his arm when parking the stroller."
He kept talking to us. Almost until we got home. He wasn't that bad; I just was feeling awful because I was the source of my son's pain. And I got to do it in front of a bunch of people.
Round two of the meltdown started brewing when Gavin wanted to get out of his stroller. In hopes of staving off a battle in the train I started in with the bribes.
"Stay in your seat and you can push the button on the elevator when we get off the train," I said.
He stayed. I don't think it was so much that he could push the button but that he couldn't get out of the straps.
Once we were off the train and we were near the elevators I let Gavin out and told him he could go push a button. But there was a problem with that.
Some jerk already pushed the button. I mean, really! How dare a complete stranger think he had any right to push the elevator button when unbeknownst to him a grumpy toddler was making his way to push the beloved elevator button. The nerve!
When we arrived the doors were opening. I tried to tell Gavin to stay back and we would get the next one but he couldn't hear me above his indignant screaming. So we boarded the elevator.
"Go push the button, honey. The one with the start next to the 'P'", I said somewhat hopefully. He made his way to the front of the massive elevator and in front of a passenger and his bike to push the already lit up button. He pushed it a fraction of a second before we started to ascend.
"Just in time," said the bike owner (aka the jerk, Mr. Happy Button Pusher himself). He must have known that if Gavin thought he was not the one to command the elevator to go up it would have led to another meltdown.
I smiled at Mr. Jerk and nodded, "Whew." It really was a close call.
But never fear the next meltdown was not far away.
Once at the top Gavin sensed our fun trip was over. The only thing left to do was to go home, get a clean diaper and take a nap. Even though I didn't say, "nap" or "diaper" he is a smart cookie. He knew.
In an effort to stave off the inevitable and to give him a bit more fun before we went home to the house of horror where little boys must take naps and are forced to wear clean diapers I handed him my Orca card to let him tap it to complete our fare transaction.
"Go tap it," I said, pointing to the Orca card tapping station thingy.
He swiped the card from my hand and tapped it. Correctly. The first time. I was very impressed.
The machine made it's boop sound which confirmed all went well. As I congratulated Gavin on doing a good job he must have heard something differently with the boop.
To him "boop" meant: "It's over, kid. Time to have your mom take you out of your own filth and put a clean diaper on you. Then you will have to lay down and close your eyes! Bwahahaha ! BWAHAHAHA!"
Oh, I failed to mention exiting the elevator. We had another scene similar to that on 4th Ave when he let go of my hand. This time he let go of my hand as we were exiting the elevator. Not wanting the stroller with the diaper bag - which had house keys, car keys and wallet to go careening into the busy street - or even just stay up there without me - while we went back to the train level - so I grabbed Gavin's hand and exited the elevator. As we were leaving (me holding on to a screaming toddler by the hand as he went limp) a childless duo entered. They looked at Gavin with big sympathetic eyes. They looked at me with much less sympathy in their eyes. One might even say they looked at me with a big dose of criticism.
Fortunately for everyone I was too engaged trying to drag my son to a safe place to give them the stink eye in return. Besides, giving them the stink eye would have only served to reinforce their erroneous belief that I was being a monstrosity.
It was time to once again stuff my beloved first born into the stroller since he didn't want to walk home. He just stood there when I offered him his two choices, "You can hold my hand and walk or you can ride in the stroller. Which would you like to do?"
In the Love and Logic series that preaches the virtues of offering choices they make it sound like your kid will choose one of the options. Ha! Gavin likes to refuse both options or to give us a third option, which, we of course, rarely find to be an acceptable alternative to what we are offering.
The screaming continued as we strolled home. This time the pace was not so leisurely as I wanted the screaming to be over.
I took a short, very short, video of the tail end of his meltdown. It in no way represents the fullness of what he can do. I'm always posting the cute happy photos - which I love to do - but for your viewing pleasure I'm showing you the 5 second clip I took when we got home.
He and his brother are now resting peacefully in their respective cribs. I had two coffees today so I don't need a nap. The silence in the house is heavenly.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Zoo
Here are some photos of our zoo outting yesterday morning. Pictures include a few animals, two really happy and really cute boys. Not pictured is the ugliness of leaving the zoo. Oy.
Gavin looking at the zebras in the distance.
Theo not sleeping. Sunglasses don't belong over eyes! They belong in the mouth. Duh.
He had so much fun in this little structure. He could have spent all day in there.
A goat in the petting zoo Gavin half heartedly pet.
Showing off his feathers to a pygmy goat.
Theo is sleeping.
Gavin looking at the zebras in the distance.
Theo not sleeping. Sunglasses don't belong over eyes! They belong in the mouth. Duh.
He had so much fun in this little structure. He could have spent all day in there.
A goat in the petting zoo Gavin half heartedly pet.
Showing off his feathers to a pygmy goat. Bird brain.
Hanging out with his mama while Gavin played on the giant worm.
Pony? Gavin didn't really care. Theo really liked the mule in the next stall over.
You could tell he really wanted to play inside but was a little intimidated.
That was as high as he went.
Enjoying the waterfall.
Enjoying life.
Crackers and strawberries. Life is good.
This picnic blanket is the BEST because it is HUGE! Zips up and stores nicely. (Bed, Bath & Beyond - $9.99 after $10 off coupon).
Hanging out with his mama while Gavin played on the giant worm.
Pony? Gavin didn't really care. Theo really liked the mule in the next stall over.
You could tell he really wanted to play inside but was a little intimidated.
That was as high as he went.
Enjoying the waterfall.
Enjoying life.
Crackers and strawberries. Life is good.
This picnic blanket is the BEST because it is HUGE! Zips up and stores nicely. (Bed, Bath & Beyond - $9.99 after $10 off coupon).
Short video of baby cuteness:
Monday, June 21, 2010
Epic Feat
Why does it seem that when you are in a hurry you can't find a parking space even remotely close to where you need to be?
Today I went to Bed, Bath and Beyond downtown. We drove because I didn't feel like hauling the loot home whilst pushing a stroller and navigating urine soaked elevators in the bus tunnel. Oh, I don't think I ever mention that little part when I talk about how much I love living in the city and taking the train places. Wow. The homeless use the elevators as a discreet place to relieve themselves. I can understand the desire to have some privacy but urine in an enclosed space... It doesn't matter how quickly someone comes and dumps a bucket of water on it. It's there to stay.
But writing about stinky elevators isn't why I'm writing. I'm writing because I did something amazing today. Truly amazing.
On our way to BB&B we passed the Dahlia Bakery (upon reading "Dahlia Bakery" the skies should have opened and a host of heavenly voices streamed down). As I looked at the store front sign I saw a huge parking spot right outside of the store. Then another parking spot. All of these parking spots were beckoning me to come hither.
I even looked in my rear view mirror and saw that I had plenty of time and room to do some maneuvering to get the giant minivan into one of the aforementioned spots that were so close to a little bit of Heaven on earth.
I thought of the fig bar I enjoyed there last fall with my friend Jenn (thanks and curses for showing me the Dahlia Bakery) and thought it would be nice to enjoy another fig bar right about now.
Then I thought of my butt. Well, I actually thought of my grandma arms and too far out to call it a post partum belly-belly.
With eyes focused straight ahead I kept driving.
And that was amazing. No forces beyond my control forced the van to the side of the road. No forces beyond my control made me unload the kids from the van.
So my arms and belly may not have shrunk any today they at least didn't grow any, either.
Today I went to Bed, Bath and Beyond downtown. We drove because I didn't feel like hauling the loot home whilst pushing a stroller and navigating urine soaked elevators in the bus tunnel. Oh, I don't think I ever mention that little part when I talk about how much I love living in the city and taking the train places. Wow. The homeless use the elevators as a discreet place to relieve themselves. I can understand the desire to have some privacy but urine in an enclosed space... It doesn't matter how quickly someone comes and dumps a bucket of water on it. It's there to stay.
But writing about stinky elevators isn't why I'm writing. I'm writing because I did something amazing today. Truly amazing.
On our way to BB&B we passed the Dahlia Bakery (upon reading "Dahlia Bakery" the skies should have opened and a host of heavenly voices streamed down). As I looked at the store front sign I saw a huge parking spot right outside of the store. Then another parking spot. All of these parking spots were beckoning me to come hither.
I even looked in my rear view mirror and saw that I had plenty of time and room to do some maneuvering to get the giant minivan into one of the aforementioned spots that were so close to a little bit of Heaven on earth.
I thought of the fig bar I enjoyed there last fall with my friend Jenn (thanks and curses for showing me the Dahlia Bakery) and thought it would be nice to enjoy another fig bar right about now.
Then I thought of my butt. Well, I actually thought of my grandma arms and too far out to call it a post partum belly-belly.
With eyes focused straight ahead I kept driving.
And that was amazing. No forces beyond my control forced the van to the side of the road. No forces beyond my control made me unload the kids from the van.
So my arms and belly may not have shrunk any today they at least didn't grow any, either.
Monday, June 14, 2010
How 'Bout
I'm starting to think we say a couple of things a lot in our house based on what Gavin says.
When Theo is upset I say, "Oh, Honey," as I try to soothe him. Gavin says it to him as well but usually when he's trying to tickle him. He sees his brother being cute - because, hey, that's about all he does right now (aside from crying, screaming and pooping - and heck, even sometimes those are cute, too) - and Gavin comes up with his shoulders scrunched up, fingers outstretched, eyes squinty and says, "Oh, Honey (or "Oh, Bruva") and proceeds to tickle Theo.
It is insanely adorable.
Oh, and when I tell Gavin he is adorable he says, "Adobo."
Tonight at dinner he was telling us he had a fork and spoon in his hand. Only when he says 'fork' it doesn't sound at all like 'fork'. Think, no 'r' and a definite 'u' sound in there. The 'f' and 'k' are clear as day. 'Spoon' is 'foon' but that's not nearly as funny.
So... he says "fork and spoon." But it sounds like "f**k 'n foon".
Ryan and I snickered like Jr. High kids.
This afternoon Gavin was wanting to only eat the fruit salad I made the night before. Fearing some super messy diapers I put the kibosh on fruit noshing. "More fooht," he asked.
"How about carrots and hummus?" I responded.
"How 'bout... fooht?" he squeaked back at me.
We settled on some crackers.
When Theo is upset I say, "Oh, Honey," as I try to soothe him. Gavin says it to him as well but usually when he's trying to tickle him. He sees his brother being cute - because, hey, that's about all he does right now (aside from crying, screaming and pooping - and heck, even sometimes those are cute, too) - and Gavin comes up with his shoulders scrunched up, fingers outstretched, eyes squinty and says, "Oh, Honey (or "Oh, Bruva") and proceeds to tickle Theo.
It is insanely adorable.
Oh, and when I tell Gavin he is adorable he says, "Adobo."
Tonight at dinner he was telling us he had a fork and spoon in his hand. Only when he says 'fork' it doesn't sound at all like 'fork'. Think, no 'r' and a definite 'u' sound in there. The 'f' and 'k' are clear as day. 'Spoon' is 'foon' but that's not nearly as funny.
So... he says "fork and spoon." But it sounds like "f**k 'n foon".
Ryan and I snickered like Jr. High kids.
This afternoon Gavin was wanting to only eat the fruit salad I made the night before. Fearing some super messy diapers I put the kibosh on fruit noshing. "More fooht," he asked.
"How about carrots and hummus?" I responded.
"How 'bout... fooht?" he squeaked back at me.
We settled on some crackers.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Fog
If you know me you know I really enjoy writing. It took me a while to realize how much I like to write. In school I thought writing assignments in English classes were ridiculously easy so I enjoyed them. While the class toiled away to write a poem in whatever style we were learning about I put pen to paper and bam! was done. Then I had the rest of the period to read whatever novel I was working on, "Gone With the Wind", or more realistically, a Philipa Carr romance novel. It was Jr. High, after all.
These days I want to sit down and click away on the keyboard and spill my guts but I can't. For two reasons. The first reason being the stuff is waaaay to personal. Too personal? From the woman who told the world about near crippling nightmares and the breast biopsy that got infected? Yep. Too personal. Nothing going on physically (not at the moment anyway - my face is healed and I only have one tiny scar on my chin as proof of my days scaring the kids in the drive throughs on 4th Ave). Nothing with me and Ryan - just stuff I'm working through. Maybe I'll write a book about it one of these days. After I've conquered... the stuff ... and it feels like ancient history.
The other reason is the fog. My brain is pretty foggy these days. Sure, I can waste time on facebook and occasionally read other people's blogs but that doesn't take much mental acuity.
I've been trying to figure out for how long this state of sleep deprivation I'm in has been going on. I think I try to quantify it to make myself feel better about how little I cook, or clean or do the things housewives are supposed to do.
I figure the poor sleep started almost as soon as I got pregnant with Gavin - that was about January/February 2007. Gavin slept through the night for 2 weeks in February or March of 2008 before finally sleeping through the night somewhere around December/January 2008/2009. That gave me about a month and a half of good sleep before I got pregnant with Theo. Then sleep went back down the crapper.
So... I haven't had good sleep (at least 4 hours at a stretch) since before February 2007 - almost THREE AND A HALF years ago.
Poor me. Poor moms everywhere.
Theo will sleep through the night eventually. I am really looking forward to that eventuality.
In other sleep related news: Gavin is sleeping in his big boy bed! Tonight is the first successful night. It has been two hours and he is asleep and did not tried to escape - not even once! We tried last week and he was leaving his room every few minutes. I would hear his bedroom door open and him say, "Uh, I fink... uh, DIS one!" and he would come running out with the toy he selected - trying the whole time to not smile. You could see how pleased he was with his clever self at selecting just the right toy and his grand entrance into the living room. It was all too cute and very hard to not smile. I did break the stern parent face a time or two which I'm sure made the whole ordeal that much more fun. Until I put him back in his crib.
Tonight I asked him where he wanted to sleep. He said his big boy crib; so I had him point. He wanted the bed so I put him down and we said prayers and sang our usual songs. Then I told him if he left his bedroom I would put him back in his crib.
I hope tomorrow goes just as smooth.
These days I want to sit down and click away on the keyboard and spill my guts but I can't. For two reasons. The first reason being the stuff is waaaay to personal. Too personal? From the woman who told the world about near crippling nightmares and the breast biopsy that got infected? Yep. Too personal. Nothing going on physically (not at the moment anyway - my face is healed and I only have one tiny scar on my chin as proof of my days scaring the kids in the drive throughs on 4th Ave). Nothing with me and Ryan - just stuff I'm working through. Maybe I'll write a book about it one of these days. After I've conquered... the stuff ... and it feels like ancient history.
The other reason is the fog. My brain is pretty foggy these days. Sure, I can waste time on facebook and occasionally read other people's blogs but that doesn't take much mental acuity.
I've been trying to figure out for how long this state of sleep deprivation I'm in has been going on. I think I try to quantify it to make myself feel better about how little I cook, or clean or do the things housewives are supposed to do.
I figure the poor sleep started almost as soon as I got pregnant with Gavin - that was about January/February 2007. Gavin slept through the night for 2 weeks in February or March of 2008 before finally sleeping through the night somewhere around December/January 2008/2009. That gave me about a month and a half of good sleep before I got pregnant with Theo. Then sleep went back down the crapper.
So... I haven't had good sleep (at least 4 hours at a stretch) since before February 2007 - almost THREE AND A HALF years ago.
Poor me. Poor moms everywhere.
Theo will sleep through the night eventually. I am really looking forward to that eventuality.
In other sleep related news: Gavin is sleeping in his big boy bed! Tonight is the first successful night. It has been two hours and he is asleep and did not tried to escape - not even once! We tried last week and he was leaving his room every few minutes. I would hear his bedroom door open and him say, "Uh, I fink... uh, DIS one!" and he would come running out with the toy he selected - trying the whole time to not smile. You could see how pleased he was with his clever self at selecting just the right toy and his grand entrance into the living room. It was all too cute and very hard to not smile. I did break the stern parent face a time or two which I'm sure made the whole ordeal that much more fun. Until I put him back in his crib.
Tonight I asked him where he wanted to sleep. He said his big boy crib; so I had him point. He wanted the bed so I put him down and we said prayers and sang our usual songs. Then I told him if he left his bedroom I would put him back in his crib.
I hope tomorrow goes just as smooth.
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
Positively Criminal
Not liking the reflection I saw in the full length mirror on the closet door in my bedroom I opened it and started looking for a hat. I grabbed a navy Mariner's hat and quickly twirled my hair in a loose bun and shoved the mass into the hat.
It was not an improvement.
Maybe changing out of my Old Navy tissue paper thin V-neck shirt with fresh oil splatters, well worn brown lounging house pants and light blue foam flip flops that were in a gift bag from one of Ryan's company picnics of yesteryear (man, I really miss those picnics) would have been a better option.
Oh, wait. None of that would have helped because my face was such a freaking disaster. I know in my last post I said I wasn't going to reveal the horror that was (is) my face. I changed my mind. If I was really courageous I would have taken a photo but that kind of photo only belongs in a dermatology text book.
Even though I was disgusted with my appearance I had to leave the house to go get some food. And by food I mean a milkshake. I preferred the milkshakes at Jack in the Box but McDonald's has bigger straws. My lips were so swollen that they were pushing into my teeth and the extra suction that is required to pull the shake up to my mouth from a thin straw versus a big straw was too much. Bigger straw = less sucking & lip bending = less lip strain. Lip strain = cracking = yuckiness.
Looking in the mirror by the front door one last time to make sure my lips hadn't actually exploded from the short walk from the bedroom to the front door I started to make my move. First I opened the squeaky baby gate and stuck my neck in the entry way/foyer/enclosed porch/catch all shoe storage area and very slowly craned my neck to the left to look out the window. No sight of neighbor Steffan, or worse, his daughter. She's a lovely little girl but lovely or not she would ask, "What's wrong with your face?" Looking straight ahead and across the street I saw someone walking down the street but no one was loitering.
My next move was going to be the riskiest. I had to open the door to see if Jeff or Ron were out and if anyone was walking down my side of the street. All clear. Now I just had to get down two flights of stairs and into the car without being seen.
With eyes to the ground I quickly exited the house and made a point of turning and facing the house as I closed the gate to give the person across the street more time to pass and be out of sight before I got to the car. Once in side the car I breathed a little easier until I realized I was not invisible, you know, being surrounded by glass and all.
I quickly made my move to exit the neighborhood. As I dropped down the hill I relaxed since it was just one lane in each direction and I didn't have to worry about anyone staring at me. Once at the bottom of the hill I was very careful where I stopped at the red lights. I tried to stop in between the cars on the right so when they casually looked out their drivers side window Iwould be out of their line of sight.
There was little I could do at the drive through, though. I placed my order as clearly as I could for my milkshake. My juiced up lips made my speech a little hard to decipher. Think: post dentist Novocaine speech impairment.
With exact money in hand I drove up to the first window. "Hi! How ya doin'?" Great. I got a friendly one. With my eyes glued on the steering wheel I mumbled, "Fine, tanks,", (not a typo; I wasn't so good with the "th" sound). After he counted the money and closed the window I went to the next window.
"Hi. How 'ya doin' today?"
"Mmm. Fine, tanks," I said and peeped up at him trying to acknowledge him without revealing my face. It didn't work. He saw the horror that was my face and screamed.
OK. He didn't scream but I saw a very fleeting shocked look in his eyes. He quickly smiled again and handed me my breakfast/lunch in the form of a milkshake. "Have a great day!" he said as I grabbed the shake and made my getaway.
All of this skulking around makes me feel a bit criminal. I am in hiding after all.
Going to the doctor's office was agony the first time. Yesterday was even worse. My lips were so big they were pushing into my teeth. My lips and chin were flaming red and covered in crusty orange serous fluid that, if I wasn't careful would trickle down my chin. Man that tickles. And is super gross. *Super* To avoid leaving a trail around the house I slathered Vaseline on gauze squares and pasted them to my chin. At night I put one over my mouth as well. And to make sure I wasn't going to ruin my pillow I put an old t-shirt over the already cased pillow.
I went through 25 pieces of gauze in a 24 hour period. After 4 days of antiviral medication and ever ballooning lips I decided another trip to the doc was in order.
She was taken aback. Again. I've shocked her a few times. It's never good to shock your doctor. Or to get the sympathetic looks from the receptionist and M.A.
I left with 3 new prescriptions.
Prednisone for the swelling
Vicodin for the pain. I went for broke the first dose. I took 2 of the recommended 1-2 tabs. That was one too many. I felt gooood. But I should aim for just feeling normal and not gooood.
Keflex for the STAPH infection.
Having open wounds on your mouth directly below your staph harboring nose is not so good.
The good news is that the prednisone took the swelling down in a matter of hours! Now I'm just a red crusty mess instead of a red crusty swollen mess.
I feel positively beautiful.
Well, positively not completely hideous.
It's a start.
It was not an improvement.
Maybe changing out of my Old Navy tissue paper thin V-neck shirt with fresh oil splatters, well worn brown lounging house pants and light blue foam flip flops that were in a gift bag from one of Ryan's company picnics of yesteryear (man, I really miss those picnics) would have been a better option.
Oh, wait. None of that would have helped because my face was such a freaking disaster. I know in my last post I said I wasn't going to reveal the horror that was (is) my face. I changed my mind. If I was really courageous I would have taken a photo but that kind of photo only belongs in a dermatology text book.
Even though I was disgusted with my appearance I had to leave the house to go get some food. And by food I mean a milkshake. I preferred the milkshakes at Jack in the Box but McDonald's has bigger straws. My lips were so swollen that they were pushing into my teeth and the extra suction that is required to pull the shake up to my mouth from a thin straw versus a big straw was too much. Bigger straw = less sucking & lip bending = less lip strain. Lip strain = cracking = yuckiness.
Looking in the mirror by the front door one last time to make sure my lips hadn't actually exploded from the short walk from the bedroom to the front door I started to make my move. First I opened the squeaky baby gate and stuck my neck in the entry way/foyer/enclosed porch/catch all shoe storage area and very slowly craned my neck to the left to look out the window. No sight of neighbor Steffan, or worse, his daughter. She's a lovely little girl but lovely or not she would ask, "What's wrong with your face?" Looking straight ahead and across the street I saw someone walking down the street but no one was loitering.
My next move was going to be the riskiest. I had to open the door to see if Jeff or Ron were out and if anyone was walking down my side of the street. All clear. Now I just had to get down two flights of stairs and into the car without being seen.
With eyes to the ground I quickly exited the house and made a point of turning and facing the house as I closed the gate to give the person across the street more time to pass and be out of sight before I got to the car. Once in side the car I breathed a little easier until I realized I was not invisible, you know, being surrounded by glass and all.
I quickly made my move to exit the neighborhood. As I dropped down the hill I relaxed since it was just one lane in each direction and I didn't have to worry about anyone staring at me. Once at the bottom of the hill I was very careful where I stopped at the red lights. I tried to stop in between the cars on the right so when they casually looked out their drivers side window Iwould be out of their line of sight.
There was little I could do at the drive through, though. I placed my order as clearly as I could for my milkshake. My juiced up lips made my speech a little hard to decipher. Think: post dentist Novocaine speech impairment.
With exact money in hand I drove up to the first window. "Hi! How ya doin'?" Great. I got a friendly one. With my eyes glued on the steering wheel I mumbled, "Fine, tanks,", (not a typo; I wasn't so good with the "th" sound). After he counted the money and closed the window I went to the next window.
"Hi. How 'ya doin' today?"
"Mmm. Fine, tanks," I said and peeped up at him trying to acknowledge him without revealing my face. It didn't work. He saw the horror that was my face and screamed.
OK. He didn't scream but I saw a very fleeting shocked look in his eyes. He quickly smiled again and handed me my breakfast/lunch in the form of a milkshake. "Have a great day!" he said as I grabbed the shake and made my getaway.
All of this skulking around makes me feel a bit criminal. I am in hiding after all.
Going to the doctor's office was agony the first time. Yesterday was even worse. My lips were so big they were pushing into my teeth. My lips and chin were flaming red and covered in crusty orange serous fluid that, if I wasn't careful would trickle down my chin. Man that tickles. And is super gross. *Super* To avoid leaving a trail around the house I slathered Vaseline on gauze squares and pasted them to my chin. At night I put one over my mouth as well. And to make sure I wasn't going to ruin my pillow I put an old t-shirt over the already cased pillow.
I went through 25 pieces of gauze in a 24 hour period. After 4 days of antiviral medication and ever ballooning lips I decided another trip to the doc was in order.
She was taken aback. Again. I've shocked her a few times. It's never good to shock your doctor. Or to get the sympathetic looks from the receptionist and M.A.
I left with 3 new prescriptions.
Prednisone for the swelling
Vicodin for the pain. I went for broke the first dose. I took 2 of the recommended 1-2 tabs. That was one too many. I felt gooood. But I should aim for just feeling normal and not gooood.
Keflex for the STAPH infection.
Having open wounds on your mouth directly below your staph harboring nose is not so good.
The good news is that the prednisone took the swelling down in a matter of hours! Now I'm just a red crusty mess instead of a red crusty swollen mess.
I feel positively beautiful.
Well, positively not completely hideous.
It's a start.
Saturday, May 01, 2010
Recluse
Yesterday I had to leave the house to return a dog to a neighbor. I really didn't want to leave the house but I didn't have my neighbors phone number so I reluctantly got a treat to entice the dog to let me get close enough to grab its leash (it broke its tether in the yard and chased the nanny and Kea back to our house). With my head down I walked around the corner and knocked on my neighbors door half hoping she wouldn't answer so I could take the little mongrel home and leave it in the yard and have Ryan deliver it when he got home.
I barely made eye contact with my neighbor while I hurriedly told her what happened before running home. On the short jog home I prayed no one would see me for two reasons. One, I was wearing my indoor lounging type pants topped with a ratty t-shirt, hair a mess. The other reason was my face was an even bigger mess.
I don't particularly feel like going into all the gory detail so I'll just say I have a cold sore. No. That's not telling the whole story. I have a cold sore which had babies all over my mouth and chin. As I told someone, trying to describe my fat, swollen lips, they look like they could eat Angelina Jolie's lips for lunch.
Since I'm a puffy, oozy, crusty mess I'm not going to Shoreline this morning to do the Free Them 5K. My face is that horrific. Ryan can hardly look at me. The boys don't know better but Gavin did point at me and say, "Red." Heck, as I'm sitting here writing this I stuck a vaseline covered gauze pad over my mouth and chin because I'm tired of the yuckiness that cold sores produce.
When I saw my doctor on Thursday she took a look and said, "Oh, wow. Hmmm. I'm surprised you aren't having more of a reaction (systemically)," as she felt my glands which she said she would have thought would have been really swollen based on the severity of the outbreak.
My appearance has only gone down hill from Thursday. I'm hoping the oral and topical antiviral medications I'm taking will kick in today and I can start looking like a human again soon. And be able to open my mouth all the way and not have to - eh. I forgot. No gory details.
As much as I love to gross people out that is not why I'm writing this; I'm writing to say I'm not doing the Free Them 5K this morning. My friend, Heidi, was going to join me and now I bailed on her. She said she doesn't care if I'm crusty but understands my desire to not be seen. I spent a lot of time yesterday trying to figure out how I was going to do the walk without doing something really gross in public (like showing my crusty face or doing something to make it not crusty but then .... blech).
I think its time to take my vaselined, gauzy self back to bed. Heidi should be waking up soon to get ready for the run. Well, at least this way she can run it instead of walk.
I barely made eye contact with my neighbor while I hurriedly told her what happened before running home. On the short jog home I prayed no one would see me for two reasons. One, I was wearing my indoor lounging type pants topped with a ratty t-shirt, hair a mess. The other reason was my face was an even bigger mess.
I don't particularly feel like going into all the gory detail so I'll just say I have a cold sore. No. That's not telling the whole story. I have a cold sore which had babies all over my mouth and chin. As I told someone, trying to describe my fat, swollen lips, they look like they could eat Angelina Jolie's lips for lunch.
Since I'm a puffy, oozy, crusty mess I'm not going to Shoreline this morning to do the Free Them 5K. My face is that horrific. Ryan can hardly look at me. The boys don't know better but Gavin did point at me and say, "Red." Heck, as I'm sitting here writing this I stuck a vaseline covered gauze pad over my mouth and chin because I'm tired of the yuckiness that cold sores produce.
When I saw my doctor on Thursday she took a look and said, "Oh, wow. Hmmm. I'm surprised you aren't having more of a reaction (systemically)," as she felt my glands which she said she would have thought would have been really swollen based on the severity of the outbreak.
My appearance has only gone down hill from Thursday. I'm hoping the oral and topical antiviral medications I'm taking will kick in today and I can start looking like a human again soon. And be able to open my mouth all the way and not have to - eh. I forgot. No gory details.
As much as I love to gross people out that is not why I'm writing this; I'm writing to say I'm not doing the Free Them 5K this morning. My friend, Heidi, was going to join me and now I bailed on her. She said she doesn't care if I'm crusty but understands my desire to not be seen. I spent a lot of time yesterday trying to figure out how I was going to do the walk without doing something really gross in public (like showing my crusty face or doing something to make it not crusty but then .... blech).
I think its time to take my vaselined, gauzy self back to bed. Heidi should be waking up soon to get ready for the run. Well, at least this way she can run it instead of walk.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Unpleasantness
You may notice a new little feature on the left side of the blog - a little widget showing a fundraising tab for a 5K I'm doing the first weekend in May. I'm walking it - not running; but that is a whole 'nother post.
The money raised from the run is going to help combat human trafficking. What is human trafficking exactly? Modern day slavery. I started to do a little research on human trafficking so I could talk a little more intelligently about the subject. The numbers are overwhelming. I quit reading because it only takes a few numbers to shed light on the severity of the problem.
1,000,00 children are sexually exploited every year. One million. Sexually exploited. It makes me physically ill to think about it. Then I think about my own two boys and it is enough to make me vomit. My boys have two loving parents who protect them, who do their best to be vigilant about the company they keep in order to keep them safe. So many children are not only lacking loving parents but they even have parents who sell them, use them, discard them for what? Money?
Some other statistics I read: Between 4 to 27 million people are in slavery. There is a big gap in the numbers but its not exactly something that comes up on a census: Number of household occupants ____, Number of slaves ____.... Even if it was "just" 4 million people, isn't that 4,000,000 too many?
The money raised for the Free Them run will make a real difference for the people who have been rescued. It will help families learn about tactics used to ensnare their children. It will heal hearts, mend precious little souls and save lives. If we can't be there to put an arm around the hurting at least we can fund those who are there with arms outstretched.
The money raised from the run is going to help combat human trafficking. What is human trafficking exactly? Modern day slavery. I started to do a little research on human trafficking so I could talk a little more intelligently about the subject. The numbers are overwhelming. I quit reading because it only takes a few numbers to shed light on the severity of the problem.
1,000,00 children are sexually exploited every year. One million. Sexually exploited. It makes me physically ill to think about it. Then I think about my own two boys and it is enough to make me vomit. My boys have two loving parents who protect them, who do their best to be vigilant about the company they keep in order to keep them safe. So many children are not only lacking loving parents but they even have parents who sell them, use them, discard them for what? Money?
Some other statistics I read: Between 4 to 27 million people are in slavery. There is a big gap in the numbers but its not exactly something that comes up on a census: Number of household occupants ____, Number of slaves ____.... Even if it was "just" 4 million people, isn't that 4,000,000 too many?
The money raised for the Free Them run will make a real difference for the people who have been rescued. It will help families learn about tactics used to ensnare their children. It will heal hearts, mend precious little souls and save lives. If we can't be there to put an arm around the hurting at least we can fund those who are there with arms outstretched.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
No Containing It
I knew it was coming. It was hard to not know. It had been four days already since it had showed up. Day One with no visit and you think nothing of it. Day Two you think, "Did it come yesterday?" On Day Three you think, "Hmm. It should come today." Day Four you know you have to do something to entice it to come if it doesn't want to show up on it's own.
Of course, by Day Four your baby also lets you know.
Yeah. This is a blog post about poop. I'll probably detour along the way because in a way I think they are what I do best. Maybe being scattered is not so bad after all.
For my readers who are parents I'm sure the walk down Poo Lane (not to be confused with Pooh - the Hunny luvin' jolly ol' fat bear) will conjure up your own memories of your children and the diapers they blew out of.
My all time favorite blow out story isn't even my own. I was privileged enough to be a witness, though. My nephew, Matthew, was a teeny little baby, he still curled up in a ball when you snuggled him. It was a nice Spring day and we were in my parents huge (by my Seattle standards) back yard. My brothers and dad were sitting in lawn chairs in the grass and I was standing with my back to the garden chatting with them.
Something happened unbeknownst to us but Ike had a curious look on his face and pulled Matthew away from his chest where he was curled up like a cute little ball. Ike's white shirt was now just white on the edges. The entire middle of his shirt was covered in mustard colored poop. My first reaction was, of course, laughter. Not just ha ha. No. I was shrieking hysterically and pointing and doubling over. It was that funny.
Even funnier than all of the laughter and doubling over and pointing was my younger brother Joel's reaction. If you had to determine what was going on based on just observing Joel's initial reaction your conclusion would have to be that he saw someone pull out a gun because he dove/rolled out of his chair. If I were to tell the story more often it would eventually turn into him diving with arms outstretched as if he were trying to shield a child from the gunman.
But that would only be a slight exaggeration from the truth. Of course the whole situation grew in its hilarity when Ike had to take his shirt off. It was a delicate operation. He couldn't just peel it off like it was a wet shirt for fear of well, getting poo on his face, up his nose, etc. Mom helped by offering to turn the water hose on him.
Tonight it was Theo's turn. He chooses to have his big blowouts between 2 and 4 am. While I was grumbling about his choice of hour I thought better of complaining about it because any other time would be worse. Like he could have done it today when I was trying to get out the door to go to the gym (he instead chose to pee when I took his diaper off - THREE TIMES. Each time I pulled the diaper back after what was obviously an insufficient amount of time the little geyser started up again).
He could have done it at Taco Time - location of our family dinner tonight. Yeah, yeah, I know. Best housewife ever. In my defense we were only there because Ryan was less than thrilled about what I wanted to make for dinner - Bun Ga Nuong. I've been enamored with this dish since I first had it on Saturday - it's a Vietnamese rice noodle salad. YUM! I'm going to make it and chicken lettuce wraps for lunch and dinner tonight.
So, about 2 am this morning Theo wakes up. That's not unusual but he stays awake after I nurse him. That is unusual and kind of annoying. I make myself comfortable and lay there hoping he will go to sleep. I roll over on my side to look at him in all of his cute baby glory. Rolling over brought my nose to a point where I could smell what he did to keep himself awake.
I thought it was funny that I didn't hear anything but that was fine. At least it happened and it didn't seem to be that painful for him. I tossed back the covers and jumped out of bed. It was going to be quite the clean up. As I was rounding the bed Theo threw his little legs in the air and let out a big, big grunt.
Then I heard him lose 2 pounds. Thank God he didn't do that in his car seat. Up the back. Down the arm. Flanked on both sides. It called for an immediate bath. So great was his joy that it took him an hour to fall back asleep after his bath.
My turn.
(To fall asleep).
Of course, by Day Four your baby also lets you know.
Yeah. This is a blog post about poop. I'll probably detour along the way because in a way I think they are what I do best. Maybe being scattered is not so bad after all.
For my readers who are parents I'm sure the walk down Poo Lane (not to be confused with Pooh - the Hunny luvin' jolly ol' fat bear) will conjure up your own memories of your children and the diapers they blew out of.
My all time favorite blow out story isn't even my own. I was privileged enough to be a witness, though. My nephew, Matthew, was a teeny little baby, he still curled up in a ball when you snuggled him. It was a nice Spring day and we were in my parents huge (by my Seattle standards) back yard. My brothers and dad were sitting in lawn chairs in the grass and I was standing with my back to the garden chatting with them.
Something happened unbeknownst to us but Ike had a curious look on his face and pulled Matthew away from his chest where he was curled up like a cute little ball. Ike's white shirt was now just white on the edges. The entire middle of his shirt was covered in mustard colored poop. My first reaction was, of course, laughter. Not just ha ha. No. I was shrieking hysterically and pointing and doubling over. It was that funny.
Even funnier than all of the laughter and doubling over and pointing was my younger brother Joel's reaction. If you had to determine what was going on based on just observing Joel's initial reaction your conclusion would have to be that he saw someone pull out a gun because he dove/rolled out of his chair. If I were to tell the story more often it would eventually turn into him diving with arms outstretched as if he were trying to shield a child from the gunman.
But that would only be a slight exaggeration from the truth. Of course the whole situation grew in its hilarity when Ike had to take his shirt off. It was a delicate operation. He couldn't just peel it off like it was a wet shirt for fear of well, getting poo on his face, up his nose, etc. Mom helped by offering to turn the water hose on him.
Tonight it was Theo's turn. He chooses to have his big blowouts between 2 and 4 am. While I was grumbling about his choice of hour I thought better of complaining about it because any other time would be worse. Like he could have done it today when I was trying to get out the door to go to the gym (he instead chose to pee when I took his diaper off - THREE TIMES. Each time I pulled the diaper back after what was obviously an insufficient amount of time the little geyser started up again).
He could have done it at Taco Time - location of our family dinner tonight. Yeah, yeah, I know. Best housewife ever. In my defense we were only there because Ryan was less than thrilled about what I wanted to make for dinner - Bun Ga Nuong. I've been enamored with this dish since I first had it on Saturday - it's a Vietnamese rice noodle salad. YUM! I'm going to make it and chicken lettuce wraps for lunch and dinner tonight.
So, about 2 am this morning Theo wakes up. That's not unusual but he stays awake after I nurse him. That is unusual and kind of annoying. I make myself comfortable and lay there hoping he will go to sleep. I roll over on my side to look at him in all of his cute baby glory. Rolling over brought my nose to a point where I could smell what he did to keep himself awake.
I thought it was funny that I didn't hear anything but that was fine. At least it happened and it didn't seem to be that painful for him. I tossed back the covers and jumped out of bed. It was going to be quite the clean up. As I was rounding the bed Theo threw his little legs in the air and let out a big, big grunt.
Then I heard him lose 2 pounds. Thank God he didn't do that in his car seat. Up the back. Down the arm. Flanked on both sides. It called for an immediate bath. So great was his joy that it took him an hour to fall back asleep after his bath.
My turn.
(To fall asleep).
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Speed bumps, hiccoughs, stalls, hurdles and the like
A couple of weeks ago I told the whole wide world, or 3 people who read this and few who stumble across it, that I started a weight loss challenge at my gym. I'm still participating in the challenge and am watching what I eat but a few things have changed. My endeavors feel thwarted by forces out of my control and by good old fashioned self sabotage. I'm really good at self sabotage.
What has been going right:
Food consumption. I'm not buying little 'treats' at the grocery store. It's amazing how quickly those little treats add up to 50 pounds. I'm not drinking soda every day or even every other day or even every three days. I may have a soda once or twice a week. To placate the beast within that thinks it needs soda I have started working on an addiction to flavored fizzy water (think Talking Rain Peach Nectarine - yum).
Exercise. Kind of working. I see my trainer twice a week. Twice a week she kicks my butt. I feel strong and like the little aches that come with tearing down and building up muscle.
What has not been going right:
Sleep.
Theo, who started out his life like a little rock star in the sleep department, decided he should grow teeth and try to double his birth weight. That means he's a drooling, crying, feasting machine. He wakes up every two hours at night. Sometimes every hour. No joke.
If you come to the conclusion that not getting sleep in more than 1-2 hour stretches is taxing on ones physical (and emotional) health then you are spot on. Some days I muster up enough energy to be a kind, loving, doting mother. Other days I muster up just enough energy to not be hellish walking zombie. The days that I am hovering above zombie level and I have an appointment with the trainer is just awful. I told her last time that I was on the verge of tears.
I've discussed the exhaustion with my trainer and I've told her that I feel like I'm making up an excuse but she said it's not an excuse - it's a legitimate reason. My midwife said the best way to lose weight is to be well rested (as a starting point for the weight loss). My trainer agrees.
Sleep is the main limiting factor right now. I'm going to put more training sessions on hold until I am able to get more sleep. Paying for the trainer at a time when I'm not exercising in between our sessions and am not fully present during our sessions is a waste of money, a waste of her time and a waste of my time.
What I'm not putting on hold is my diet. Although, I must say I've been tempted since I started kicking around the idea to suspend my session with the trainer to revert back to my old eating habits. When I do that the thin angel on my right shoulder says, "No, April. Don't do it. Just go home and make yourself a nice cup of chai. That will work for you." No sooner are the words out of her mouth then the fat little devil on my left shoulder say, "Shut it, you stupid, smug angel! One little treat won't hurt."
Under normal circumstances I am able to keep the fat devil's mouth covered in duct tape. Under normal circumstances. When both boys are screaming or one is screaming (Theo) and the other is emitting a whine that could paper off a wall (Gavin) the fat little devil's voice can be heard above the din, "Chocolate! Chocolate! Chocolate!"
With a glint in my eye, I hear the chocolate cry and think, "Yes! That sounds really good," race over to the pantry and root around for the chocolate chips. If I'm not completely gone I will count out one serving size of chocolate chips. If I'm on the verge of tears, screaming and/or hyperventilating it is a miracle I don't just open the bag and pour them into my gullet like Homer Simpson.
I savor the chocolate and take a big, deep breath and turn my attention back to the wild beasts, er, I mean, children. It feels like a mobster scene from the movies. Classical music - or some kind of music that would normally conjure up images of something serene and peaceful - is playing in the background to a scene that is a blood bath of bullets and baseball bats.
Of course, instead of bullets and baseball bats, its toys to be tripped on, snotty noses to be wiped and dirty diapers to be changed.
Another hurdle in my goal to lose weight is my stupid freakin' second toe on my right foot. Yeah. One teeny, tiny little toe! If I don't tape it just right I'll incite the wrath of the tendon and it will flare up rendering me a gimp for a few days until the pain with each little step subsides.
So, I figured since I'm not well rested and have an on-going bout of tendinitis a 5K fun run would make everything better.
A girlfriend is going to send me a link to a website that has an exercise program that takes you from couch potato to 5K. She may join me on the race. Another friend, Heidi, who does marathons and half marathons, may join, too. I think we would keep her back, though. Maybe she can run circles around us on the race so she doesn't get too bored.
I've been a little hesitant to start running because when I do run I can't breath. My airways constrict and fill with mucous. I think I may have a touch of asthma. Just a touch. Dr. Fiala went through a little check list - do you wheeze when you have a cold? Yes. Does it hurt to breath when it's cold out? Yes, when it's really cold. Have you ever been diagnosed with asthma? When I was pregnant with Gavin. Have you ever been prescribed an inhaler? Yes. Did it work? Yes. Anyone in your family have asthma? Yes.
She also tested my lung capacity and found it to be outside the normal range, on the low side. So she prescribed an inhaler and if it doesn't help me when I run then I'm to go back and she'll try something else and maybe do some fancy tests to see what's up with my lungs.
I'm hoping the albuterol does the trick. I can run through the pain but I can't run without air.
So, I'm really hoping I can get a little more sleep and do this run. Really. Really. Really.
What has been going right:
Food consumption. I'm not buying little 'treats' at the grocery store. It's amazing how quickly those little treats add up to 50 pounds. I'm not drinking soda every day or even every other day or even every three days. I may have a soda once or twice a week. To placate the beast within that thinks it needs soda I have started working on an addiction to flavored fizzy water (think Talking Rain Peach Nectarine - yum).
Exercise. Kind of working. I see my trainer twice a week. Twice a week she kicks my butt. I feel strong and like the little aches that come with tearing down and building up muscle.
What has not been going right:
Sleep.
Theo, who started out his life like a little rock star in the sleep department, decided he should grow teeth and try to double his birth weight. That means he's a drooling, crying, feasting machine. He wakes up every two hours at night. Sometimes every hour. No joke.
If you come to the conclusion that not getting sleep in more than 1-2 hour stretches is taxing on ones physical (and emotional) health then you are spot on. Some days I muster up enough energy to be a kind, loving, doting mother. Other days I muster up just enough energy to not be hellish walking zombie. The days that I am hovering above zombie level and I have an appointment with the trainer is just awful. I told her last time that I was on the verge of tears.
I've discussed the exhaustion with my trainer and I've told her that I feel like I'm making up an excuse but she said it's not an excuse - it's a legitimate reason. My midwife said the best way to lose weight is to be well rested (as a starting point for the weight loss). My trainer agrees.
Sleep is the main limiting factor right now. I'm going to put more training sessions on hold until I am able to get more sleep. Paying for the trainer at a time when I'm not exercising in between our sessions and am not fully present during our sessions is a waste of money, a waste of her time and a waste of my time.
What I'm not putting on hold is my diet. Although, I must say I've been tempted since I started kicking around the idea to suspend my session with the trainer to revert back to my old eating habits. When I do that the thin angel on my right shoulder says, "No, April. Don't do it. Just go home and make yourself a nice cup of chai. That will work for you." No sooner are the words out of her mouth then the fat little devil on my left shoulder say, "Shut it, you stupid, smug angel! One little treat won't hurt."
Under normal circumstances I am able to keep the fat devil's mouth covered in duct tape. Under normal circumstances. When both boys are screaming or one is screaming (Theo) and the other is emitting a whine that could paper off a wall (Gavin) the fat little devil's voice can be heard above the din, "Chocolate! Chocolate! Chocolate!"
With a glint in my eye, I hear the chocolate cry and think, "Yes! That sounds really good," race over to the pantry and root around for the chocolate chips. If I'm not completely gone I will count out one serving size of chocolate chips. If I'm on the verge of tears, screaming and/or hyperventilating it is a miracle I don't just open the bag and pour them into my gullet like Homer Simpson.
I savor the chocolate and take a big, deep breath and turn my attention back to the wild beasts, er, I mean, children. It feels like a mobster scene from the movies. Classical music - or some kind of music that would normally conjure up images of something serene and peaceful - is playing in the background to a scene that is a blood bath of bullets and baseball bats.
Of course, instead of bullets and baseball bats, its toys to be tripped on, snotty noses to be wiped and dirty diapers to be changed.
Another hurdle in my goal to lose weight is my stupid freakin' second toe on my right foot. Yeah. One teeny, tiny little toe! If I don't tape it just right I'll incite the wrath of the tendon and it will flare up rendering me a gimp for a few days until the pain with each little step subsides.
So, I figured since I'm not well rested and have an on-going bout of tendinitis a 5K fun run would make everything better.
A girlfriend is going to send me a link to a website that has an exercise program that takes you from couch potato to 5K. She may join me on the race. Another friend, Heidi, who does marathons and half marathons, may join, too. I think we would keep her back, though. Maybe she can run circles around us on the race so she doesn't get too bored.
I've been a little hesitant to start running because when I do run I can't breath. My airways constrict and fill with mucous. I think I may have a touch of asthma. Just a touch. Dr. Fiala went through a little check list - do you wheeze when you have a cold? Yes. Does it hurt to breath when it's cold out? Yes, when it's really cold. Have you ever been diagnosed with asthma? When I was pregnant with Gavin. Have you ever been prescribed an inhaler? Yes. Did it work? Yes. Anyone in your family have asthma? Yes.
She also tested my lung capacity and found it to be outside the normal range, on the low side. So she prescribed an inhaler and if it doesn't help me when I run then I'm to go back and she'll try something else and maybe do some fancy tests to see what's up with my lungs.
I'm hoping the albuterol does the trick. I can run through the pain but I can't run without air.
So, I'm really hoping I can get a little more sleep and do this run. Really. Really. Really.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
What Makes the World Go 'Round
I have discovered what makes the world go 'round. One would think I would have made this discovery two years ago but I think I was too far gone to have had the wherewithal to ponder such a thing.
Most have bought into the fallacy that love makes the world go round. Hog wash. Bull hockey. Psh. Whatever. As if. Yeah, right.
Let's break down the theory that loves makes the world go around, shall we?
Remember back to the days of new love. When your new loved ones hand so much as grazed your own you felt tiny bits of tingly electricity flow up your arm. You walked around half the day with a silly grin on your face. You went through the motions at work - sure you were able to look productive but really, all of your mind's energies were focused on your new love. How incredibly perfect they were. How you were the luckiest person on the face of the earth to have met him/her. How you could not believe someone as awesome as him/her thought you were just as awesome. You were thinking, "Is my new love thinking about me right now?" "How is it that someone so incredible things I'm so incredible, too?" "Oh, and his eyes." "And her laugh." "And the way he actually likes my cat?!" Unreal!
Does that above drivel sound like someone capable of making the earth revolve?
No!
The earth revolves in SPITE of them.
So, just what does make the earth go round?
Sleep.
Yes. Sleep.
It never ceases to amaze me how much I can get done in one day when I am well rested. Conversely, it amazes me how little I can do when I'm an exhausted heap.
The other night Ryan and I were sitting on the couch, half watching the Olympics, half watching Gavin play, half playing with Gavin. Don't get on my case about my math of halves - remember, tired people do not contribute (well) to the order of operations. Ryan said something to me and I replied, "Eh."
To which he replied, "Eh. Yeah. Me, too."
If only we had a crystal ball when we were newly in love to look into the future to see how thrilling our lives as new parents would be. Communicating like cavemen on the couch.
"Even my jaws are tired," I slurred. "I suppose that's good for a diet." I was so tired I couldn't even laugh at my own joke. The day I can not cackle at my own joke is a tired one.
It has been years since I've been well rested. The days of rest hearken back to my childless days. Days when I had no idea that I needed to cherish the sleep I was able to get. Gavin started sleeping through the night right about the time I got pregnant which meant Theo started keeping me awake long before he ever exited my womb. Now I get to look at the bundle of cuteness that is waking me at all hours of the night. And I do mean all hours. Pick one. He's up - or will be shortly.
Something happens between one child and two, though. If they both nap at the same time I may try to lay down with them but chances are there is a lot to be done. Namely laundry. Oh, how I hate thee, Laundry! It never ends! NEVER!
Last night when I tried to sneak into bed Theo woke up. I put my hands under him to reposition him so I could nurse him in the bed. He was wet. Stupid Earth's Best diaper came off on one side which led to diaper failure. Which led to wet jammies, wet sleep sack, wet sheet, wet incontinence pad. At least I had the pad on the bed. But this was the 3rd sheet change this week. I really dislike changing sheets in the middle of the night. Really. Although it is nice when I finally crawl into bed to have a clean sheet. I didn't care enough to change the still clean top sheet to have them matching. It won't be too long before each component (bottom sheet, top sheet and two pillow cases) is from a different set.
So now I have even more clothes to sort, wash, dry, fold and take care of. Even with all of this I still managed to go through a laundry basket of stuff (papers, miscellaneous toys, wipes, bills, gifts) that was taking up permanent residence on top of the dog's kennel and sort it all on the table. Now most of it is taken care of. It feels good to only see a quarter of the mess that was there yesterday. Next on the list is to tackle the mantle. Then the hall closet. Then my dresser top. Then my dresser innards. Then the basement.
Then I think it will be time to start over with a basket full of miscellaneous stuff that is sitting on the dog's kennel. And one day, far far from now, I will be rested and will be able to contribute to the world in ways greater than sorting little papers and mismatched socks.
Most have bought into the fallacy that love makes the world go round. Hog wash. Bull hockey. Psh. Whatever. As if. Yeah, right.
Let's break down the theory that loves makes the world go around, shall we?
Remember back to the days of new love. When your new loved ones hand so much as grazed your own you felt tiny bits of tingly electricity flow up your arm. You walked around half the day with a silly grin on your face. You went through the motions at work - sure you were able to look productive but really, all of your mind's energies were focused on your new love. How incredibly perfect they were. How you were the luckiest person on the face of the earth to have met him/her. How you could not believe someone as awesome as him/her thought you were just as awesome. You were thinking, "Is my new love thinking about me right now?" "How is it that someone so incredible things I'm so incredible, too?" "Oh, and his eyes." "And her laugh." "And the way he actually likes my cat?!" Unreal!
Does that above drivel sound like someone capable of making the earth revolve?
No!
The earth revolves in SPITE of them.
So, just what does make the earth go round?
Sleep.
Yes. Sleep.
It never ceases to amaze me how much I can get done in one day when I am well rested. Conversely, it amazes me how little I can do when I'm an exhausted heap.
The other night Ryan and I were sitting on the couch, half watching the Olympics, half watching Gavin play, half playing with Gavin. Don't get on my case about my math of halves - remember, tired people do not contribute (well) to the order of operations. Ryan said something to me and I replied, "Eh."
To which he replied, "Eh. Yeah. Me, too."
If only we had a crystal ball when we were newly in love to look into the future to see how thrilling our lives as new parents would be. Communicating like cavemen on the couch.
"Even my jaws are tired," I slurred. "I suppose that's good for a diet." I was so tired I couldn't even laugh at my own joke. The day I can not cackle at my own joke is a tired one.
It has been years since I've been well rested. The days of rest hearken back to my childless days. Days when I had no idea that I needed to cherish the sleep I was able to get. Gavin started sleeping through the night right about the time I got pregnant which meant Theo started keeping me awake long before he ever exited my womb. Now I get to look at the bundle of cuteness that is waking me at all hours of the night. And I do mean all hours. Pick one. He's up - or will be shortly.
Something happens between one child and two, though. If they both nap at the same time I may try to lay down with them but chances are there is a lot to be done. Namely laundry. Oh, how I hate thee, Laundry! It never ends! NEVER!
Last night when I tried to sneak into bed Theo woke up. I put my hands under him to reposition him so I could nurse him in the bed. He was wet. Stupid Earth's Best diaper came off on one side which led to diaper failure. Which led to wet jammies, wet sleep sack, wet sheet, wet incontinence pad. At least I had the pad on the bed. But this was the 3rd sheet change this week. I really dislike changing sheets in the middle of the night. Really. Although it is nice when I finally crawl into bed to have a clean sheet. I didn't care enough to change the still clean top sheet to have them matching. It won't be too long before each component (bottom sheet, top sheet and two pillow cases) is from a different set.
So now I have even more clothes to sort, wash, dry, fold and take care of. Even with all of this I still managed to go through a laundry basket of stuff (papers, miscellaneous toys, wipes, bills, gifts) that was taking up permanent residence on top of the dog's kennel and sort it all on the table. Now most of it is taken care of. It feels good to only see a quarter of the mess that was there yesterday. Next on the list is to tackle the mantle. Then the hall closet. Then my dresser top. Then my dresser innards. Then the basement.
Then I think it will be time to start over with a basket full of miscellaneous stuff that is sitting on the dog's kennel. And one day, far far from now, I will be rested and will be able to contribute to the world in ways greater than sorting little papers and mismatched socks.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Flowers, Babies, Dogs & Glass
Clematis over the front arbor
Daffodils - or as Gavin calls them, "lellow flowers"
I think it's safe to take the chains off the Daphne now
What the punk didn't steal - at least he left it all in one pile.
There was a lot of screaming that went with this - its never easy leaving the playground.
ball hog
woah, mittens. Cool
Kea being obnoxious. All other toys cease tto exist the moment she sees a soccer ball.
Before she saw the soccer ball.
"Well. You seee the ball, don't you? Throw it already!"
Theo checking out the park.
Gavin is thrilled to bee petting Bob. Bob? Not so much.
The quickest way to get a laugh out of Theo is to start undressing him.
Berries. Delicious and messy.
My boys.
What started out as making a V-day card for Daddy turned into a sticker adventure for Gavin.
Gavin waiting for me (I was in the car listening to NPR) with ballooons..
Little jailbird. His crime? Stealing hearts.
A toy cradle made by my uncle & aunts. All of my girl cousins got one.I Hope He Breaks a Tooth on a Piece of Candy
Someone rang our doorbell this morning around 9. Ryan answered the door and I recognized my neighbor Jeff's voice but I could only hear Ryan's end of the conversation.
"What? No. We didn't know. Hmfph. Thank you."
Then I saw him leaning out the door. At that point I jumped up and said, "Did someone break into our car?"
"Yes."
I was furious! The timing is just impeccable. For Lent this year I am giving up anger. Trying to give it up. Feeling angry is fine - it's just the expression of the anger that I'm really trying to work on. If there was a test for this sort of stuff I think I would have failed based on my vocabulary choices alone.
We thought at first we knew who it was since we caught someone skulking along the curb a couple of months ago peering into cars before he walked off camera and smashed our neighbor's Jeff and Ron's house sitter's car window. I sent the video out to the neighborhood listserv and people said it was Albert. Our resident car prowler.
Having an idea of who it was Ryan said he wanted to go to his house and smash all of his windows. Of course, I piped up and said, "Is that what Jesus would do?" We had a little back and forth and came to the conclusion that even if Jesus wouldn't turn the other cheek and smashed out Albert's windows he would at least get caught and be the one to get in trouble.
So as I'm swearing at the punk in the video and Ryan turned to me and said, "And you think I was being unchristian like?"
Enough said.
Then I thought about watching the Oprah show where she interviewed Jim Jones, Jr. - son of Jim Jones of the Jonestown massacre. If he could forgive his father for killing his wife, sister, a brother, and unborn child then surely I could refrain from swearing at the punk who broke a window on my van.
Since we had the smash and grab on video the police came out to the house to take our report and to look at the video. Ryan answered the door a few minutes later to let the officer in and ran downstairs to get the video for the officer to watch. I told the officer he could come into the living room since he was just standing behind the baby gate in the entry way. Gavin marched straight over to the officer and put his hands in the air and said, "Up."
The officer didn't understand what he was asking so he tried to make small talk with him but Gavin kept saying, "Up." I told the officer that Gavin wanted to be picked up. So the officer bent over and picked him up.
"What? No. We didn't know. Hmfph. Thank you."
Then I saw him leaning out the door. At that point I jumped up and said, "Did someone break into our car?"
"Yes."
I was furious! The timing is just impeccable. For Lent this year I am giving up anger. Trying to give it up. Feeling angry is fine - it's just the expression of the anger that I'm really trying to work on. If there was a test for this sort of stuff I think I would have failed based on my vocabulary choices alone.
We thought at first we knew who it was since we caught someone skulking along the curb a couple of months ago peering into cars before he walked off camera and smashed our neighbor's Jeff and Ron's house sitter's car window. I sent the video out to the neighborhood listserv and people said it was Albert. Our resident car prowler.
Having an idea of who it was Ryan said he wanted to go to his house and smash all of his windows. Of course, I piped up and said, "Is that what Jesus would do?" We had a little back and forth and came to the conclusion that even if Jesus wouldn't turn the other cheek and smashed out Albert's windows he would at least get caught and be the one to get in trouble.
So as I'm swearing at the punk in the video and Ryan turned to me and said, "And you think I was being unchristian like?"
Enough said.
Then I thought about watching the Oprah show where she interviewed Jim Jones, Jr. - son of Jim Jones of the Jonestown massacre. If he could forgive his father for killing his wife, sister, a brother, and unborn child then surely I could refrain from swearing at the punk who broke a window on my van.
Since we had the smash and grab on video the police came out to the house to take our report and to look at the video. Ryan answered the door a few minutes later to let the officer in and ran downstairs to get the video for the officer to watch. I told the officer he could come into the living room since he was just standing behind the baby gate in the entry way. Gavin marched straight over to the officer and put his hands in the air and said, "Up."
The officer didn't understand what he was asking so he tried to make small talk with him but Gavin kept saying, "Up." I told the officer that Gavin wanted to be picked up. So the officer bent over and picked him up.
The officer gave Gavin a sticker badge. Gavin said thank you (with some prompting) then asked to go up again.
Since we had the video the officer dusted the inside of the van for prints and encouraged us to call when we see suspicious people walking around. I will call but if I had seen the punk at 5 am this morning I would have seen him breaking into our van. If I had seen that I would have screamed at him from the front door. I probably would have screamed some unkind words.
The only thing that would have kept me from running and ramming his body into the van (he was half way in) would be the guy who caught someone in the act of breaking into his car who was stabbed and left with life threatening injuries up in North Seattle a couple of days ago and Maurice Clemmons (the guy who killed the four Lakewood officers a couple of months ago) stole a car in the south end of my neighborhood - the owner of that car saw Clemmons stealing his car but he called the police instead of confronting the monster. Good call.
That and I'm a wee little weakling.
Ryan and I watched the video to see if he made off with anything since we didn't remember leaving anything in the van. There were a few receipts, a Jack Johnson CD case, and a coupon to Cedars on Brooklyn in the U-District sitting on the drop down console. Under the console and out of sight was a plastic white Target bag with candy conversation hearts.
The little punk broke into our van when NOTHING was in sight. We had no change in the glove box, No tell tale chargers to indicate we had electronics stashed away. NOTHING. The little cretin broke the window in the hopes he would find something. It's a freakin' minivan?! What was he hoping to score? Hotwheels?
He did find something. On the video we saw him walk away from the van rifling through a white plastic bag.
After I took the carseats out of the van and put them in the car and had the boys strapped in ready for church I stood next to the car and said to Ryan before hopping in and driving away, "I hope he breaks a tooth on a piece of candy."
Monday, February 15, 2010
Political Fist
Getting Gavin to eat can be a challenge. All he wants is warm milk to drink. Some days he just wants peanut butter toast - or as he calls it: peabuh tote. Tonight we thought he would like some yummy sticky brown rice with peanut sauce since he loves rice and he loves peanut butter. We asked him if he would like to try a bit. Rookie mistake. Never ask a toddler a question when you don't want the answer to be 'no'.
Gavin looked at Ryan and said a very matter of fact, "No," complete with a shake of his cute little noggin. Ryan took a new approach. "You try a bite of the rice and then I will give you warm milk."
"Warm milk?" Gavin was suddenly much more amenable to trying a bite. He opened his mouth to grant access to the spoon bearing brown rice with peanut sauce. In the spoon went. He didn't spit it out but instead had a little surprised look on his face as he realized the food was actually kind of tasty. Then he leaned forward a bit more and licked some more peanut sauce off the spoon.
Encouraged, Ryan asked, "Want another bite?"
"No."
So, he got half a cup of warm milk. If he wanted more he would have to eat something else. We offered up hummus which he was very excited about. Only thing is we were out. No fear. Hummus is one thing I can make quickly and it tastes pretty good.
Part of me feels bad feeding my kid a hummus sandwich because it sounds so gross. Hummus with veggies? Yum. Hummus on whole wheat bread? Not so yummy.
Gavin liked it so much Ryan and I didn't notice that while we were chatting Gavin was busy shoving his mouth to capacity and beyond with his disgusting little sandwich.
"Whoa! Gavin, you don't have to shove the whole thing in your mouth. Slow down, buddy." Ryan said as I looked on.
The G was trying really hard to chew his food and keep the food in his mouth. The act required great concentration as he could hardly keep his lips together. His forehead was furrowed in a semi-scowl and he slowly moved his jaws up and down, trying to keep it all in side.
His facial expressions were so cute I thought I was going to burst so instead of bursting I balled up my hand into a fist Bill Clinton style and, for emphasis, pounded it (ever so gently on the table) as I said, "I (thump) love (thump) you (thump)!"
As soon as Gavin could manage he looked at me and with his little hand balled up in a fist he said, "I (thump) love (thump) you (thump), too (thump)."
Gavin looked at Ryan and said a very matter of fact, "No," complete with a shake of his cute little noggin. Ryan took a new approach. "You try a bite of the rice and then I will give you warm milk."
"Warm milk?" Gavin was suddenly much more amenable to trying a bite. He opened his mouth to grant access to the spoon bearing brown rice with peanut sauce. In the spoon went. He didn't spit it out but instead had a little surprised look on his face as he realized the food was actually kind of tasty. Then he leaned forward a bit more and licked some more peanut sauce off the spoon.
Encouraged, Ryan asked, "Want another bite?"
"No."
So, he got half a cup of warm milk. If he wanted more he would have to eat something else. We offered up hummus which he was very excited about. Only thing is we were out. No fear. Hummus is one thing I can make quickly and it tastes pretty good.
Part of me feels bad feeding my kid a hummus sandwich because it sounds so gross. Hummus with veggies? Yum. Hummus on whole wheat bread? Not so yummy.
Gavin liked it so much Ryan and I didn't notice that while we were chatting Gavin was busy shoving his mouth to capacity and beyond with his disgusting little sandwich.
"Whoa! Gavin, you don't have to shove the whole thing in your mouth. Slow down, buddy." Ryan said as I looked on.
The G was trying really hard to chew his food and keep the food in his mouth. The act required great concentration as he could hardly keep his lips together. His forehead was furrowed in a semi-scowl and he slowly moved his jaws up and down, trying to keep it all in side.
His facial expressions were so cute I thought I was going to burst so instead of bursting I balled up my hand into a fist Bill Clinton style and, for emphasis, pounded it (ever so gently on the table) as I said, "I (thump) love (thump) you (thump)!"
As soon as Gavin could manage he looked at me and with his little hand balled up in a fist he said, "I (thump) love (thump) you (thump), too (thump)."
Friday, February 12, 2010
Bravery
What is bravery? Is it facing ones fears? Some fears I understand completely. Fear of heights? Sure. I see it. Unless that fear is all consuming when standing on a step ladder. Fearful when you are several stories in the air and looking down? It seems only natural to be afraid. Fear of flying? Now that makes complete sense to me. God did not create human beings to be sealed in a metal tube and flung through the atmosphere at speeds that can break the sound barrier. Really.
Every time I have to fly I wake up the morning of with a premonition that something awful is going to happen. There is really only one awful thing that can happen when you fear flying - crashing in a fiery inferno. Wait, isn't an inferno by definition fiery? Right? Or crashing in the ocean or getting blown up by a crazy jihadist. All of those roads lead to death. Not a good fate.
Each time I fly I have that premonition. Each time I take that premonition and I walk it over to a drawer in my brain labeled, "crazy". I take a small gold key and carefully unlock the drawer and open it just wide enough and just long enough to shove the crazy flying premonition inside and as soon as it is safely tucked inside I slam the drawer shut before other stored crazies try to escape.
Having secured the crazy premonition in the crazy file where it belongs I walk over to the very small drawer labeled, "logic". I open the drawer and thumb through the smattering of files until I come to "safety". There I learn it is far safer to fly than it is to drive.
Uh-oh. Just by mentioning how much safer it is to fly than it is to drive leads one to ponder how dangerous it is to drive. Before long I am fearing a fiery car crash on the way to the airport.
Ugh. Time to take the fear of driving file over the "crazy" file. But, wait. It's not crazy to be afraid for your life when you are in a car.
Round and round we go.
But I digress. Actually, I'm stalling. I think I'm hoping that if I ramble enough people will lose interest and quit reading because I'm trying to build up enough courage to write about this. A month or so ago when I set out on this quest a girlfriend said I should blog about it so she can follow along.
Gulp.
I've told many girlfriends about this goal I have for myself. But telling a couple of people is one thing. Putting it in writing is another thing.
But it is in writing and soon it will have a photo to go with it. And that photo will have my name scrawled above it. And a number below it. And it will be posted at my gym.
I entered a weight loss challenge at my gym.
It is pretty scary because I know a lot of people from my previous job, my old neighborhood and my church who go to my gym. They are going to see me in ill fitting clothes with my weight clearly posted below the very unflattering picture of me.
Yes! I'm not making this up! This probably sounds like a nightmare for most women. The fitness manager at the gym tried talking some sense into me when I was nervous about having my photo and weight up for all to see. He said, "People see you every day just like this. Now it's just a photo."
Um.... whatever. First of all, I go to great lengths to buy clothes that minimize my size. He specifically asked me to wear clothes that show my shape which I understand. It's hard to get a good idea of a before and after if I tried to camoflauge my shape with the help of clothes that hit in all the right spots to hide my bulging, well, everything. And second of all, I don't walk around with an a-board on me that has my weight written down for all to see.
It's really hard to put this down in writing for everyone to read. Friends who have known me for a long time knew me as a thin person. A few years ago when I first gained a bunch of weight my younger brother couldn't believe his eyes when he saw me at Christmas. He told me the following year after I had lost the weight that he was in shock at how much weight I had gained. If I lose 20 pounds I will be at that heavy weight that first shocked him.
The super vain girl in me - yes, I do have a resident vain girl but you would never know it by my lack of fashionable clothes, make-up and put together hair - thinks about the horror of an old flame somehow reading this and thinking, "Whew, dodged that bullet." It's all lame, I know. Why should I care what anyone thinks?
But I do.
So, any readers left? Is it safe for me to be brave and tell the world how much I weigh?
*deep breath*
176 pounds.
As of tonight.
I have already lost 10 pounds since Christmas.
Oh, wait. I think if I listen carefully enough I can hear people thinking of excuses for me.
"But, April, you just had a baby."
"You had two babies in two years."
"You look great."
"It's just a number."
I can only blame 10 pounds on baby. I gained all of this weight, save 10 pounds, before I had kids.
My goal is to lose 50 pounds. I have 40 to go. Fortunately for me I have breastfeeding on my side. I also have breastfeeding working against me. As a breastfeeding woman I am allowed an extra 500 calories a day. If I weren't breastfeeding I should only consume 1500 calories a day but since I have a resident milk muncher I am allowed 2000 calories a day.
To help me get to my goal I hired a personal trainer at the gym. I see her twice a week and twice a week she kicks my butt. And my abs, and my arms, and my glutes...
Since starting with the trainer a few things have happened that kind of put a damper on my exercising.
1) Two colds. Nothing like the inability to breath or swallow your own saliva without it feeling like gargling broken glass to put a damper on your exercise.
2) Tendonitis and various foot ailments. Really? Really? A stupid tendon in a stupid toe wants to come between me and a size 6? I would say it is trying to come between me and a bikini but I have no hope of my stomach being bikini worthy ever again. Sure it will shrink in size but my stomach may end of giving Suki the Saggy Baggy Elephant a run for his money.
3) Sleep deprivation. Theo quit sleeping well. He decided to wake up every 1-2 hours, 3 if I'm lucky. It's really hard to get your cardio in when your head feels like a lead balloon. Last night I laid my head down on the dining room table with my arm spread out on either side. I felt like could have slept comfortably for hours. But nooooo... I had to go make dinner. And by make I mean "make". There was some button pushing and re-heating of rice and beans from Taco del Mar for Gavin and heating a frozen Indian chicken and rice dinner for me. Take that Pioneer Woman.
But I am doing something right. I'm counting every little calorie. Every. Little. Calorie. I'm walking a bit more and when I have a bit of energy left over in the evening and am not doing the head bob on the couch I do my Jillian Michaels 30 Day Shred DVD workout.
And it's working.
My face looks a little thinner and by thinner I mean slightly less fat. My jeans fit a little better. My tops aren't so darn snug.
When I notice I'm losing weight it strengthens my resolve to stick with it. Success begets success.
Every time I have to fly I wake up the morning of with a premonition that something awful is going to happen. There is really only one awful thing that can happen when you fear flying - crashing in a fiery inferno. Wait, isn't an inferno by definition fiery? Right? Or crashing in the ocean or getting blown up by a crazy jihadist. All of those roads lead to death. Not a good fate.
Each time I fly I have that premonition. Each time I take that premonition and I walk it over to a drawer in my brain labeled, "crazy". I take a small gold key and carefully unlock the drawer and open it just wide enough and just long enough to shove the crazy flying premonition inside and as soon as it is safely tucked inside I slam the drawer shut before other stored crazies try to escape.
Having secured the crazy premonition in the crazy file where it belongs I walk over to the very small drawer labeled, "logic". I open the drawer and thumb through the smattering of files until I come to "safety". There I learn it is far safer to fly than it is to drive.
Uh-oh. Just by mentioning how much safer it is to fly than it is to drive leads one to ponder how dangerous it is to drive. Before long I am fearing a fiery car crash on the way to the airport.
Ugh. Time to take the fear of driving file over the "crazy" file. But, wait. It's not crazy to be afraid for your life when you are in a car.
Round and round we go.
But I digress. Actually, I'm stalling. I think I'm hoping that if I ramble enough people will lose interest and quit reading because I'm trying to build up enough courage to write about this. A month or so ago when I set out on this quest a girlfriend said I should blog about it so she can follow along.
Gulp.
I've told many girlfriends about this goal I have for myself. But telling a couple of people is one thing. Putting it in writing is another thing.
But it is in writing and soon it will have a photo to go with it. And that photo will have my name scrawled above it. And a number below it. And it will be posted at my gym.
I entered a weight loss challenge at my gym.
It is pretty scary because I know a lot of people from my previous job, my old neighborhood and my church who go to my gym. They are going to see me in ill fitting clothes with my weight clearly posted below the very unflattering picture of me.
Yes! I'm not making this up! This probably sounds like a nightmare for most women. The fitness manager at the gym tried talking some sense into me when I was nervous about having my photo and weight up for all to see. He said, "People see you every day just like this. Now it's just a photo."
Um.... whatever. First of all, I go to great lengths to buy clothes that minimize my size. He specifically asked me to wear clothes that show my shape which I understand. It's hard to get a good idea of a before and after if I tried to camoflauge my shape with the help of clothes that hit in all the right spots to hide my bulging, well, everything. And second of all, I don't walk around with an a-board on me that has my weight written down for all to see.
It's really hard to put this down in writing for everyone to read. Friends who have known me for a long time knew me as a thin person. A few years ago when I first gained a bunch of weight my younger brother couldn't believe his eyes when he saw me at Christmas. He told me the following year after I had lost the weight that he was in shock at how much weight I had gained. If I lose 20 pounds I will be at that heavy weight that first shocked him.
The super vain girl in me - yes, I do have a resident vain girl but you would never know it by my lack of fashionable clothes, make-up and put together hair - thinks about the horror of an old flame somehow reading this and thinking, "Whew, dodged that bullet." It's all lame, I know. Why should I care what anyone thinks?
But I do.
So, any readers left? Is it safe for me to be brave and tell the world how much I weigh?
*deep breath*
176 pounds.
As of tonight.
I have already lost 10 pounds since Christmas.
Oh, wait. I think if I listen carefully enough I can hear people thinking of excuses for me.
"But, April, you just had a baby."
"You had two babies in two years."
"You look great."
"It's just a number."
I can only blame 10 pounds on baby. I gained all of this weight, save 10 pounds, before I had kids.
My goal is to lose 50 pounds. I have 40 to go. Fortunately for me I have breastfeeding on my side. I also have breastfeeding working against me. As a breastfeeding woman I am allowed an extra 500 calories a day. If I weren't breastfeeding I should only consume 1500 calories a day but since I have a resident milk muncher I am allowed 2000 calories a day.
To help me get to my goal I hired a personal trainer at the gym. I see her twice a week and twice a week she kicks my butt. And my abs, and my arms, and my glutes...
Since starting with the trainer a few things have happened that kind of put a damper on my exercising.
1) Two colds. Nothing like the inability to breath or swallow your own saliva without it feeling like gargling broken glass to put a damper on your exercise.
2) Tendonitis and various foot ailments. Really? Really? A stupid tendon in a stupid toe wants to come between me and a size 6? I would say it is trying to come between me and a bikini but I have no hope of my stomach being bikini worthy ever again. Sure it will shrink in size but my stomach may end of giving Suki the Saggy Baggy Elephant a run for his money.
3) Sleep deprivation. Theo quit sleeping well. He decided to wake up every 1-2 hours, 3 if I'm lucky. It's really hard to get your cardio in when your head feels like a lead balloon. Last night I laid my head down on the dining room table with my arm spread out on either side. I felt like could have slept comfortably for hours. But nooooo... I had to go make dinner. And by make I mean "make". There was some button pushing and re-heating of rice and beans from Taco del Mar for Gavin and heating a frozen Indian chicken and rice dinner for me. Take that Pioneer Woman.
But I am doing something right. I'm counting every little calorie. Every. Little. Calorie. I'm walking a bit more and when I have a bit of energy left over in the evening and am not doing the head bob on the couch I do my Jillian Michaels 30 Day Shred DVD workout.
And it's working.
My face looks a little thinner and by thinner I mean slightly less fat. My jeans fit a little better. My tops aren't so darn snug.
When I notice I'm losing weight it strengthens my resolve to stick with it. Success begets success.
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
Birch Bay, B'ham & Vancouver, B.C. photos
Here are some pictures we've taken while on vacation in Birch Bay. Yep. Birch Bay.
Gavin loves climbing on this coffee table. Good to know it will still be years before we get a coffee table.
He's getting better at keeping toys in his hands. Look at that concentration.
Gavin put the blankie on his little brother.
Buckled up and ready to drive to Canada. Gavin's second foreign country and Theo's first.
An Olympic venue in Vancouver, B.C.
Vancouver is a pretty city.
These were all over the city. It reminded me of Seattle's pigs.
A church smack dab in the middle of the city.
Paper (or what looked like paper) lanterns hanging in a street that has been closed for the Olympics.
Gavin had fun playing in these Olympic figure cut outs.
I just thought this building looked pretty cool. It overlooked the ice hockey venue.
Streets were closed everywhere - a full week before the Olympics.
This was right next to the creepy bathrooms (see previous post).
For the consumer who wants an organic high.
Leaving Vancouver.
Preparations get under way at the Peace Arch crossing for the Olympic torch relay.
Waiting in line at the border crossing.
So CUTE!!!
Nice comb over.
Great toohless grin.
Me 'n Theo
Gavin watching a video compilation of himself. He loved it!
He didn't want to wear his shirt.
There was no stopping him.
Doing his best to not touch the sea life at a tiny aquarium in Bellingham. Best $5 for a family activity yet.
Starfish eating a crab.
Ryan in the bubble tank.
Taking this family photo was not easy. Someone was full of energy.
He was in there for about 2 seconds and then on to the next thing.
At the Children's Museum in Bellingham.
The museum is tiny as compared to the one in Seattle but it was just big enough to spend a little over an hour - toddler sized.
Theo enjoying the Children's Museum. He took a nice nap - and it was small enough that we could keep an eye on him from the stations Gavin liked.
He carried this tea pot around the museum - at one point he called it a 'tea bucket'.
He had a cow when I took the canteen off as we were leaving.
Brushing and picking his hair.
Theo taking a little nap.
Gavin loves climbing on this coffee table. Good to know it will still be years before we get a coffee table.
He's getting better at keeping toys in his hands. Look at that concentration.
Gavin put the blankie on his little brother.
Buckled up and ready to drive to Canada. Gavin's second foreign country and Theo's first.
An Olympic venue in Vancouver, B.C.
Vancouver is a pretty city.
These were all over the city. It reminded me of Seattle's pigs.
A church smack dab in the middle of the city.
Paper (or what looked like paper) lanterns hanging in a street that has been closed for the Olympics.
Gavin had fun playing in these Olympic figure cut outs.
I just thought this building looked pretty cool. It overlooked the ice hockey venue.
Streets were closed everywhere - a full week before the Olympics.
This was right next to the creepy bathrooms (see previous post).
For the consumer who wants an organic high.
Leaving Vancouver.
Preparations get under way at the Peace Arch crossing for the Olympic torch relay.
Waiting in line at the border crossing.
So CUTE!!!
Nice comb over.
Great toohless grin.
Me 'n Theo
Gavin watching a video compilation of himself. He loved it!
He didn't want to wear his shirt.
There was no stopping him.
Doing his best to not touch the sea life at a tiny aquarium in Bellingham. Best $5 for a family activity yet.
Starfish eating a crab.
Ryan in the bubble tank.
Taking this family photo was not easy. Someone was full of energy.
He was in there for about 2 seconds and then on to the next thing.
At the Children's Museum in Bellingham.
The museum is tiny as compared to the one in Seattle but it was just big enough to spend a little over an hour - toddler sized.
Theo enjoying the Children's Museum. He took a nice nap - and it was small enough that we could keep an eye on him from the stations Gavin liked.
He carried this tea pot around the museum - at one point he called it a 'tea bucket'.
He had a cow when I took the canteen off as we were leaving.
Brushing and picking his hair.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)