Heart Warming

OK, so the following story may or may not warm your heart but it certainly warmed mine. And if I recall correctly my eyes welled up a bit.

It has been well over a week since the incident took place but I keep thinking back on it fondly. Part of me is glad I didn't have the video camera because it is a memory I think will be best served playing on a loop in my head. Hopefully, by writing it down I will help cement it in my long term memory, or at least have a place where I can go back and read about it.

The story is, of course, about Gavin. In the evenings Gavin comes toddling into the kitchen when he hears one us unlocking the safety latch to the doors under the kitchen sink. Recently he rushes over so he can try and get his hands on the dish washing tablets in a big round container with a clear plastic lid that he likes to take off. That night was no different so instead of fighting with him to get the soap tabs out of his hands I asked if he could help me feed the dog.

Turns out helping mommy to feed the dogs was his pleasure. I handed him the blue plastic cup filled with dog kibble. It wasn't Kea's usual dog food - her regular food is for large breeds so the kibbles are huge - not this stuff. The kibble looked like cat food. Of course, Kea's giant kibble has never stopped Gwen (our fat cat) from trying to eat it.

Before I could get to Kea's dish to hold it up for Gavin to lessen the spill factor he was at her dish and dumping the kibble "into" her bowl. I think maybe a quarter of the kibble landed in the dog's bowl.

For several reasons I profusely praised Gavin for his wonderful help. Some of the reasons for profusely thanking my toddler for spilling dog food all over the floor:

1. He's 23 months old - not even 2 years.
2. He gets very upset with himself for not getting all of the kibble into the bowl - he will pick up every last piece and place it in the dog's bowl - he used to stand there holding the empty cup and just cry when he spilled.
3. I asked for it.

Normally, I would just let the dog eat the kibble off the floor, she is a dog after all, but the kibble was so tiny and it was everywhere. I didn't relish the idea of mopping thick, viscous dog drool with kibble crumbs off the floor so I grabbed a broom and swept the kibble into a pile.

Gavin saw me get the broom out and disappeared into his bedroom for a brief moment. When I looked up again he was marching with a purposeful gait back into the kitchen with very stern look on his face all the while holding his little toy broom high in the air. He went right to work sweeping the neat pile of dog kibble I just mounded up all over the kitchen and dining room. The kibble was now even more spread out.

It was the sweetest thing to see him trying to clean up his mess - hoisting his broom over head and smacking it down on the floor over and over in an attempt to help clean up. Sensing he was getting a bit frustrated with his cleaning skills I thanked him for his help and stood behind him and guided the broom with his chubby little hands firmly clasped on the handle and helped him sweep the kibbles into another pile. Then I quickly took the broom back to his room.

My little guy really doesn't like disorder - when he is done with his crayons he will line them up. Just today at dinner he picked up the peas that he had spit out onto his high chair tray and put them on his plate with the rest of the peas. I even saw him eyeing the other three peas I picked up off the floor and set on the butcher block as a temporary holding place until dinner was over. If he could I think he would have put those peas back on his plate, too.

I think his dislike for disorder is a Haas trait. It could come from Ryan's side but I know I have some crazies on my side of the family when it comes to order. First and foremost, Grandma Martha - my dad's mom. Her house was always clean. Not just clean but c-l-e-a-n. She passed the clean gene onto my dad. Of course, I don't remember much of his neatnik ways but I've been told a story or two. Well, my mom was the same way, too. So she and my dad passed that gene onto my older brother Ike who would wake me and my younger brother up early in the morning when we were little so we could surprise mom with a super clean house - although I don't know what there was to clean since it was always clean.

Something happened and the gene completely skipped me and went straight to Joel. He and Ike always had the cleanest rooms. Mom and Dad never had to hassle them about cleaning their rooms. I had always chalked it up to them being boys and having boring stuff. Mom would sometimes tell me that she just didn't get how we were related sometimes because I was always so messy. My room was constantly a disaster. Poor mom - she tried. She really, really did. I remember her lessons: "April, when you are done with one thing you put it away before getting out the next."

It has taken 32 years but I think I'm slowly starting to tame my inner slob. Hmm, I don't think taming of the slob is really the best way to describe being more orderly - more like whipping the slob. The slob is morphing into an adult who likes a bit of order, or at the very least, less chaos.

To add to Gavin's woes the poor child has a pack rat father (who would vehemently deny this claim, preferring to think of himself as frugal and not wasteful about stuff we could likely use one day but if the shoe fits...) who is slowly being tormented by his wife's exorcising of her own pack rat demons and as a result is slowly freeing himself of stuff. It is my fantasy to get rid of everything we don't use. The rule that personal organizers (and sane people) have is: if you haven't used it in a year then you don't need it.

My biggest space hog are all of my clothes of yesteryear. 3 sizes ago. I have 3 wardrobes because I have 3 different sizes I'm clinging to. My goal has been and always will be to fit back into those clothes. But I think its time for me to bite the bullet and to get rid of them. Even if - I mean when - I fit back in them they are so outdated I wouldn't want to wear them anyway. Maybe I can purge them tomorrow.

Hmm, I went from a heart warming story about my son to purging my room of ill fitting clothes. I wonder if his thoughts will be as scattered as mine or if he will have the engineer brain of his father. I've given Ryan a hard time lately about his engineer brain. When we are hiring someone to do a job around the house or buy a new something for us or the house he can think of 10 times as many questions as I do about the person/job/product. Now I try to anticipate what his questions will be but, lo, my brain is not wired the same way as his. Sometimes when I call a person back for what feels like the tenth time to ask another question I say, "sorry, my husband is an engineer and he thought of another question." The person on the other end usually quakes in fear knowing full well they are going to be under the microscope. If I can't handle asking any more questions I pass the job back to Ryan to pick the person's brain because I also forget half of what they tell me by time we are off the phone anyway.

I told Ryan this the other day about people groaning when I tell them I'm asking a million questions because he is an engineer and instantly felt bad. There is nothing wrong with making sure the service or product you are purchasing checks out. His questions have saved us money and lots of headaches. Why, just the other day, his engineer brain figured out a way - over the phone - to get the Bob duallie stroller to fit in the back of our car because I and woman selling me the stroller couldn't figure out how to get it in the hatch and close the door.

If he was a little bit smarter he wouldn't have figured it out and left me to buy a much cheaper stroller. : ) One of the rare times his engineer brain cost us more money.

Pumpkin Preview

Here are some more pictures of my little guy.

Sneak peak of the cutest little pumpkin!

Watching the Tigger movie at Nana and Papa Monten's

He likes his cousin Erika's Dora the Explorer couch

Playing in a fort under the new dining room table.

Surrounded by blankets made by people who love him. Brown quilt from Jenn from Malawi, patchwork quilt on right by Heidi, crocheted blanket on left by Anna and the blanket over his head by his cousin Laura (8 at the time).

Domestic Goddess

After a while reading about the gourmet meals other people prepare for their families, the wonderful things they sew, the amazing vegetables they grow (and that their families actually eat) I start to feel pretty inadequate.

What do I manage to do with the same time that the domestic goddess has been given? Whereas in the domestic goddess's day there is time for super duper fun trips to the park, time for crafts and time for shopping and picking out fancy cheese - and time for cleaning up messes, sewing clothing for your family and tending to the garden that probably has a magic bean stalk somewhere I seem to barely manage to do simple mundane things like take a shower and eat a meal.

Yesterday I felt super put together because I got to take a shower and comb my hair and put on make up. The only thing that would have put a cherry on top of that hygiene sundae would have been being able to do it while sipping a cup of fresh brewed coffee (well, not while in the shower obviously). But to add brewing coffee to this list would have been greedy and the universe would have laughed at my ambition and taken away my time to comb my hair and put on the scant make up I did slather on my face.

This morning, still high from my shower and combed hair from the day before, I set out to make an awesome meal for my awesome family. As I was washing basil for the pesto I was making, from scratch, I got to thinking that I was feeling all sorts of smug and superior because I was making pesto.

Pesto.

Is pesto not the easiest of all sauces to make? Basil + cheese + pine nuts + olive oil + garlic = pesto. Throw in blender, whir and done. Then throw in the fridge and wait for hubby to get home so you can shock him with a delicious homemade meal.

Except you didn't slice the bell peppers or take the chicken out of the freezer or buy fancy refrigerated pasta (extra Martha Stewart points for making the pasta). Hubby then notices the leftover grilled sausages and bell peppers in the fridge (that you of course, had nothing to do with as they came on skewers with big hunks of steak from the grocery store because you were too tired to cook - and to be fair, a lot sick).

Sauteed sliced chicken sausage with thin slices of the formerly large wedges of bell pepper and onion are a nice addition to the skillet. Boil water for the quickest cooking pasta you have - half a package of angel hair spaghetti - because time is already slipping away from you and three minutes later your gourmet, home cooked meal is ready to be assembled.

Oh, and there are no side dishes. No exotic grains, no salads with an assortment of colorful lettuces and spinach with craisins and nuts. The meal comes complete with a protein and two - count 'em two - vegetables.

Hubby eats half of his before he has to run off to the Seahawks game. I scarf mine while trying to coax Gavin to try ONE FREAKING BITE. He cries and turns his head to the side. I sneak a minuscule bite into his mouth. He reacts as if I stuck a pile of putrid slop from the compost bin in his mouth. OK, not a fan. I help him scoop the offensive food out of his mouth and tell him he doesn't have to eat any.

For dinner my son ate a plum the neighbor gave us from his tree.

A plum.

Oh, and drank some milk.

What am I going to do?

So, my grandiose plans for an awesome meal were dashed. Tomorrow I'm going to try a recipe I saw in a magazine. It involves a ton of eggs, some cheese and vegetables. I figure the chances of getting some vegetables into Ryan and Gavin will have more success if they are covered in egg and cheese. Oh, and it's supposed to be super easy to make. I'm sure it will turn out to be edible.

That's all I can really guarantee. The house is trying to slip into its natural state of disaster and it feels like all of my energy goes into keeping the from falling into the hovel hole again. Load the dishwasher, unload the dishwasher, wash pots and pans, take care of pots and pans. Clean counter tops, sweep floors, take care of papers that find their way to the dining room table where they really want to take up residence and start sending open house invitations to their other friends in the clutter world.

Then there is the issue of laundry. Quickly take the hamper downstairs while Gavin is engrossed in some activity for all of a couple of minutes.

Next trip dump clothes out on laundry room floor - if Gavin is downstairs with you - sort clothes. Go upstairs because Gavin is getting a little too close to the cats litter boxes.

Sort the clothes when hubby gets home. Throw a load in the washer.

Forget about said load in washer until its too late and requires another washing - this time with a hefty dose of vinegar in the rinse water.

Remember load in washer just in time. Throw in load in dryer.

Pick clothes out of dryer as you need them. Bring them up when hubby can't find any clean clothes. Fold all of his clothes and find none of yours because you've been getting your exercise going downstairs to fish clothes out as you and baby need them.

So what do I do with my time? Well, you see, I'm here at almost 4 in the morning because a charlie horse woke me up. It was all in my right leg. One cramp on the top of my foot and one in the calf. If I tried to ease one it would exacerbate the other. The reason I'm blogging or on facebook in the wee hours of the morning vary - last night it was because I couldn't lay down without deep, bed shaking coughing. All of this owlish activity turns me into a less than productive person during the day.

Of course, if I was a true domestic goddess I would be able to make a poultice for the charlie horse and would brew a tea of herbs from my own garden to ease the coughing.

There's no winning when there is a domestic goddess around for comparison.

******

The preceding story of the domestic goddess is not about any one woman. It is merely a compilation of many women - who, I know, all have their own struggles but who manage to turn their struggles into amazing works of art. They are women I am mostly envious of because of their talents in areas that I aspire to be better in.

I may not have the best kept house but you know what, I bet I can make you laugh.

Now if only that laughter could churn out a knitted scarf and a three course meal.

Pics of Cute Kids and Pets

Here are some photos of Gavin, his friend Aislin, Bob the cat that no one believes we have because she is deathly afraid of everyone but the residents of her home, her sister Gwen and the dog, Kea.

Gavin and his 'beeket'

The G made a train out of his various trucks

This isn't the most flattering picture of Bob but it gives you an idea of what she looks like with her recent shave. I LOVE me a shaved cat! They leave so much less fur around and as a bonus they look hilarious.

This is Gwen. As dumb as she is beautiful.

Another picture of Bob. So you dont think I'm mean, Bob actually likes being petted more when she's shaved. I think its because she won't let us comb her and the matte's hurt when she's pet. So, this is as much for her comfort as it is for my ease in housekeeping (and amusement).

Aislin waiting for her turn in the dog's kennel. Stinkiest playhouse ever.

This picture cracks me up!!!! She's keeping an eye on Gavin.

Another hilarious photo. Aislin wanted her hands on the toys and Gavin wanted his hands on the beverages.

Bobbi wanting to ram the camera with her cute little head.

He sat on the dog's bed for several minutes listening to Elmo talk as he pushed his hand.

Waiting for the 'claw' to attack his belly.

The Greatest Baby Sitter

We almost made it to 2 years before Gavin watched TV. That's not to say he hasn't seen his fair share of soccer or news but that really doesn't grab his attention. He'll look up at the screen for a minute and get bored and do something else. We've given him opportunities to watch cartoons in the past. Those rare times were when he got a big boo boo and nothing would console him. Turns out in those times undiluted juice was a big treat and he had zero interest in cartoons.

On our flight to Hawaii we tried really hard to get him interested in cartoons. He would have none of it. Not the cartoons we had playing on Ryan's laptop nor the ones the airline had in their DigE players. I was beginning to think our son was abnormal.

Then, on Friday evening, between a painful infection and a head cold he became inconsolable. Until... daddy had the great idea to break out a cartoon. He started looking for the cartoon network when I remembered Gavin received a cartoon DVD from his Uncle Ike & Aunt Jenny as a gift not to long ago. Ryan popped it into the DVD player and *wah-lah* all crying ceased. (I want to avoid the cartoon network at all costs - I don't want him to see all of those ads for toys he will one day die without).

All it took to take Gavin's mind off of his pain was a giant green bear named Boz singing about the alphabet with the help of Gracie and Drew. The only other time he sits so still is when he is on a book tear. He'll sit still for long periods of time if someone reads to him (of course, they have to be the right books otherwise he'll grab them and toss them aside or simply state his disapproval with a matter of fact, "no," before handing you a suitable book).

So far there haven't been any protests when we turn the TV off. I tell him to say bye bye to Boz, which he does. Then Boz is gone. If only his songs were gone; they have an annoying sticking power.

Saturday morning I saw him, Gavin, not Boz, sitting on the couch with the remote control pointed at the tv. He would push a button then look up to see if it worked. Eventually he turned the tv on but the poor guy would have to change the setting then get a different remote out. I'm so not teaching him how to do that. Heck, Ryan just taught me how to do it this weekend. Rather, he gave me a refresher course on how to do it.

Here is a picture of Gavin watching the cartoon for the first time. I like to say he is glassy eyed and slack jawed out of awe for the cartoon but I think having a head cold, not being able to breath from his mouth and having to look up to see the tv on the wall naturally lent itself to this look.

Desperate Times

Who has not heard that desperate times call for desperate measures? When one hears this saying they may think of dire circumstances. Or Desperate Housewives, the TV show I suppose. I'm learning that this saying is taking on a meaning in my own life.

What times are so desperate that I'm calling for desperate measures? The economic downturn has not affected us personally - thank you, God! I am feeling desperate when it comes to my son's sleeping and nutrition. OK, so the desperation regarding his sleeping isn't born so much out of my concern that his taking up to an hour and a half to fall asleep for naps or at nighttime is detrimental to his overall well being but out of a deep seated need for some alone time. Either time to do a puzzle or two while lounging in my bed or time to take a nap. Either way, it is restful and much needed, especially since I am great with child.

The real problem that is causing this feeling of desperation in me is related to his nutrition. Gavin isn't a small boy, he weighs 30 pounds which would put him in the 75th percentile for a 2 year old - he still has 2 months to go until he's 2. My boy is not wasting away, his cheeks are nice and chubby and super kissable. His eyes glisten, he runs around, he plays, he yells, he talks, he is even learning some letters from the fridge magnet set. But I still can't help but be concerned about what he is, or rather, is not eating.

Tops on his list to eat are yogurt (doke), milk (mick), juice (deuce), applesauce (bopple), peaches & nectarines (also, bopple), berries (of the blue, black and straw varieties - all called boo or bayee), cottage cheese (cheece). See any glaring omissions there? Say, vegetables? Non-dairy protein? He was eating a lot of peanut butter on whole wheat toast and apples with peanut butter but now peanut butter is off the list. He used to love black beans and rice with salsa. Now he will eat a few bites of rice but only if it has teriyaki sauce on it. Meat is off the list. He'll eat a piece of meat if it has enough of a sweet or tangy marinade but as soon as he chews all of the sauce off the meat gets spit out. Ryan and I don't really care if he's a big meat eater or not - heck it saves us money - we don't have to buy the hormone free, free range, raised by sweet fairies on the prairie meats. I've taken to adding ground flax seed to his yogurt and applesauce. With protein taken care of I need to turn my attention to vegetables.

In my desperation to get vegetables down his gullet I checked out Jessica Seinfeld's cookbook, Deceptively Delicious, from the library. He loved the pancakes with pureed beats especially with peanut butter and blackberries on top (yes, Ryan, you ate beats last week when I made pancakes for dinner), blueberry muffins with squash, banana bread with cauliflower but didn't like the turkey with pureed carrots and bell peppers. I tried the mozzarella sticks with cauliflower but they didn't exactly turn out - they melted into a pile of cheesy goo in the pan - AND the cauliflower was overpowering. Even I didn't like it and I like cauliflower.

Today I made him a grilled cheese sandwich with carrots - not a recipe from her cookbook but one from my own little noggin. I was in a hurry so I quickly chopped some baby carrots and nuked them for about a minute then threw them in the Magic Bullet (mini food processor that I'm really growing fond of now that I don't expect it to work like it does in the infomercials) then spread the carrots on top of the cheese. Gavin ate half of his sandwich - chock full of carrots! I felt victorious!

It was hard to not cackle an evil, evil laugh as he ate his dreaded enemy the vegetable. Even if the rest of the day is a total waste and I fail in many other areas as a mother I at least got some veggies into my son!

Great Day

Today was the second day I hired a babysitter to watch Gavin so I could clean the house. Two weeks ago I hired a sitter so I could clean mine and Ryan's room, although when Ryan got home he noticed my side of the room was spotless and his side was still disheveled. Eh, his stuff was mostly clothes. I added stuff to his dresser - stuff that was clearly his that somehow made its way to my dresser.

On today's to do list was the upstairs so I vacuumed the copious amounts of cat fur downstairs and hauled a boat load of toys down so the sitter and Gavin would have something to do. The upstairs is SO clean! The only thing I didn't dust were the light fixtures in the living room and that was because I realized I neglected them after I dusted the ceiling, crown molding, walls, door frames, mantle, window seats, outlets and baseboards and couldn't risk taking the fixtures apart and spreading dust on the newly clean surfaces. Yeah, I did it all. I even took the area rug outside to air out. I swept, vacuumed and mopped. Why sweep and vacuum? Because sweeping never picks up all of the little specks of dirt and dust. That and because I'm probably a little neurotic.

It feels so great to know that every surface has been cleaned. The kitchen is clean. The living room is clean and the dining room is now a disaster. Everything that needs some attention (lots of paperwork and stuff that needs to be boxed, given away, thrown away, etc.) is now on the dining room table.

That was part one of the great day.

Part two was nap time. Gavin fussed for maybe five minutes before crashing... for THREE hours! Holy cow! I put my pajamas on and hopped into bed and chatted with Ryan while he took a rest after working outside on staining the new cedar siding. Then I solved some puzzles, took a mini snooze and did some more puzzles.

Gavin woke up and Ryan arrived home bearing food from Chipotle. I ate dinner, fed Gavin, played with the dog, picked blackberries and got a call from a friend whom I haven't seen in over 2 months who invited me over.

Here is something newsworthy: I left the house after 8 pm to go visit this friend. I arrived at her house bearing ice cream and blackberries and she provided some yummy fresh baked brownies. She cuts her brownies pretty generously, too. Mmm mmm good.

We chatted for 3 hours and played Phase 10, which I had fun playing but still lost.

I came home, straightened up the living room and kitchen because it is scary how quickly the house moves back to disarray (its natural state) and now here I am telling you all about my super duper day. I never said it was exciting.

On my way home this evening I was thinking about how today was so great and it occurred to me that my definition of what makes a day great has changed since I became a mom but the longer I thought about the more I realized it hasn't.

Even as a kid I remember the times when my older brother would wake me and my younger brother up before my mom and we would clean the house for her as a surprise. Sometimes I wonder how clean the house really was after we were done with it. When I was older and was made to clean my room - which I hated to do but always appreciated it afterwards - I would call my mom and dad up to my room to take in the wonder of its new found clean state. I didn't want to leave; I would lay on my nicely made bed and listen to the radio or read a book or just look around at my sparkly clean room.

The fact that there is such a great difference in how I feel about the dirty room versus the clean room should shed some light on just how messy it gets before I tackle cleaning it. Of course I have the nesting monster to thank right now for my pressing desire for a clean house. It has to be clean before the baby gets here because I know it won't happen afterwards. If anything its going to spiral down, down, down to messy oblivion when #2 arrives.

Its also times like this when I get the cleaning but that I wish I had it all the time. My mom used to say to me that she didn't "get me" because she was so clean yet she had to constantly remind me to pick up after myself. My room was always a disaster and I never took care of my toys. My dad was a tidy person, too. My brothers both are super clean. That leaves me. If I didn't look just like my mom I would wonder if I was adopte because I'm the black sheep of the family when it comes to tidiness. Although, I will say that for being unkempt I am still clean - before cooking I make sure I was the countertops with a clean soapy sponge, I will dust around stuff and vacuum several times a week - everyday if I can manage.

I have high hopes we can maintain this clean. High, high hopes.

Sleep

It has been so long since sleep has been an issue in my house. Well, sleep as related Gavin that is. I haven't been sleeping well with this pregnancy but that's been ok because I would take a nap when Gavin takes a nap. His napping schedule was so consistent. Somewhere between noon and 1:00 he would go down for a nap and sleep about 2 hours; some days he would even sleep 3 hours.

Something has been happening over the last several weeks. I don't know what it is but I do know that I don't like it because it is interfering with Gavin's sleep which in turn interferes with my sleep. I'm not a nice person when I'm sleep deprived. Well, that's not entirely true. I can still put on a good show to outsiders but lemme tell ya - I'm not pleasant to be around. Ask Ryan.

I've tried to account for all of the different variables that have the potential to affect ones sleep.

• Heat. Not a factor. We have central a/c so the temperature is pretty constant.
• Light. Being summer it stays light well into the night. Also not a factor as he was sleeping just fine even when his bedroom was well lit from the natural light streaming in through the windows. His sleep has started to deteriorate even as it gets darker earlier and earlier.
• Fatigue. Is the little dude actually tired? Well, yes. He still has his time of delirium when everything is not just hilarious, its freakin' hilarious. This is our favorite time.
• Routine. Has the bedtime routine been followed? Yes.
• Teething. I don't think any teeth are coming in. He's not chewing on stuff (unless you count his attempts to bite me when I muffle his screaming in public places like the library, train or doctors office) and more telling - he's not drooling; nor is he more grumpy than usual.

After this week of him fighting his nap (the shortest period of time he fought was 45 minutes) and taking over an hour to fall asleep at night I'm beginning to think this is just how he's going to fall asleep for a while. I just need to make peace with it. In the beginning of the week he cried more but after realizing we weren't going to take him out of the crib (we would go in and comfort him) or put him right back after giving him a hug he's just taken to jabbering, calling the dog or meowing really, really loud.

At least once he falls asleep for his nap he will sleep for 3 hours. THREE HOURS!!! He's not falling asleep until 10 at night but is waking up at the same time so he makes up for it at nap time. That gives me plenty of time to take a nice nap myself and take a shower.

I hope he's still taking 3 hour naps when his brother arrives.

Trust

I have been writing in my head for several weeks now. When I can't sleep, which is often, my thoughts become even more introspective and I work through them by thinking about them even more and writing essays in my head. I think its time to commit some of my internal ramblings to ink... or typeface.

Part of me doesn't know where to begin with this subject because, while it is easy to pinpoint where it began, it permeates most aspects of my life. It is a subject that lends itself to many tangents.

My problem has grown worse over the years. At first it attacked only at night. It was frequent at first but eventually subsided. Then after certain life events it started knocking on my door again, as unwelcome as ever. At first the visits were few and far between but as time progressed the visits became more frequent and they felt more viscous.

These gruesome visitors of which I write are nightmares. They aren't your run of the mill menaces where you wake up running away from a bad guy or realize, no, you weren't just in public buck naked. I wish. No, these nightmares come and steal my family. My loved ones.

It all started in 1981. The year my dad died. He died a few months before my 5th birthday. He was 27 and had 3 children, 7, 4 1/2 and 18 months. He had a known heart condition for which he had seen a cardiologist. He was told he was going to need a pacemaker by age 40. They were off by 13 years. His heart went into some sort of fibrillation, he went into a coma and died in the early hours of the morning as he was watching the news in the living room.

I could tell you all about that morning. I didn't really know what was going on. The walls in my parents room was pulsating red and I think blue, from the paramedics parked out front. My mom must have taken me and my brothers and put us in her room while the paramedics were in the house. I stood at the head of the bed and peered over the headboard, looking at the still dark outside where the ambulance lit up our street with its lights.

Wanting to know what was going on I opened the bedroom door but mom was standing right there and she very quickly shut it. I lied and told her I had to go to the bathroom - my older brother joined the lie and mom ushered us the few feet from the bedroom to the bathroom, trying to shield us from seeing our dad but I managed to peer around her legs and just saw a figure with a cloth draped over it and really tall people milling about with clipboards.

I had no idea. I didn't cry until I was at my grandma's house. I sat on the couch while all of the adults sat at the dining room table, their tones were low and hushed; the coffee they sipped was hot as I heard some them trying to get just a few drops at a time without burning their lips. The most noise was made when they set their mugs on the table. My grandpa called my dad's mom and told her the news. It was a small house and the distance wasn't that great from where the phone was mounted on the wall to where I was sitting on the couch but I still heard my grandma scream on the other end of the line. When my mom came home from wherever she was, the coroner's office, maybe, I ran to her and asked, "Did he make it?" She said no - maybe everyone thought I knew or didn't know how to talk to me or they were all in shock themselves. I ran to the couch and cried. I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. I don't know how long I cried for, it felt like days.

Soon after that the nightmares started.

Of course I had fantasy dreams where my dad was with us on Christmas morning. I would wake up happy for a split second before I realized it was a dream. I would prefer those heart wrenching dreams any day over the nightmares. For a long time it was the same nightmare. My family was in a house that was a huge spool - the kind you would wrap industrial cable around - and it would catch fire and start rolling down a hill. I have no idea how long that nightmare went on for.

Fortunately, we talked about my dad a lot. There was no nonsense about ignoring what had happened and not talking about him to avoid sad feelings. If we wanted to talk about my dad we were given free reign. I think that helped my waking self but it did nothing for the nighttime.

Eventually the nightmares subsided. My nights were filled with peaceful sleep for many years. Then sometime in high school they slowly started again. Sometimes I had pleasant, if not bizarre dreams. I used to keep a journal of my dreams because they were so darn entertaining. One dream I remember vividly involved stealing milk from a fabric store (which was inside my grandparents motor home) and being chased by an animated superman turned into a red streak when he chased a mob of people after an earthquake - and the mob turned around and chased superman. Hilarious stuff.

I wish every night brought such great entertainment. When the nightmares came back they were few and far between but they involved one of my brothers, mom or step dad meeting an untimely end. After the first "showing" of the nightmare my mind would replay it over and over with alternate endings. I think I was trying to take away the bad ending but it would just change, always resulting in death.

The nightmares really ramped up when my older brother had his first daughter and my younger brother moved to Oklahoma. Ike and Joel were always dying - usually together. Then I think my niece was always in danger. I would wake up with my pillow drenched in tears. Even when I was awake I couldn't shake that awful feeling even though I knew everyone was ok. If I went back to sleep too soon the nightmare would continue. So I learned to pray and read my bible a bit before going back to sleep. That usually worked and brought me back from the edge.

As I got older the nightmares became more frequent. I think I woke Ryan up once or twice and asked him to pray for me.

All hell broke loose, or so I thought, when I was pregnant with Gavin. It seemed like most nights there was someone trying to kill me or steal my baby. Then Gavin was born. That's when hell came to visit me during the day. It's one thing to have Satan and his minions knocking at your door when you are unconscious, but to have him grab your heart in the middle of the day is another thing altogether. The daytime terror subsided as Gavin got older and I wasn't so concerned with always making sure he was breathing - which is, as I understand, not all that uncommon for a new parent.

It doesn't take anything now for me to have a nightmare. Hearing a story about a kid being kidnapped on the news. The toddler who woke up from his nap while his mom was also napping and got outside and drowned in the pool. Flipping through the tv channels and seeing a mangled stroller in the road on the news, staying in a high rise hotel with a balcony, visiting my in-laws whose back yard terminates into a canyon (it's fenced now but it doesn't keep my brain from conjuring up ways Gavin can get around the barriers).

The nightmares come in waves. I'll have a horrible couple of nights or weeks. Even worse is when a horrible though pops into my head when Gavin is not with me. I know Ryan is a good dad. He's very concerned about Gavin's safety but that doesn't stop me from freaking out. Ryan knows how devastating these nightmares are so he is very good about not taking offense when I grill him on safety issues. Every so often I check in to make sure he wouldn't leave Gavin in the tub unattended even if it was to go answer his phone, that he cuts grapes in half because they are a choking hazard, that he wouldn't leave him unattended on the balcony (like in the hotel where we stayed in Hawaii). Once I'm certain Gavin is safe and Ryan is acutely aware of the dangers that surround our son I can breath easier.

I know how to stop the nightmares once they start. Wake up, get out of bed, pray (which usually involves me just begging God to make it stop), watching TV, reading... anything to get my mind on something else. Then I can usually fall back asleep with no more attacks. Until the next night, at least.

What I would really like to do is to stop the nightmares from happening in the first place. There's the rub. I have been told to trust God. Well, sure. Trust the God who guarantees nothing other than his faithful, undying love. It's just I know what that pain feels like when a loved one dies. It is all consuming and it crushes you, eviscerates you. I don't ever want to feel that again. If that is how I felt when my dad died.... I can't even write it out.

If something were to happen to my family I know God would love me and see me through but that does nothing to stop the fear and nightmares. I trust God that if our home was taken away, if Ryan lost his job, that we would still have a good life. Food would be there, we would have some sort of shelter.

I'm not concerned about the day to day issues of life. I'm concerned about life. Period.

How can I trust that God will spare my family from death when he didn't spare my dad? It seems unfair and unrealistic to have God shelter me and my family while the rest of the world can fend for itself. I look at the life of the disciples - all of whom, except one, met an early horrible death.

That doesn't sit well with me. I know that God doesn't love anyone person more than another and that all of our good deeds aren't stored up in a cosmic safety bank where He he checks the account and says, "Well, April. You've read your bible and said your prayers and gave money to the poor so I will keep you and your family safe."

Over Lent my pastor was talking about giving up fear instead of chocolate or TV.

How?

I know that fear isn't keeping my family safe unless I think I would be less vigilant if I thought my children be given full, long lives.

I should probably see a shrink about this but how are they going to help me trust God who I know loves me but makes no guarantees. If only God told me to carve into tablets, not the 10 commandments, but the promise that my children will all live long, healthy productive lives all the while serving Him then Iwould have it in writing.

Christians often point to Job as an example of God's faithfulness. Sure, he gave Job lots of stuff and a bigger family but only after he allowed his first family to be wiped out. I don't want a new family - I want to keep the ones I have.

Many, many people balk when I answer "3-4" when they ask me how many kids I want. I hear all of the reasons why one or two is better than 3 or 4. Like I'm a bad person for wanting a big family. Or at least just crazy.

Now that I think about crazy may be one of the factors. I know 3 people who have had children die at a young age. One woman, Anne (was in her 90's when I met her at the adult care facility where I worked) lost her only daughter when she was returning home to visit while in college. Anne kept a framed photo of her beautiful daughter on her nightstand. It always made me so sad knowing Anne lived so long without her child. My high school band teacher lost his only daughter in a car accident on her way home from college - now he has one child, his son. My grandmother had 4 children. Dennis died when he was 2 from pneumonia and my dad died when was 27. Now she has two kids. What if she only had my dad and Dennis to begin with? She would be left with no children.

As I get further and further in this post I feel better and better. There is of course some time put into writing all of this which puts some distance between and the nightmare but I think writing it out also helps. I hope sharing it helps, too. Me and whoever reads it. I'm not putting this out there for people to feel sorry for me but I think we all grow when we can share in another person's anguish. I think Ryan would disagree with that, though. He hates it when I tell him sad stories (not my own - he's a good husband, he listens) because he doesn't like to feel such pain. He's a good guy, he wants everyone to be happy.

Too bad for him he married a melancholy woman who bleeds for everyone else around her.

Mini Rant

I don't know what I did for pajamas when I was pregnant with Gavin. I think I slept in a lot of nothing when it was hot but as it got colder I wore non-maternity lounge pants and tank tops and t-shirts. Not so comfortable - or flattering. This time around I wanted more comfortable sleep attire especially since we replaced the windows in the entry way that one can actually see through and straight through our long skinny house.

With the old windows I kept the 'temporary' paper shades closed in front of the cloudy window that you couldn't see through anyway so it didn't matter what I was (or was not) wearing; but now with the new windows the curtains are always open because its such a pretty window with a view of some trees. No one out for a midnight stroll needs to see a half naked pregnant lady wandering around the house at night as she looks for Tums, a snack, drink of water, the laptop for some facebook time...

Today I decided it was past time to get some pajamas. The ideal time to buy new jammies would have been before our family vacation where every time I had to get up to use the bathroom I had to pause to pull on some shorts before waddling to the bathroom. I waited until Ryan came home from work before I left although I did offer to do a baby drop off at his office at quitting time on my way to the Gap downtown.

I was pretty excited to see what kind of cute maternity duds the Gap had in stock and I was pretty disappointed with their three measly racks of clothing in their stuffy basement. Oh well, Old Navy was across the street. I hauled myself up the slight incline to Old Navy and asked an employee where the maternity department was. Third floor. I was pretty disappointed with their three racks of clothing as well. Again, no jammies to be found. A clerk thought there might be a maternity store in Westlake Center. Do the Gap and Old Navy think pregnant women don't want pajamas?

On my way to Westlake Center I popped into Nordstrum. No maternity department but one employee told me she thought their maternity clothes were spread out between departments. She suggested I start on the second floor. Obviously this is a woman who has not experienced the joys of the third trimester as your hips and pelvis turn into jelly - walking is good exercise but who wants to walk their gelatinous self to death in Nordstrum in search of hippos sized pajamas? Not me.

One more block to Westlake Center and lo and behold I saw in print on the directory: Motherhood Maternity. The clouds parted and angels could be heard singing as they shone a light on the all things maternity store one level above.

Blessed store designated to outfitting the pregnant woman. Not only did they have pajamas - and cute ones - they had several styles to choose from. And robes! It was hard to not buy all of them but I reasoned a long pair of pants and a pair of shorts would be sufficient. I'm taking the cute pajamas with the super cute top with me to the hospital so I won't have to wear their hideous blue floral print robe with ruffled sleeves. Gag.

I think I'm going to go put on my super cute new pajamas now.

Playing Tourist

I've wanted to to take Gavin to the Pike Place Market for a while but since I don't want to pay $20 for parking (or find free parking and hoof it for a mile uphill) and since I HATE taking a bus with a stroller (a must for a kid who wants to be held by his mama who is already carrying a baby) we've just not gone.

But then light rail opened... and now we have an easy way to get to the market - the Westlake Center stop is only 5 blocks from the market. Of course, we didn't go straight to the market. First we stopped to see Ryan in his new office in his new building. Click here to see some photos from our day.

Now I do like the light rail but I have to beefs with them and both are related to the bus tunnel (or as Ryan calls it the Transit Tunnel).


#1. Elevators. There are elevators. That's good. There are signs to point you to elevators which is also good but once you leave the bus tunnel and are on the street level there are no signs to point you back to the entrances with elevators. That is REALLY annoying.


#2. Elevators. There are elevators. That's good. There are too many elevators. Sort of. There are 3 levels that the elevators service - the platform where the buses and trains are, the mezzanine - where you can cross over the roadway the buses and trains use to go the other direction and access to some stores and the third level - the street at ground level. To get from the platform to the street you have find the nearest elevator and wait for the super duper slow elevator and go up one level. Then you get off the elevator and find the next elevator and repeat.


Long story less long: we made it to the market.

I took a few pictures, walked past my favorite cheese store and realized I walked past my favorite cheese store so I turned around, got in line and bought some cheese curds. YUM. Some may know them by another name, squeaky cheese (it kind of makes squeaky sounds when you chew it). Gavin ate a few bits but then spit the rest out. That's just what he does now. He'll try it and if he doesn't like it out it comes - or if he feels he's had enough he'll spit whatever is left in his mouth that he doesn't want to swallow.

After walking around for about 15 minutes he wanted out of his stroller. After about 2 minutes he decided he didn't want to hold my hand so he went back in his stroller. 10 more minutes in the stroller and he was d-o-n-e. Therefore we were done.

Our big day - no make that - our big hour - at the market. It was fun but I think the next time we go I may reconsider going during a peak tourist season even it is fun to see people from all over the world enjoying our city so much (even if they all stick to Pike Place just to see flying fish and the original Starbucks). To show a French couple how lovely Americans, especially Seattlites are, I offered to take a picture of both of them in front of the Pike Place Market sign as they were taking turns taking pictures of each other.


When we arrived at our home station there was a man walking up the street with his shirt halfway unbuttoned (and he's not a someone who should feel like taking those kinds of liberties - even on a warm day). Dude - if I'm 7 months pregnant and have to wear a shirt so should you. When we got home there was that same guy but this time he stopped to ask me if he could ask me a question.

I knew what his question was going to be but before he got around to asking the question he had a story to tell about being out of gas and his car being ticketed and ready to be towed. Of course he also had to assure me he tried getting help at the churches and yada yada yada. Could I spare some change?


Sorry, no. I'll buy something to eat for people hanging outside the grocery store but I don't like giving money to strangers, especially from someone asking me as I'm heading up the stairs to my house! He'll know where to come ask for more at a future date and I never know who to believe. Argh. I don't normally get upset about people asking me for money but it was in front of my house!

So I guess we had the full tourist experience although getting hit up for money happens everywhere - just more often in the city. Some days the suburbs don't look so bad.

Noisy Toys

I used to be one of those people who said, "No toys that make noise when I have kids!"

Oh, what that silly girl didn't know. A toy that makes noise is less annoying than a toddler whining and clinging to your leg.

It was this morning when Gavin was getting a bit clingy while I was trying to prepare breakfast that I had a flash of brilliance. It was time to put in two new AA batteries into his Chicco barn toy. It died an annoying death the other day as the batteries sputtered (a noisy toy becomes unbearable when it has just enough juice to make half of its normal sound in a slow-mo kind of way). I put it and myself out our misery by taking the batteries out but was bummed when I didn't find replacement batteries.

While I was amused watching him try to play with his silent barn toy with a look on his face that kind of said, "I'm pushing buttons, why isn't making sound?" that game didn't keep him occupied for long. After I put the batteries in I drew his attention to the toy and he looked very disinterested until I flipped it on.

If you could only have seen his eyes light up. His, "whatever" look vanished and he made a bee-line to the toy where he remained parked for the next 15 mintues. So, instead of hearing, "me, me, me, bi, bi, bi" (translation: "feed me, bite (of food)) I heard a rooster crowing, sheep baaing and dogs barking. It was blissful.

Photos

As I was browsing through pictures to post I realized I'm going to have work hard to take just as many pictures of #2 as I do of Gavin. I think all second time parents say that.

Total time spent in wading pool: less than 10 minutes. Total time spent to get ready for pool & driving there: about 60 minutes.

OK, not a picture of Gavin but Ryan's cute, too.

If only you could hear him saying, "dow, dow, dow" as he descends.

Check out the little man's outfit. Hawaiian top and blue doggy pj bottoms. (I threw on the bottoms for his nap and Ryan scooped him up when he got home and took him outside).

A better view of the fashion nightmare I'm creating.

YUMMY, YUMMY CHEEKS!!!

It took 3 trips to local wading pools in one week before he felt comfortable walking in the ankle high water.

The mirror isn't that dirty (just a little) - it is old.

This is Gavin's favorite post bath activity - to see the naked baby in the mirror with his hooded towel on.

He tried playing on his tummy - there are some great tushy shots but I don't think Ryan would approve of me posting them.

Sleepsack still on, wandering around with a 'ba'

SO CUTE!!!

No, he doesn't have a measles; he's just enjoying some strawberries from the garden.

Ryan reads to Gavin before he puts him down at night. It totally screwed up my routine (diaper, jammies, teeth, let him turn on cd, point at sheep on wall and say "baa", say prayer and sing the doxology - DONE). Now I have to read at least three books or else hear "boo! boo! book-uh! book-uh!"

Incoming!

I think he was actually smiling for the camera.

He brought me his shoes so I started dressing him. He got up and ran off once his shoes were on.

Doggy & 'B' - two must haves for sleeping.

Waiting for our turn to see the vet (subsequent visits to the vet were not photo worthy - lots of screaming as he tried to get into cupboards with syringes and biohazardous waste).

His favorite hat. He'll bring it to me now for help putting it on.

"What's the big idea?"

He was shrieking with laughter as he climbed back and forth in this tube.

Just after he gave the "all done" hand sign. He likes the swing but only for a few minutes.

Feeding himself like a big boy.



Yep, I posted this one twice. It's just TOO cute!

Nesting Part Deux

Gavin and I stopped at Lowe's on the way home from the vet today. Well, does one ever just stop by a behemoth home improvement store? Rarely. I do not miss the hours spent in Lowe's and Home Depot watching the employees milling about the store ready to answer a question grow more and more scant and less and less helpful. Some days I feel like our home improvement days are over then realize that they are far from over.

Sure, I have an intact kitchen - a messy but functional kitchen. There is not a sawhorse to be seen, no extension cords to trip over, no drill bits, drills, chargers, hammers or saws on the dining room table yet the list of stuff to do feels daunting. Daunting because it is full of little projects.

Fix the front gate so both doors are even
Tile the basement landings
Paint the stairwell from the kitchen to the basement
Carpet the stairs
Nail the trim in the basement
Put in stairs in the back yard leading to the garage and alley
Paint the house (which involves picking out a color, a stain for the cedar on the converted porch and stone to replace the faux river rock)
Carpet the upstairs bedrooms and hallway (I got a nasty splinter in our bedroom when Gavin was an infant - it required a visit to the doctors office and a foot full of lidocaine)
Fix the 2 way switch for the living room lights
Get a new mail slot
Empty the guest room dresser so guests can use it since the closet is full of stuff
Make space in the guest room closet
Make room in ALL closets
Make repeated trips to Goodwill in an attempt to make breathing room

I'm starting to think nesting is kicking in. Hopefully I won't have many full blown crazy attacks this time round because I know a little better what to expect.

Although I'm already starting to obsess over the sleeping arrangements (even though Gavin was in our room until he was 8 months old) and where I'm going to put clothes for two little boys and what I'm going to do with more baby stuff since Gavin's room is just about right except for his closet. There is no more room to be had in his closet. There are shelves and cubbies and drawers and doors galore in that micro-mini closet of his.

Grumblings of a Pregnant Woman

The more I think about pregnancy the more I have a bone to pick with God. I understand that creating a new life is a miracle. Really, I do. Sometimes I look at Gavin and wonder how it is possible that I was party to making him; or that he was small enough to live inside me and then come out.

My beef isn't in the wonderment of knowing a new human being is made from two teeny tiny parts. No, the beef is with the actual process of pregnancy.

Parenting is a lot of work; its constant. Sure it is rewarding but it is exhausting. I hear the physical exhaustion gives way to emotional exhaustion at some point but I'm dealing with what I know right now.

Wouldn't it make sense to make pregnancy a relaxing experience knowing that the years that lie ahead are going to be full of running after toddlers in the store, keeping an eye out for constant dangers (like buttons and paperclips, poisonous houseplants, knives, scissors...), midnight feedings which turn into midnight consolations, tantrums, meal time chaos, interrupted phone calls.... blah, blah, blah. I feel like I need to put in a disclaimer here that I wouldn't give up Gavin for all of the personal time in the world. I love the little guy more than life itself.... but my point here is that the work is never ending so shouldn't pregnancy be a time of physical well being?

I don't buy into the lie that its just getting us ready for what lies ahead. Who gets ready for big meeting at work the next day by dealing with heart burn, insomnia and 3 trips to the potty? How is that helpful?

Of course I think this pregnancy is going better than Gavin's did. I think my body hurts less and is experiencing less swelling because I'm not strapped to a desk all day but am instead running after a toddler and changing his diapers all day. Getting a nap every day helps, too.

Even though this pregnancy isn't as disastrous (relatively speaking) as the first it would still be nice to function above the zombie level for the first couple of hours in the morning. Speaking of morning. The sun is starting to rise... well, it's getting lighter out - I see no yellow glow but the gray of the skies lightening up a bit. Time for me to get a little snack that won't exacerbate the heart burn and go back to bed for an hour before Gavin wakes up.

Grumblings of a Failed Fashionista

I don't think its much of a secret that I'm not a fashionista but then if you know me, or at least see me from time to time it pretty plain to see; it's not something one can fake. It may come as a surprise however, that somewhere inside me, not too deeply buried, is a girly girl who wishes she could be dressed to the nines or at least be super cute and put together while doing even the most mundane of chores.

There are several obstacles that hinder me in the channeling of my inner fashionista. I think the first and foremost obstacle is laziness. OK, to be honest I don't have a lot of time to put into my clothes, hair and make up. And to be completely honest I still struggled with getting put together when I was childless so I think that brings me back to being lazy; or not caring enough to make it happen. I guess wanting a certain end result with little to no effort put in is another way to define lazy. Darn. I can't get around that one.


Money is another obstacle. We can certainly afford nice clothes but I can't afford to constantly replace the clothes that I stain with mustard, chocolate, tomato sauce, coffee, ink... you name it, if it stains it will make a bee line for my clothes. Of course, the lighter in color and the newer the garment the quicker the stain finds it. So instead of money being the second obstacle it is more like sloppiness.


What the good Lord gave me also gets in the way of fashion. A staple in my wardrobe are ribbed tank tops. I don't wander around Seattle in jeans and the quaintly nicknamed wife-beater ribbed tank but I do have to wear it under most blouses, shirts and dresses. If I don't the general public gets an eyeful of my chest. I think seeing that much flesh makes people uncomfortable and it makes me uncomfortable when you can see a man's eyes fighting the gravitational pull to look at the cleavage. I used to have a boss, that no matter what I wore - it could have been a baggy black turtle neck - whose eyes always strayed and ended up fixed on my boobs. The glazed over look always creeped me out. After a while if I knew he was coming to my work station I would grab some papers and hold them up over my chest to combat his zombie stare. If I was caught off guard I would try squirming away and kind of lower my head so he could see my eyes. I always wanted shout, "Up here! I'm up here!"


All of that to say I don't really appreciate what I was given on top. I could have lived with a bit less. It's so difficult to buy clothes that fit around the bust and the shoulders. If it fits around the bust then my shoulders swim in the extra fabric but if it fits around my shoulders bystanders get the added bonus of the peak-a-boo view of my bra between the gaping buttons as the buttons try their best to keep the two sides of the shirt closed.


Then there is reason that brings me to the title of this post, Fighting Tears in Nordstrum: shoes. I was shoe shopping yesterday and looking for a shoe that would go with just about anything, was comfortable and would work in summer and in the fall. The shoe shopping was brought about by my pregnant feet. Yep. My uterus is great with child but it's my feet that feel pregnant. It doesn't help that I may have a touch of arthritis flaring up in my big toe and that I have some nerve damage from the foot surgery I had last year. Pregnancy + arthritis + nerve damage = persnickety feet which in turn = sneakers.


Gag. I do NOT like sneakers. They are fine for other people and they are fine if I'm going for a walk but I do not like to wear tennis shoes as my everyday shoes. I want to wear something cute. And my standard for cute is pretty granola - brown or red clogs, maybe something a little like a maryjane shoe by ecco, danskno or clarks. But lo, it is not to be.

I told the salesman at Nordrstrum my requirements for the shoes and tacked on, "Oh, and they can't be hideous - or tennis shoes." Without even pausing he said, "It sounds like you need a tennis shoe." I protested, "Nein! No tennis shoes for me! Nein!"

After having the poor man bring me enough shoes to fill a wheel barrow I sheepishly handed him a pair of shoes that one can not deny resemble tennis shoes. They aren't old school style tennis shoes but they are tennis shoes nonetheless.


I started to get really upset as I sat in their super comfy leather chair feeding Gavin goldfish crackers to stave of a meltdown because it was dawning on me that I may never again be able to wear shoes where the top stops short of where the tongue of a tennis shoe would end. The salesman asked me a question and I gave him a short answer and avoided eye contact. I think he understood I was having a moment so he went away. After taking a couple of deep breaths and blinking back tears I collected myself and put on a happy face and paid for my tennis shoes.

My stupid, comfortable tennis shoes.

Extra! Extra! Read All About It!

Check it out. Gavin and I made the front page of the Seattle Times this morning. No joke. Ryan got a phone call from Marc Ramirez, the reporter Times reporter telling him we were on the front page this morning so Ryan came into our room with Gavin saying, "Mommy and Gavin are on the front page of the Seattle Times," to wake me up. I heard him but thought, "How would he know if the article ran today, he hasn't even left the house. And what would we be doing on the front page?"

When I finally opened my eyes I asked him what all this nonsense about being on the front page was and how would he know, anyway?

I hopped out of bed and Gavin and I went to the store to buy the paper. Here is a link to the article (which has a link to the youtube video): http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/home/index.html

Just to be clear I told the reporter that Ryan had everything to do with the surveillance cameras and getting the video posted to youtube but he was only mentioned as my husband in the article. No name mention. Boo.

Other than that it was a great article. Check it out.

Oh, if you want to see the photo of me and Gavin you will have to buy a copy of the paper as it's not in the on-line article.

Getting Reacquainted

When there is no e-mail and Facebook has lost its appeal what's an insomniac to do? That's right. Watch TV.

But lo, TiVo doesn't know me anymore. I flipped on the boob tube to see what was playing live and there was Montel Williams selling his own juicer. I don't understand celebrities hawking wares with their names plastered all over them. Well, that's not entirely true. The George Foreman Grill did seem to be a stand alone product in its heydey. I don't recall there being a lot of similar products out there. But a juicer/blender? Really? The market seems to be flooded with expensive blenders that do everything for you short of grow the tomatoes and carrots for you. They make will everything from sorbet to hot soup. What does Motel Williams have that is so revolutionary and new that it warrants creating a whole new line?

I digress... there was nothing on the tube so I flipped over to TiVo to see what we had recorded. There was just some news and late night shows. No thanks. Then I went to TiVo suggestions where there is usually a treasure trove of crime shows. Law and Order (pick one: the original, Criminal Intent or SVU), CSI (only the original, thank you) and Without a Trace were the standard ones that TiVo recorded.

TiVo died while we were on vacation so Ryan had to put in a new hard drive. That means all of our preferences were gone. TiVo doesn't know us. We are a blank canvas to TiVo. There are no more home improvement shows in the suggestions, no more crime shows, no more Friends or Seinfeld.

What am I supposed to do when tossing and turning, playing Hearts on the Nintendo DS, e-mail and Facebook fail to put me back to sleep? There is so much time with so little to do. Well... there is a lot to do but I don't think Ryan and Gavin would appreciate me vacuuming, doing laundry, cleaning the bathroom or cleaning the kitchen at 5 am.

What's a girl to do?

I'll tell ya what this girl did. After reading the an e-mail from a man who has shown interest in buying our dining room table and chairs I was pretty worked up. The man offered an extra $20 for me to take the listing down right away as he was going to send me a cashier's check and have movers come to pick up the table and chairs.

Do any of you use craigslist? What is the one warning that is always in big red bold caps with every e-mail generated from craigslist? DO NOT ACCEPT CASHIERS CHECKS!!! IT'S A SCAM!!!

I told the jerk that I'm no fool and we are accepting cash only. Then I followed a link from craigslist to the FTC where I filed a complaint. Part of me thought I shouldn't file the complaint in the off chance the guy is legit but then I read his first e-mail that read, "Is your posted item still available?" And to make it even more fishy the text was greyed out at the bottom of the screen - almost like it was a signature.

Stupid jerk.

Well, looky here. My own writing is putting me back to sleep. But my adorable son is in his crib. All 3 stuffed animals and his blankie have been tossed out of the crib per his usual waking routine. That gives me just a minute to wrap this up before he starts getting vocal in his demand to be taken out. I swear he is waking up earlier and earlier every day.

Skunk Bay & Misc. Photos

Here are a few more pictures of Gavin. Some were taken last weekend at a cabin in Hansville where we spent some time with our friends Heather & Joe and their daughter Pearle.

Enjoy the cuteness!

Family photo

Gavin loved walking up and down this bench.

My little guy with all sleeping necessities: sleepsack, doggy & B (blankie)

(he wanted his socks & shoes on but took off before I could finish dressing him)

Prediction: when he is able to use the dustpan he will no longer want to

His one nap that weekend - he fell asleep on the way back from Hansville to the cabin.

Pearle checking out the goods on the counter.

Heather grinding the beans for the morning brew.

Gavin's outfit was RIDICULOUS! Pearle's baby legs (the polka dot leg warmers on Gavin's arms, a yellow Li'l Kahuna t-shirt and blue doggy jammy bottoms). We took him to town dressed like this (minus the yellow sleepsack - I think we are going to have either a fashion challenged child or one who cares about fashion as much as his father and I do).

Pearle taking a taste test of her wooden top toy