We're back in the thick of a remodel project. This one isn't so bad. There are no saw horses in the living room, we aren't eating Stouffer's microwavable meals every day (although I could eat their macaroni and cheese every day), or worse yet, Lean Cuisine. Nothing about that food should be called "cuisine".
This is the last big project in the house - the upstairs bathroom. When we first moved into the house we had some grandiose plans to redo the bathroom. It involved expansion which would involve taking up some closets which would involve adding a closet to the second bedroom under a set of stairs - that do not exist. The stairs would lead to a completed attic space which would have involved raising the roof and changing the roof line a bit which would have allowed for an awesome new front porch - and a master suite and another bedroom and another bathroom and maybe even another bedroom or an office or play space.
But then we thought, do we really want to spend at least $80,000 on a third story? We already wound up spending a boat load of money down stairs - I don't think it was quite 80K but it was up there. We anticipate recouping that money one of these days. And if we don't, at least we've made the house livable for us.
We aren't tearing up the whole house for the bathroom remodel - just the whole bathroom.
The plaster walls are gone - lathe is still in place but now covered in drywall which has been painted, more on the paint in a minute.
The tub is going to be refinished, the tile is being replaced with the same white hexagonal tile, the white vanity with a white vanity, white wainscoting on the walls and white subway tile in the tub/shower. The walls above the wainscoting and subway tile are a deep, dark blue. We'll be able to pull it off because everything around it is going to be white.
And about everything being white...
Yesterday Ryan took the boys to the gym after work so I could get some painting done. Our goal is to get as much painting done as possible before the tiling begins so we don't have to do any prep work to keep the tile from being accidentally painted.
I spent the first hour outside painting the wainscoting and the rail to top the wainscoting. That went relatively smoothly; I only got a few drops of white paint on the cement patio. I moved the paint party inside so I could paint the ceiling. I was going to use a brush for the edges and put on a nice thick layer before using a roller to get the middle. If there was enough time I was going to put on another coat of blue on the walls. It was going to be Ryan's job to paint the blue next to the ceiling since it is impossible for me to stay within the boundaries. If the job were left to me there would be dark blue paint on the ceiling and that's all there is to it. It is a plain and simple fact.
So... I grab the gallon of white paint that I was using outside - the last gallon that we had left over from 5 years ago when we first bought the house. I set said paint bucket on top of the small ladder. I climbed the small ladder with paint brush in hand. As I leaned forward to put my hand on the wall so I could get into a comfortable position, as comfortable as one can be while standing on a ladder painting a ceiling, I felt the ladder lurch forward.
Then in slow motion I saw the bucket of paint topple forward. While trying to get off the unsteady ladder I was staring at the paint flowing out of the bucket thinking, I can get to it; I can save it. While I was foolishly thinking I could mediate the paint loss my brain was also trying to register what was happening because it looked like the paint was disappearing down a hole.
A hole in the floor? No, it wasn't the hole where the toilet sits, it was in the corner - there was a hole in the subfloor. Not a big hole. Nothing that would swallow up a kid but it was nonetheless a hole in the floor.
Then I said two words.
Two words not fit to print.
Then I laughed.
Then I got a roll of paper towels from the kitchen and started soaking up as much paint as I could. It was not nearly enough. So I got a fresh roll of paper towels from the hall closet and continued wiping paint off the floor and away from the hole.
Then I checked the bottom of my feet, ditched my flip flops and ran downstairs to see what disaster awaited me.
There was one lone drop of paint in the room below - thankfully the laundry room with a cement floor - the inside of the wall is coated a thick white and one drop made its way where the drywall meets the unfinished exterior wall. At least it was one lone drop right then.
Several hours later the paint made its way all the way down the inside of the wall and to the floor drain; that took several paper towels to clean up. There's no cleaning up the paint smell down here - that will just have to dissipate with time as it dries.
While I was outside hosing off our contractors now white ladder and scrubbing my uber white hands I was thinking of all the ways I could tell this story to Ryan. One his favorite games to play is Good News/Bad News.
He didn't seem to think any of the good news was in fact good news. I thought it was pretty good that I didn't do it on a carpeted area. He was a touch grumpy about it until I was getting ready for bed and said, "C'mon. It's funny." He laughed and agreed it was funny.
Tonight he said he was just upset that we lost a day of painting. Now he thinks it is really, very, very, hilarious. My painting horror stories just get worse with each painting project.
Maybe that's good news for me.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Sunday, August 01, 2010
Hippo Parking
I just discovered the best time to go to the zoo today. Well, today I discovered the best time to go to the zoo - not just the best time for today. Right now would be a really bad time since it has been closed for three hours.
I used to think the best time to go to the zoo was in the fall, winter and spring. Anytime the sun wasn't shining, really. The darker the skies the better. If it was raining then you hit the jackpot. Well, maybe not so much now that Gavin likes to walk around. If you don't mind a little precipitation the zoo is absolutely deserted on drab days. Ghost town.
The worst time to visit the zoo? Each scenario will be worse than the previous.
A dry spring day.
A sunny spring day.
A dry and sunny spring day.
A dry, sunny and warm spring day.
A dry, sunny, warm, weekend day in the spring.
A dry, sunny, warm day during Spring break.
A dry, sunny, warm weekend day during Spring break.
Then summer hits.
All days are bad. Warm, sunny days are just horrific in the summer.
Only go on the weekend in the summer on a nice day if you are nuts. Certifiably so.
I found out today - which was gorgeous - warm, not hot, and sunny - that if you go an hour before closing the zoo is deserted. Off street parking is plentiful and there are no lines. You can see all exhibits and you can stay for an hour after closing. That gives you one hour to see indoor exhibits (which we never do because I don't feel like unpacking the stroller and leaving it unattended) and an hour see everything else.
Of course, if you only go to the zoo once or twice a year two hours may not be enough for you. If you live 20 minutes from the zoo and you go at least once a month then two hours is plenty of time.
Today Gavin was very helpful at pointing out parking spots. Not when we were looking for parking spots but while we were walking around the zoo. At first I wasn't sure I heard him right so I asked him to repeat himself. "Parking fot," he said while pointing to said spot.
Here are the two spots he pointed out. The first is in front of the hippos watering hole, the second is where they display the birds of prey.
He cracks me up. Maybe it's his daddy in him - you know, transportation engineer... parking spots are related to things transportation related.
It's a stretch, I know.
I used to think the best time to go to the zoo was in the fall, winter and spring. Anytime the sun wasn't shining, really. The darker the skies the better. If it was raining then you hit the jackpot. Well, maybe not so much now that Gavin likes to walk around. If you don't mind a little precipitation the zoo is absolutely deserted on drab days. Ghost town.
The worst time to visit the zoo? Each scenario will be worse than the previous.
A dry spring day.
A sunny spring day.
A dry and sunny spring day.
A dry, sunny and warm spring day.
A dry, sunny, warm, weekend day in the spring.
A dry, sunny, warm day during Spring break.
A dry, sunny, warm weekend day during Spring break.
Then summer hits.
All days are bad. Warm, sunny days are just horrific in the summer.
Only go on the weekend in the summer on a nice day if you are nuts. Certifiably so.
I found out today - which was gorgeous - warm, not hot, and sunny - that if you go an hour before closing the zoo is deserted. Off street parking is plentiful and there are no lines. You can see all exhibits and you can stay for an hour after closing. That gives you one hour to see indoor exhibits (which we never do because I don't feel like unpacking the stroller and leaving it unattended) and an hour see everything else.
Of course, if you only go to the zoo once or twice a year two hours may not be enough for you. If you live 20 minutes from the zoo and you go at least once a month then two hours is plenty of time.
Today Gavin was very helpful at pointing out parking spots. Not when we were looking for parking spots but while we were walking around the zoo. At first I wasn't sure I heard him right so I asked him to repeat himself. "Parking fot," he said while pointing to said spot.
Here are the two spots he pointed out. The first is in front of the hippos watering hole, the second is where they display the birds of prey.
He cracks me up. Maybe it's his daddy in him - you know, transportation engineer... parking spots are related to things transportation related.
It's a stretch, I know.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Pin Cushion
You know you need to sweep your floors when you are constantly wiping the bottom of your bare feet on your legs to dislodge whatever is glommed on to the bottom of your feet. This morning the closer I got to the kitchen the more frequently I had to stop to wipe my feet. My method of wiping my feet is just to run the bottom of my foot across my shin - it gets the annoying bit of whatever off my foot and keeps my hands clean. Since I'm in the kitchen when this happens I must wash my hands if I touch anything dirty - like the bottom of my feet. It would really gross me out to touch my feet then go and touch clean counter tops with feet contaminated hands. It's too much to stomach.
Whatever I stepped on this morning was particularly sticky - I wiped my right heel on my left shin. Then continued doing what I was doing. After a few more steps I realized that I had either stepped on something again or failed to dislodge the foreign object the first time. If I wasn't busy corralling children and trying to maintain peace - or something resembling peace - I would have pulled out the broom and swept the kitchen. But no, there were kids to feed so the floors would remain dirty.
I was in the dining room when I felt a tickle on my left shin. I bent over to look at why on earth my leg tickled. Then I propped my leg up on a chair to get a closer look because I saw dark red drops on my leg.
What the heck! Blood!
Back to the kitchen to wet a paper towel to clean my leg. Sure enough - I cut my leg several times. I immediately checked my right heel to make sure there wasn't a hunk of glass embedded in a big callous - all clear. So now I had to find a piece of glass in the kitchen. I ordered Gavin to the carpet in the living room and started to sweep the kitchen. I saw a few sparkly bits and when I inspected the pile of pet fur, dirt tracked in from outside and crushed cheerio bits I saw big piece of glass.
Since it was lying flat on the floor when I stepped on it with a hard part of my foot - thank God! That would have hurt if I managed to stab an non-calloused part. It sat there on my heel, nice and secure, for me to slice my leg a few times. The glass must have been super sharp for me to not notice the repetitive cutting across my shin.
Hmm... I think I should go put some antibacterial ointment on it. Kitchen floor, glass, feet... sounds pretty germy.
Whatever I stepped on this morning was particularly sticky - I wiped my right heel on my left shin. Then continued doing what I was doing. After a few more steps I realized that I had either stepped on something again or failed to dislodge the foreign object the first time. If I wasn't busy corralling children and trying to maintain peace - or something resembling peace - I would have pulled out the broom and swept the kitchen. But no, there were kids to feed so the floors would remain dirty.
I was in the dining room when I felt a tickle on my left shin. I bent over to look at why on earth my leg tickled. Then I propped my leg up on a chair to get a closer look because I saw dark red drops on my leg.
What the heck! Blood!
Back to the kitchen to wet a paper towel to clean my leg. Sure enough - I cut my leg several times. I immediately checked my right heel to make sure there wasn't a hunk of glass embedded in a big callous - all clear. So now I had to find a piece of glass in the kitchen. I ordered Gavin to the carpet in the living room and started to sweep the kitchen. I saw a few sparkly bits and when I inspected the pile of pet fur, dirt tracked in from outside and crushed cheerio bits I saw big piece of glass.
Since it was lying flat on the floor when I stepped on it with a hard part of my foot - thank God! That would have hurt if I managed to stab an non-calloused part. It sat there on my heel, nice and secure, for me to slice my leg a few times. The glass must have been super sharp for me to not notice the repetitive cutting across my shin.
Hmm... I think I should go put some antibacterial ointment on it. Kitchen floor, glass, feet... sounds pretty germy.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Melt
My heart is putty in my boys' hands. Just a minute ago I coughed and immediately heard a little voice come down the hallway from the boys' bedroom, "You okay, Mama?"
Two seconds later he was at his doorway, "Kiss it, Mama."
Hmm... it was a total ploy to stay up but how can I say no to a request for a kiss? I went to see what ailing body part needed a kiss. "What needs a kiss, honey," I asked. "Wight dare," he said bending over and pointing to his big toe. I knelt down and kissed his toe then told him it was time to go back to bed.
The little sweetheart called me over to his bed and said, "Mama seep big boy bed." I went over and knelt down next to him and gave him another hug and lots and lots and lots of kisses on his super kissable cheeks. He then said, "I give Mama hug and pat back." Then he put his arm around me and patted my back.
Melt.
Two seconds later he was at his doorway, "Kiss it, Mama."
Hmm... it was a total ploy to stay up but how can I say no to a request for a kiss? I went to see what ailing body part needed a kiss. "What needs a kiss, honey," I asked. "Wight dare," he said bending over and pointing to his big toe. I knelt down and kissed his toe then told him it was time to go back to bed.
The little sweetheart called me over to his bed and said, "Mama seep big boy bed." I went over and knelt down next to him and gave him another hug and lots and lots and lots of kisses on his super kissable cheeks. He then said, "I give Mama hug and pat back." Then he put his arm around me and patted my back.
Melt.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Poopy Day
This morning I went to find my friends baby carrier that she lent me when Theo was a baby. I couldn't find it. Frick! I searched the whole house - every room, every closet. Where on earth could it have gone?
My friend really needed the carrier back since she has a newborn so I had no choice but to go buy a new one. I went to Birth and Beyond on Madison only to find that not only do they not carry the print my friend had but that the manufacturer no longer carried the print so I couldn't even order it for her. But I found out how much a replacement would cost: $90.
Bummer.
I was at a bakery buying said friend cinnamon rolls - they are kind of her "thing" in the post partum period and since I promised homemade cinnamon rolls back when I thought having two kids would somehow get easier when the second one was mobile I figured the least I can do is buy some for her every now and then. Anyhoo, while I was paying for the cinnamon rolls Jessica called me to tell me she found the baby carrier.
I zipped home, got the carrier and delivered it to the friend. Whew.
While I was at her house I told her to throw out the dressing for the salad that I brought over the previous night. I was eating the same salad I gave her family with the same dressing I made the day before when something stabbed me in the roof of my mouth. Ingredients of salad: chickpeas, onion, cucumber, tomatoes and the secret ingredient? Glass!
Yep. I got a shard of glass stuck in the roof of my mouth. It took a while to figure out what it was because as I tried get it out it kept breaking as my tongue fumbled around in my mouth. I, of course, spit out everything I had in my mouth but I couldn't find anything. At that point the glass was too small to see and I didn't know what angle it was at so I didn't feel comfortable trying to fish it out so I went and bought a milkshake.
All ailments lead to milkshakes.
No, really. My reasoning is pretty sound. The cold to help any swelling and the suction to help draw out the glass. And, I was hungry because my dinner was cut short by a piece of glass in my mouth.
As I ate the shake I kept checking the glass very carefully with my tongue. I believed I found the angle the glass went in based on the sharp thing poking me when I felt around for it. Suddenly I felt a really big piece at the top of my mouth. I gently ran my thumb over it and pulled out a piece of glass at least 1/2 inch long.
I felt much better after that. My mouth no longer hurt and I didn't have to decide, call the dentist after hours and will insurance cover that or go to the ER? And if I had to go to the ER and it was busy should I lie about how long ago it happened because I would be afraid of waiting for 6 hours to be treated.
The glass came from our Pyrex food storage containers. This also confirmed that when a couple of months ago Ryan had a piece of glass in his food that it was from our Pyrex. We looked at the bowl he heated up his frozen pre-packaged soup in but couldn't see any fractures or rough edges.
I have since thrown away all of our Pyrex food storage containers.
What are we supposed to use? Glass bowls and ingest glass shards or plastic and expose us to carcinogens? I think I'm going with carcinogens - we'll just wash them on the top rack only and won't heat food in them. Now I get to go buy new food storage containers. Time to do some research.
None of the above have to do with poopy day.
The day was actually pretty good. The boys and I spent the afternoon with a friend in West Seattle. We played in her backyard. Gavin ate all of her Pirate's Booty and her daughter tried to eat all of Theo's sweet potato puffs. Theo tried to eat the wood chips. Boy, did he get mad when I took them away.
We decided to go for a walk to a fruit stand. I grabbed Gavin from the jungle gym. I smelled something unpleasant.
"Are you poopy?"
Gavin was silent.
I set him down to check his britches and caught a glimpse of my arm - covered in poop.
By covered I mean about the size of a quarter but any amount of poop on one's arm is enough to count as covered.
It went up Gavin's back. There was no way a wipe was going to take care of this mess. Not that I had wipes, or diapers or clean clothes with me.
I packed diapers and wipes - or rather I set them aside to take with me but they never made it into the diaper bag. Bummer. I did, however, bring swim diapers.
The friend offered up her bathroom. I'll spare you the gory details but the clean up required several steps. A diaper in the G's size was offered and a t-shirt from my friend. It went down past his knees so it was pretty cute taking him out on a walk wearing nothin' but a huge t-shirt and sandals. Gavin asked for pants. Poor kiddo. No pants.
Ryan took Gavin to Kids Club at the gym since he loooves it now. I stayed home with Theo while he finished his much needed nap in his car seat in his bedroom. Man, he is heavy! Removing him, plus his car seat, from the van kills. Baby + car seat is at least 45 pounds. Oy.
When he woke up I enjoyed just spending time with him; admiring all of his cuteness. He enjoyed me admiring his cuteness. I kissed and hugged him saying, "You are SO cute!" He responded by giving a big toothy smile which just amplified the cute factor. Man, that kid is ADORABLE!!!
At bedtime Ryan was sitting in the glider with Theo on his lap.
"Ah, man! Theo!"
Poop. Oh, the poop.
Ryan's lap was covered in it.
And by covered I mean covered. c-o-v-e-r-e-d.
We had to do a pre-cleanup before Theo could even be removed from his lap. Then I had to whisk him off to the tub. Then we had another pre-cleanup. But before I could finish the pre-cleanup Theo plopped his little butt down on the bath mat.
One more thing to clean.
Hence it was a poopy day.
My friend really needed the carrier back since she has a newborn so I had no choice but to go buy a new one. I went to Birth and Beyond on Madison only to find that not only do they not carry the print my friend had but that the manufacturer no longer carried the print so I couldn't even order it for her. But I found out how much a replacement would cost: $90.
Bummer.
I was at a bakery buying said friend cinnamon rolls - they are kind of her "thing" in the post partum period and since I promised homemade cinnamon rolls back when I thought having two kids would somehow get easier when the second one was mobile I figured the least I can do is buy some for her every now and then. Anyhoo, while I was paying for the cinnamon rolls Jessica called me to tell me she found the baby carrier.
I zipped home, got the carrier and delivered it to the friend. Whew.
While I was at her house I told her to throw out the dressing for the salad that I brought over the previous night. I was eating the same salad I gave her family with the same dressing I made the day before when something stabbed me in the roof of my mouth. Ingredients of salad: chickpeas, onion, cucumber, tomatoes and the secret ingredient? Glass!
Yep. I got a shard of glass stuck in the roof of my mouth. It took a while to figure out what it was because as I tried get it out it kept breaking as my tongue fumbled around in my mouth. I, of course, spit out everything I had in my mouth but I couldn't find anything. At that point the glass was too small to see and I didn't know what angle it was at so I didn't feel comfortable trying to fish it out so I went and bought a milkshake.
All ailments lead to milkshakes.
No, really. My reasoning is pretty sound. The cold to help any swelling and the suction to help draw out the glass. And, I was hungry because my dinner was cut short by a piece of glass in my mouth.
As I ate the shake I kept checking the glass very carefully with my tongue. I believed I found the angle the glass went in based on the sharp thing poking me when I felt around for it. Suddenly I felt a really big piece at the top of my mouth. I gently ran my thumb over it and pulled out a piece of glass at least 1/2 inch long.
I felt much better after that. My mouth no longer hurt and I didn't have to decide, call the dentist after hours and will insurance cover that or go to the ER? And if I had to go to the ER and it was busy should I lie about how long ago it happened because I would be afraid of waiting for 6 hours to be treated.
The glass came from our Pyrex food storage containers. This also confirmed that when a couple of months ago Ryan had a piece of glass in his food that it was from our Pyrex. We looked at the bowl he heated up his frozen pre-packaged soup in but couldn't see any fractures or rough edges.
I have since thrown away all of our Pyrex food storage containers.
What are we supposed to use? Glass bowls and ingest glass shards or plastic and expose us to carcinogens? I think I'm going with carcinogens - we'll just wash them on the top rack only and won't heat food in them. Now I get to go buy new food storage containers. Time to do some research.
None of the above have to do with poopy day.
The day was actually pretty good. The boys and I spent the afternoon with a friend in West Seattle. We played in her backyard. Gavin ate all of her Pirate's Booty and her daughter tried to eat all of Theo's sweet potato puffs. Theo tried to eat the wood chips. Boy, did he get mad when I took them away.
We decided to go for a walk to a fruit stand. I grabbed Gavin from the jungle gym. I smelled something unpleasant.
"Are you poopy?"
Gavin was silent.
I set him down to check his britches and caught a glimpse of my arm - covered in poop.
By covered I mean about the size of a quarter but any amount of poop on one's arm is enough to count as covered.
It went up Gavin's back. There was no way a wipe was going to take care of this mess. Not that I had wipes, or diapers or clean clothes with me.
I packed diapers and wipes - or rather I set them aside to take with me but they never made it into the diaper bag. Bummer. I did, however, bring swim diapers.
The friend offered up her bathroom. I'll spare you the gory details but the clean up required several steps. A diaper in the G's size was offered and a t-shirt from my friend. It went down past his knees so it was pretty cute taking him out on a walk wearing nothin' but a huge t-shirt and sandals. Gavin asked for pants. Poor kiddo. No pants.
Ryan took Gavin to Kids Club at the gym since he loooves it now. I stayed home with Theo while he finished his much needed nap in his car seat in his bedroom. Man, he is heavy! Removing him, plus his car seat, from the van kills. Baby + car seat is at least 45 pounds. Oy.
When he woke up I enjoyed just spending time with him; admiring all of his cuteness. He enjoyed me admiring his cuteness. I kissed and hugged him saying, "You are SO cute!" He responded by giving a big toothy smile which just amplified the cute factor. Man, that kid is ADORABLE!!!
At bedtime Ryan was sitting in the glider with Theo on his lap.
"Ah, man! Theo!"
Poop. Oh, the poop.
Ryan's lap was covered in it.
And by covered I mean covered. c-o-v-e-r-e-d.
We had to do a pre-cleanup before Theo could even be removed from his lap. Then I had to whisk him off to the tub. Then we had another pre-cleanup. But before I could finish the pre-cleanup Theo plopped his little butt down on the bath mat.
One more thing to clean.
Hence it was a poopy day.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Good Day
I need to write down the events of today so some day, years from now, I can look back on this day and relive the joy that this day was.
The day had a rough start because the night was rough. Theo didn't sleep all that well and I slept even worse. I am taking a new medicine and it has a side effect of winding me up. I slept maybe three hours before Theo was ready to be up for the day at 6 a.m.
Ryan took the boys and let me sleep. I got a solid three and a half hours sleep - it felt late waking up at 11:00 and I was bummed that I missed church but I was glad to have had a little sleep.
Just as I sat down to eat my breakfast I heard commotion at the front door. Instead of going to help Ryan and the boys into the house I opted to inhale my breakfast before Gavin could mooch half of it and Theo freak because he wanted to eat, too, which would lead to me making more food and getting a box of Cheerios out for Theo (to make up for the half + that Gavin would eat).
Ryan had a lot of things he wanted to get done around the house, like painting the stairwell, some yard work, putting up trim, putting up railings, etc., so I took the West Seattle for the annual SummerFest, WestFest, Street fair, whatever its called.
We didn't stay too long since they didn't have the bouncy house like last year. I'm SO glad I didn't promise Gavin a bouncy house experience! That would have been very sad.
When we came home I attempted to put the boys down for naps.
No dice.
So we went for a walk to our local music festival that was going on. The music was kind of blah and Gavin didn't care to dance and the sun was blazing hot so we turned around and headed for home. On our way home we saw Mick the Master Gardner. He said hello from across the street. Gavin said hi back to him. Mick said, "Hello," again. Gavin said, "Bye," and Mick was kind enough to say "bye," too.
My favorite find was at the Tamale stand outside of the coffee shop where I had just had a nice big ol' iced cuppa jo. For $1.50 I got a pork tamale with green sauce. And like the gringo I am I had to ask the girl selling them how you eat them. She tried to not smile. She showed me so I parked Mr. T in the single stroller in front of the coffee shop and Gavin and I parked it some chairs and shared a tamale. When we were done I bought two more. I think they will make an excellent lunch tomorrow.
Seeing as how our excursion lasted all of 30 minutes I suggested we go play in the backyard when we got home. This was the highlight of the day for me. I filled the kiddie pool with water and did a little re-touching on the boys and my own sunblock, set out a blanket and we had a grand time in the back yard. Theo was content to sit on the blanket and try to eat dandelions while Gavin ran around the pool saying, "I jump in," but never going in.
I tried showing Gavin how fun the water was so I stood in the pool. He stood a good 10 feet away over by the fence. I may have intentionally thrown a tiny bit of water in his direction. He didn't really care for that. I told him to come over and pay me back and splash me. Ryan thought I was kind of a bully. Maybe.
But he did eventually come over to the pool. Theo eventually got jealous and started squawking so I stripped him and Gavin down and put them in swim diapers. I was content to let them be naked but since our neighbor across the alley could see into our yard and he has a little girl Ryan didn't think that was cool. I thought his little girl takes her shirt off, they are European and our boys are 2 and 8.5 months. I told Ryan I would wait until he wasn't home before letting them run around the backyard naked.
Bending over and holding Theo in the pool was difficult so I just sat in the pool. Ahhhh. It felt so good. I didn't go change into a swimsuit because that would involve wearing a swimsuit, my neighbor seeing me in a swimsuit and of course, the hassle of taking two wet boys in the house so mom could put on a swim suit..
We spent at least a half an hour playing in the pool. It had to have been longer than 30 minutes. We had so much fun. Theo and Gavin took turns splashing the water; Gavin was better at splashing Theo than Theo was at intentionally splashing Gavin. It was quite the change from last year when Gavin would just stand in the water and hardly move. I was so happy that he was laughing and splashing and having such a good time.
All the while we were having our little pool party Ryan was busy at work. He would pass us by on his way to the garage and he smiled at us. Maybe he was smiling because I was having the most fun. I told him I got my water dogs, after all.
As with most kiddie adventures all good things end in tears. This time it was Theo. I caught him before it became a full on melt down so I prepped Gavin that it was going to be time to go in the house because his brother needed a nap.
"No," was his simple reply.
Ah, nuts. It was going to be a battle.
OR...
Mama just has to offer up his favorite cartoon and a tasty treat to eat.
Sold.
Boz the Bear on the tube and dried apple slices in a little tiny container that he could hold and feel super special about was worth avoiding a battle of wills.
We had Subway for dinner. Gavin said he wanted to go with me to get the sandwiches. I was mildly annoyed at Ryan for a second for asking Gavin if he wanted to go with me. All errands are easier without a toddler in tow. But I'm really glad he came with me.
We took the car which he loves to do because it's different since we normally take the van everywhere. At Subway he asked me to carry him - he likes to watch the sandwiches being made. I set him down so I could pay and as soon as his feet were on the ground he ran over to a booth by a window and made himself comfortable.
"Gavin, c'mon. We're going home to eat these."
"No."
"Daddy's hungry. We need to take this home."
"No," he said, "Eat here."
I started to get annoyed, "Gavin... ah. I suppose we can eat here."
I scooted next to him in the tiny seat and we dug into our sandwiches. I ate my sandwich and he ate 3 bites of his. I put my arm around this skinny little shoulders and kissed the top of his head while he happily swung his legs back and forth. I hope that is something I never forget. That simple happy little moment we shared.
If I had insisted on going home to eat I would have missed those sweet 15 minutes with my boy. Just the two of us. Ryan didn't die of hunger in those 15 minutes. I hope the next time I feel an unimportant battle brewing that I can take a step back and think about what is really important. Of course, one of these days Gavin will be able to say, "Mom, can we eat here?" instead of "No."
And the icing on the cake for today? Gavin went pee pee in the potty - twice! After the first time I gave him a yogurt covered pretzel. He held it in his hand for a couple of minutes before eating it because he had no idea how tasty it was. Later in the evening I asked Gavin sat on the potty again. I told him if there was pee pee or poo poo in the potty when he got up he would get another pretzel.
I really hope this is the start of potty training!
The day had a rough start because the night was rough. Theo didn't sleep all that well and I slept even worse. I am taking a new medicine and it has a side effect of winding me up. I slept maybe three hours before Theo was ready to be up for the day at 6 a.m.
Ryan took the boys and let me sleep. I got a solid three and a half hours sleep - it felt late waking up at 11:00 and I was bummed that I missed church but I was glad to have had a little sleep.
Just as I sat down to eat my breakfast I heard commotion at the front door. Instead of going to help Ryan and the boys into the house I opted to inhale my breakfast before Gavin could mooch half of it and Theo freak because he wanted to eat, too, which would lead to me making more food and getting a box of Cheerios out for Theo (to make up for the half + that Gavin would eat).
Ryan had a lot of things he wanted to get done around the house, like painting the stairwell, some yard work, putting up trim, putting up railings, etc., so I took the West Seattle for the annual SummerFest, WestFest, Street fair, whatever its called.
We didn't stay too long since they didn't have the bouncy house like last year. I'm SO glad I didn't promise Gavin a bouncy house experience! That would have been very sad.
When we came home I attempted to put the boys down for naps.
No dice.
So we went for a walk to our local music festival that was going on. The music was kind of blah and Gavin didn't care to dance and the sun was blazing hot so we turned around and headed for home. On our way home we saw Mick the Master Gardner. He said hello from across the street. Gavin said hi back to him. Mick said, "Hello," again. Gavin said, "Bye," and Mick was kind enough to say "bye," too.
My favorite find was at the Tamale stand outside of the coffee shop where I had just had a nice big ol' iced cuppa jo. For $1.50 I got a pork tamale with green sauce. And like the gringo I am I had to ask the girl selling them how you eat them. She tried to not smile. She showed me so I parked Mr. T in the single stroller in front of the coffee shop and Gavin and I parked it some chairs and shared a tamale. When we were done I bought two more. I think they will make an excellent lunch tomorrow.
Seeing as how our excursion lasted all of 30 minutes I suggested we go play in the backyard when we got home. This was the highlight of the day for me. I filled the kiddie pool with water and did a little re-touching on the boys and my own sunblock, set out a blanket and we had a grand time in the back yard. Theo was content to sit on the blanket and try to eat dandelions while Gavin ran around the pool saying, "I jump in," but never going in.
I tried showing Gavin how fun the water was so I stood in the pool. He stood a good 10 feet away over by the fence. I may have intentionally thrown a tiny bit of water in his direction. He didn't really care for that. I told him to come over and pay me back and splash me. Ryan thought I was kind of a bully. Maybe.
But he did eventually come over to the pool. Theo eventually got jealous and started squawking so I stripped him and Gavin down and put them in swim diapers. I was content to let them be naked but since our neighbor across the alley could see into our yard and he has a little girl Ryan didn't think that was cool. I thought his little girl takes her shirt off, they are European and our boys are 2 and 8.5 months. I told Ryan I would wait until he wasn't home before letting them run around the backyard naked.
Bending over and holding Theo in the pool was difficult so I just sat in the pool. Ahhhh. It felt so good. I didn't go change into a swimsuit because that would involve wearing a swimsuit, my neighbor seeing me in a swimsuit and of course, the hassle of taking two wet boys in the house so mom could put on a swim suit..
We spent at least a half an hour playing in the pool. It had to have been longer than 30 minutes. We had so much fun. Theo and Gavin took turns splashing the water; Gavin was better at splashing Theo than Theo was at intentionally splashing Gavin. It was quite the change from last year when Gavin would just stand in the water and hardly move. I was so happy that he was laughing and splashing and having such a good time.
All the while we were having our little pool party Ryan was busy at work. He would pass us by on his way to the garage and he smiled at us. Maybe he was smiling because I was having the most fun. I told him I got my water dogs, after all.
As with most kiddie adventures all good things end in tears. This time it was Theo. I caught him before it became a full on melt down so I prepped Gavin that it was going to be time to go in the house because his brother needed a nap.
"No," was his simple reply.
Ah, nuts. It was going to be a battle.
OR...
Mama just has to offer up his favorite cartoon and a tasty treat to eat.
Sold.
Boz the Bear on the tube and dried apple slices in a little tiny container that he could hold and feel super special about was worth avoiding a battle of wills.
We had Subway for dinner. Gavin said he wanted to go with me to get the sandwiches. I was mildly annoyed at Ryan for a second for asking Gavin if he wanted to go with me. All errands are easier without a toddler in tow. But I'm really glad he came with me.
We took the car which he loves to do because it's different since we normally take the van everywhere. At Subway he asked me to carry him - he likes to watch the sandwiches being made. I set him down so I could pay and as soon as his feet were on the ground he ran over to a booth by a window and made himself comfortable.
"Gavin, c'mon. We're going home to eat these."
"No."
"Daddy's hungry. We need to take this home."
"No," he said, "Eat here."
I started to get annoyed, "Gavin... ah. I suppose we can eat here."
I scooted next to him in the tiny seat and we dug into our sandwiches. I ate my sandwich and he ate 3 bites of his. I put my arm around this skinny little shoulders and kissed the top of his head while he happily swung his legs back and forth. I hope that is something I never forget. That simple happy little moment we shared.
If I had insisted on going home to eat I would have missed those sweet 15 minutes with my boy. Just the two of us. Ryan didn't die of hunger in those 15 minutes. I hope the next time I feel an unimportant battle brewing that I can take a step back and think about what is really important. Of course, one of these days Gavin will be able to say, "Mom, can we eat here?" instead of "No."
And the icing on the cake for today? Gavin went pee pee in the potty - twice! After the first time I gave him a yogurt covered pretzel. He held it in his hand for a couple of minutes before eating it because he had no idea how tasty it was. Later in the evening I asked Gavin sat on the potty again. I told him if there was pee pee or poo poo in the potty when he got up he would get another pretzel.
I really hope this is the start of potty training!
Saturday, July 03, 2010
Fled
I'm all alone. The only thing I hear is the hum of the laptop, the chirping of a bird and of course, airplanes flying overhead. I don't have to be quiet for fear of waking anyone.
Guess what else?
I'm bored.
It's not like I am on a "stay-cation" here. I'm staying but it's not so vacation like. Unless you consider fighting the urge to scratch your face off or to scratch the shingles right off your torso a fun thing to do.
Last night I called my MIL to let her know that we decided to ditch our plans to finish the stairwell before Theo's baptism because that would have involved Ryan working on the stairwell this weekend. Cancelling plans to finish the stairwell freed them up for next weekend when I was going to bring the boys out and Ryan's step dad was going to come out and help on the projects. And Ryan working would have involved me taking care of the boys and since I have not one but two contagious diseases right now we thought that wasn't such a good idea.
This weekend is turning out to be the lamest holiday weekend ever.
Oh, no. That's not true. I had hepatitis A in the third grade for a couple of months. That was the lamest Thanksgiving, Christmas and birthday ever. EVER. I'll have to write about that sometime but for now I'm just going to lament my current virus and bacteria laden state.
Mr. T (Theo) slept well last night - a 4 and 3.5 hour stretch of sleep. I slept decently, thanks to drugs. Ooh, almost time for me to take my afternoon round of drugs. Can't forget... After waking and before taking more drugs I would pump for 20 or so minutes. Once I took care of the milk and it was sufficiently cold in the fridge, Theo would wake up. Then I would have to go heat the milk while Theo got good and worked up. I think he was a little confused as to why I was giving him a bottle. Man, he is a ravenous little dude! He attacked the bottle and was sucking so hard the nipple collapsed. Yes. Now just think of that same ravenous little beast drinking straight from the tap. Yowza.
This morning Ryan took the boys to the gym which allowed me to pack for them. It was the least I could do. He was taking the boys and the dog to his mom's so I could wallow in my scratchy misery all by myself. Plus, if he packed it would have been after he got back from the gym which would have taken at least 2 hours. No thanks. While he was gone I washed, dried and folded the boys' clothes, delivered a swim diaper to the van outside of the gym (and called the daycare to let them know the diaper was in the van since I didn't want to show crusty face) because I had a feeling Ryan forgot a swim diaper (which he affirmed when he got home), packed toys, diapers, labeled any and all drugs the boys could possibly need (teething medicine, ipecac in case they get poisoned, Tylenol, ibuprofen...), sunscreen....
Way too many drugs, way too much sunscreen, aloe in case they forget the sunscreen, hats, pj's, bibs....
They are going to be gone 1-2 days. I packed enough for a week.
It's not wishful thinking. Really. Babies and little boys just have a way of peeing, pooping, barfing and spilling all over themselves. Copious amounts of clothing are needed.
I had to go out to the van when Ryan came home to load up the goods before heading to his mom and step-dad's because Gavin refused to leave the van. He was told he was going to Nana and Papa's house and I think in his head leaving the van would have added an intolerable amount of time until he got to see them. My, my, my, how that child loooves his Nana and Papa. But, really. What's not to love? They are great.
They are great to us. They are great to me. Even when I'm a little snot. Don't be too alarmed but I can be a little brat sometimes. I hope my admission of non-perfection doesn't cause anyone heart trouble.
I've been thinking that I need to apologize to my in-laws for being one of those in-laws last summer. We stayed together at place at the beach and I was less than agreeable. Some might even say grumpy. Spoiled. Sassy.
Others would say pregnant but that's a cop out.
Then when my MIL so graciously came to our house when I thought I was going into labor every day and crying every night because my body was teasing me I was less than gracious. I was thankful beyond words but I was also crazy beyond words. How is it that one can be eternally grateful and brat at the same time?
I should know since that was me.
The last couple of weeks I have been thinking of the best way to apologize. In person for sure. But before I do it in person, why not let the world (or the 8 people reading this and the stragglers who happen across it) know what a wonderful woman I have in my mother-in-law and how I'm not always as deserving of such a great MIL? I guess this is a pre-apology. I'm working up the nerve to do it in person.
This has been quite the rambling post, hasn't it? I'll blame it on the vicodin. God bless strong drugs. They can be so helpful.
That's enough for now. Time to overload on Law and Order (SVU, Criminal Intent, the original), CSI and whatever random crime shows TiVo thinks I like.
Guess what else?
I'm bored.
It's not like I am on a "stay-cation" here. I'm staying but it's not so vacation like. Unless you consider fighting the urge to scratch your face off or to scratch the shingles right off your torso a fun thing to do.
Last night I called my MIL to let her know that we decided to ditch our plans to finish the stairwell before Theo's baptism because that would have involved Ryan working on the stairwell this weekend. Cancelling plans to finish the stairwell freed them up for next weekend when I was going to bring the boys out and Ryan's step dad was going to come out and help on the projects. And Ryan working would have involved me taking care of the boys and since I have not one but two contagious diseases right now we thought that wasn't such a good idea.
This weekend is turning out to be the lamest holiday weekend ever.
Oh, no. That's not true. I had hepatitis A in the third grade for a couple of months. That was the lamest Thanksgiving, Christmas and birthday ever. EVER. I'll have to write about that sometime but for now I'm just going to lament my current virus and bacteria laden state.
Mr. T (Theo) slept well last night - a 4 and 3.5 hour stretch of sleep. I slept decently, thanks to drugs. Ooh, almost time for me to take my afternoon round of drugs. Can't forget... After waking and before taking more drugs I would pump for 20 or so minutes. Once I took care of the milk and it was sufficiently cold in the fridge, Theo would wake up. Then I would have to go heat the milk while Theo got good and worked up. I think he was a little confused as to why I was giving him a bottle. Man, he is a ravenous little dude! He attacked the bottle and was sucking so hard the nipple collapsed. Yes. Now just think of that same ravenous little beast drinking straight from the tap. Yowza.
This morning Ryan took the boys to the gym which allowed me to pack for them. It was the least I could do. He was taking the boys and the dog to his mom's so I could wallow in my scratchy misery all by myself. Plus, if he packed it would have been after he got back from the gym which would have taken at least 2 hours. No thanks. While he was gone I washed, dried and folded the boys' clothes, delivered a swim diaper to the van outside of the gym (and called the daycare to let them know the diaper was in the van since I didn't want to show crusty face) because I had a feeling Ryan forgot a swim diaper (which he affirmed when he got home), packed toys, diapers, labeled any and all drugs the boys could possibly need (teething medicine, ipecac in case they get poisoned, Tylenol, ibuprofen...), sunscreen....
Way too many drugs, way too much sunscreen, aloe in case they forget the sunscreen, hats, pj's, bibs....
They are going to be gone 1-2 days. I packed enough for a week.
It's not wishful thinking. Really. Babies and little boys just have a way of peeing, pooping, barfing and spilling all over themselves. Copious amounts of clothing are needed.
I had to go out to the van when Ryan came home to load up the goods before heading to his mom and step-dad's because Gavin refused to leave the van. He was told he was going to Nana and Papa's house and I think in his head leaving the van would have added an intolerable amount of time until he got to see them. My, my, my, how that child loooves his Nana and Papa. But, really. What's not to love? They are great.
They are great to us. They are great to me. Even when I'm a little snot. Don't be too alarmed but I can be a little brat sometimes. I hope my admission of non-perfection doesn't cause anyone heart trouble.
I've been thinking that I need to apologize to my in-laws for being one of those in-laws last summer. We stayed together at place at the beach and I was less than agreeable. Some might even say grumpy. Spoiled. Sassy.
Others would say pregnant but that's a cop out.
Then when my MIL so graciously came to our house when I thought I was going into labor every day and crying every night because my body was teasing me I was less than gracious. I was thankful beyond words but I was also crazy beyond words. How is it that one can be eternally grateful and brat at the same time?
I should know since that was me.
The last couple of weeks I have been thinking of the best way to apologize. In person for sure. But before I do it in person, why not let the world (or the 8 people reading this and the stragglers who happen across it) know what a wonderful woman I have in my mother-in-law and how I'm not always as deserving of such a great MIL? I guess this is a pre-apology. I'm working up the nerve to do it in person.
This has been quite the rambling post, hasn't it? I'll blame it on the vicodin. God bless strong drugs. They can be so helpful.
That's enough for now. Time to overload on Law and Order (SVU, Criminal Intent, the original), CSI and whatever random crime shows TiVo thinks I like.
Friday, July 02, 2010
Gone Viral
Two months is all the break I got. Yesterday morning I noticed something in the corners of my mouth. Cold sores! Frick! I hopped up off the floor from where I was sitting with Theo and looked in the mirror to confirm.
Five minutes later I noticed a tingle on my bottom lip and something on my chin. More cold sores.
By this point I had already taken my first dose of Valtrex (an antiviral) and applied Zovorax ointment topically. Nothing new cropped up all day so I didn't sweat it. Then I went out to eat with a friend last night and when I went into the rest room I scratched a bug bite. Or so I thought.
I lifted my shirt to take a better look and what did I spy with my little eye?
Shingles.
Yes. Shingles. The thing that strikes 70 year old people.
OR me, for the THIRD time in 10 years.
I saw a doctor this morning. I was seen almost a full hour after my appointment was scheduled so I was super annoyed and ready to leave because I had to get back to Jessica as she has another job to get to after she leaves our house.
The doctor took one look at my face and got down to business.
Cold sores and staph infection. No big surprise there. I told him about the shingles. He was very skeptical and kind of didn't believe me. Then he saw. Then he believed. Then he asked a million questions to try and figure out why I have the hostile take over on my face and patch o' ugliness on my torso.
He seemed very concerned and wanted to know if I was prone to infections. Not so much. So he gave me a slip to take to the lab. Plus some strict orders to come back if in a week I'm not 100%. Oh, and to go to the ER this weekend if it gets worse to change the course of antibiotics.
Then Gavin was complaining his lip was hurting. I saw a teeny, tiny spot that could have been a lesion so I called to get an appointment for him. We had to go to Northgate to be seen that day so we loaded up and were seen before his appointment time. Ah. That was so nice.
The doctor looked at Gavin then spent most of his time talking to crusty old me. Gavin didn't have anything. I, however, have impetigo. Add another antibiotic cream to the bag of tricks.
Now I can't breastfeed Theo because if he touches the shingles blisters he can get chicken pox and he is a bit young.
I'm also a little scared. Why does this keep happening? Why can't my body fend off the normal bacteria? Why do the viruses keep cropping up? I hope it's just sleep deprivation. We'll see.
Five minutes later I noticed a tingle on my bottom lip and something on my chin. More cold sores.
By this point I had already taken my first dose of Valtrex (an antiviral) and applied Zovorax ointment topically. Nothing new cropped up all day so I didn't sweat it. Then I went out to eat with a friend last night and when I went into the rest room I scratched a bug bite. Or so I thought.
I lifted my shirt to take a better look and what did I spy with my little eye?
Shingles.
Yes. Shingles. The thing that strikes 70 year old people.
OR me, for the THIRD time in 10 years.
I saw a doctor this morning. I was seen almost a full hour after my appointment was scheduled so I was super annoyed and ready to leave because I had to get back to Jessica as she has another job to get to after she leaves our house.
The doctor took one look at my face and got down to business.
Cold sores and staph infection. No big surprise there. I told him about the shingles. He was very skeptical and kind of didn't believe me. Then he saw. Then he believed. Then he asked a million questions to try and figure out why I have the hostile take over on my face and patch o' ugliness on my torso.
He seemed very concerned and wanted to know if I was prone to infections. Not so much. So he gave me a slip to take to the lab. Plus some strict orders to come back if in a week I'm not 100%. Oh, and to go to the ER this weekend if it gets worse to change the course of antibiotics.
Then Gavin was complaining his lip was hurting. I saw a teeny, tiny spot that could have been a lesion so I called to get an appointment for him. We had to go to Northgate to be seen that day so we loaded up and were seen before his appointment time. Ah. That was so nice.
The doctor looked at Gavin then spent most of his time talking to crusty old me. Gavin didn't have anything. I, however, have impetigo. Add another antibiotic cream to the bag of tricks.
Now I can't breastfeed Theo because if he touches the shingles blisters he can get chicken pox and he is a bit young.
I'm also a little scared. Why does this keep happening? Why can't my body fend off the normal bacteria? Why do the viruses keep cropping up? I hope it's just sleep deprivation. We'll see.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Security
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?
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?
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.
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