It's strange how easy it is to get so caught up in the business of living... only to find you've been so busy dealing with the day-to-day you failed to see that the strength you worked so hard to build up has been quietly eroding.
The ADD meds have worked wonders in getting me moving. I get up in the morning, I get breakfast crack-a-lackin', I let the dog out, feed the dog, let the dog out again. I make coffee (or at least reheat yesterday's coffee still in the pot... for which I can actually hear Mocha gasping in horror.) I get T out the door to work, and Jack with him on preschool days. I check email, read the news headlines, and attempt to straighten up the kitchen. I catch up on a few blogs from ye olde blogroll.
For a while, just staying in motion was enough to keep the depression at bay. As Dr. WonderShrink predicted, the meds had an antidepressant effect in addition to keeping my ferret-on-crack brain focused on the tasks at hand. For a while.
The last week I have felt the misty gray hand of sadness closing around my chest again. I have fought it, railed against it, and sought that quiet place in my thoughts where I can find calm. It's elusive, but when I get there I can breathe deeply and think clearly.
I haven't been a very good mom this week - I haven't given the boys the attention and interaction they so desperately need. I have not gone to bed at a decent hour, either. I'm procrastinating, but what exactly it is I'm avoiding is impossible to put into words. Because I don't know? Because it's the same old sob story? Because I am totally ashamed of being sad when there is so much to be happy about?
The new camera is a treasure trove of promises for creative growth and professional success. Jack started preschool and is growing into this amazing little person that any sane individual would be totally gobsmacked by, simply basking in his presence.
And tonight? Some sweet neighbor tagged our porch with "the phantom ghost".. which is a neighborhood chain letter of sorts. It consists of doorbell-ditching a basket of halloween goodies on the doorstep of 2 neighbors, along with a copy of a cute little poem instructing them to each follow suit within 24 hours. It's a neighborhood tradition, but this is the first time in the 3 Halloweens we've lived here that we've been tagged.
I have every reason to be ecstatic, or at least content, despite the never-ending roller coaster that is our life. And even so, in a way that makes no sense, I am sad.
This feeling has nothing to do with what is going on externally. That's the rub, isn't it? It's what makes a depressive person feel the chilling breath of despair - the self-guilting over each realization of what they're missing, what they are "squandering" by not feeling the full joy of the joyous things in their lives. The feeling of being disconnected, and the pain of that disconnect. Then comes the emotional withdrawal from the pain, leaving just the isolation of it all.
I've been to that place, and I have no desire to go there again. I am determined not to cut off the ones I love from my unprotected, squishy underbelly. I just wish I knew how to break down the gauzy barrier that has erected itself, before it is allowed to grow, cancer-like, unchecked, into a wall. (I have now officially ear-wormed myself, and will commence humming Pink Floyd tunes until I sag into unconsciousness in my bed.)
I am trying to make allowances, to take into account the things that have thrown us for a loop of late. T's professional future is uncertain. My parents are leaving for Africa in 2 weeks. We are gearing up for a battle royale breaking out at the HOA. Jack is 3, and has already figured out that he is probably smarter than his parents. And he knows something is wrong with me.
It is normal for these things to cause upheaval, even feelings of mild panic.
And I am not sleeping enough.
Even so, I fear the darkness, the wasted days and weeks that I can never get back, and the ones I could yet miss if I don't find a way to fight off the swirling, foggy sadness.
Then I read this. And this. And then this. And this.
My inner cynic snerked a few times, reading my own thoughts and feelings over and over and over as so many others confess their demons. It's like we all fell down the rabbit hole, and are all trying desperately to get the mad hatter to shut the hell up already about the tea cups and door mice because please, we just want to know how to get back to where we came from.
Because back in the real world there may be no groovy talking caterpillars, but at least the things that matter made sense.
But there is hope. There is always hope. And when I read something like this I realize that, though the spectre of depression will always be hovering just around the bend and out of sight, there are many many good days yet to come.
It's the letting go. The letting go is hardest to do, because it means giving up the illusion of control.
If I can just allow myself to stop moving for a minute and loosen my death grip on life... to push cars around with Jack even when I am tired or there is vacuuming to do... to let Toby attempt to use his spoon, mess be damned... to let the dog go ahead and lick my chin without immediately thinking of all the unholy things I have seen in his mouth. To go to bed without checking email just 'one more time'.
I hope...I may just find that the chaos I fear most is actually the good part.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Post-A-Thon 2006 Continues....
I swear to walk away from the computer as soon as I post this. SWEAR! Because, ya know, my kid is running around half-naked and just peed off the deck for the third time today. Apparently, Jack has decided he will help me housetrain Gizmo... by way of "leading by example". He has a very impassioned little spiel explaining why he believes this is a good idea.
The message I'm taking away from his little appeal? Time to do laundry, because he is out of clean underwear. And? My child is quite possibly going to end up in the adult film industry if I can't convince him to keep clothes on past noon. At least there have (so far) been no calls from preschool to complain of his public disrobing. So I score a few brownie points for Motherhood, right? RIGHT?! Okay, I'm turning off the computer. I swear.
But before I go, I only tapped the vein one more time because this was just too good not to share.
If you haven't already received your share of delicious life-imitating-art-imitating-life by way of The Colbert Report (and my beloved Daily Show, of course)... please to be tuning your TiVo to Comedy Central before you find yourself on the inflatable raft to H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks with the likes of Ann Coulter and Bill O'Reilly. Oh, and Mark Foley.
Why an inflatable raft, you ask? Because the points on the top of their heads are sure to puncture it along the way. And apparently hypocrisy sinks faster than a lead weight...
The message I'm taking away from his little appeal? Time to do laundry, because he is out of clean underwear. And? My child is quite possibly going to end up in the adult film industry if I can't convince him to keep clothes on past noon. At least there have (so far) been no calls from preschool to complain of his public disrobing. So I score a few brownie points for Motherhood, right? RIGHT?! Okay, I'm turning off the computer. I swear.
But before I go, I only tapped the vein one more time because this was just too good not to share.
If you haven't already received your share of delicious life-imitating-art-imitating-life by way of The Colbert Report (and my beloved Daily Show, of course)... please to be tuning your TiVo to Comedy Central before you find yourself on the inflatable raft to H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks with the likes of Ann Coulter and Bill O'Reilly. Oh, and Mark Foley.
Why an inflatable raft, you ask? Because the points on the top of their heads are sure to puncture it along the way. And apparently hypocrisy sinks faster than a lead weight...
Say Click, Take A Pic
Cash (whose name is Robin, but I know too many of those, so we'll use a nickname) has been friends with T since high school. I met him through T after we started dating, and shortly moved in with Cash and several other guys to a townhouse in Centreville. We shared a townhouse, then all rented a single family home together where one of the roommates threw wild parties that infrequently ended in police being called by angry neighbors. Finally, Cash and I got an apartment in Alexandria and were exclusive (and very neat, quiet, and tame) roomies (when I was there) until T and I officially moved in together in 2001.
He was a groomsman at our wedding, has been at every major family event, and is really family himself. Jack calls him "Uncle Robin". Even though I have 5 brothers who share my DNA, Cash is the "brother" I am the closest to and have had the most profound conversations with.
He came over on Monday and did something so totally amazing I am still reeling from the impact.
He gave me his digital SLR.
I did not cry. I wanted to cry. But I didn't. I might have squeezed him so hard I ruptured a few internal organs when I hugged him, though. But, hey, I didn't cry.
Thanks to him, I suddenly have the tools to begin compiling my portfolio. Which means I can begin to put together my business. SO, I will be - in the not-so-distant future, running my own company.
Out of a clear blue sky, I have something to look forward to for myself. Something which has nothing whatever to do with housework, or motherhood, or keeping my husband employed. Something that fulfills a totally selfish need in me, but also has a potential to contribute to our income.
On so many levels? Family rocks.
He was a groomsman at our wedding, has been at every major family event, and is really family himself. Jack calls him "Uncle Robin". Even though I have 5 brothers who share my DNA, Cash is the "brother" I am the closest to and have had the most profound conversations with.
He came over on Monday and did something so totally amazing I am still reeling from the impact.
He gave me his digital SLR.
I did not cry. I wanted to cry. But I didn't. I might have squeezed him so hard I ruptured a few internal organs when I hugged him, though. But, hey, I didn't cry.
Thanks to him, I suddenly have the tools to begin compiling my portfolio. Which means I can begin to put together my business. SO, I will be - in the not-so-distant future, running my own company.
Out of a clear blue sky, I have something to look forward to for myself. Something which has nothing whatever to do with housework, or motherhood, or keeping my husband employed. Something that fulfills a totally selfish need in me, but also has a potential to contribute to our income.
On so many levels? Family rocks.
Happy Hump Day!
The indubitable CrankMama posted yesterday about Sex - specifically what happens to it once the babies come marching along. So I, of course, commented on this topic - which is very near and dear to my heart.
So today? She pasted me and my kink on her internet billboard for the world to see.
I'm having my own little Sally-Field-Accepting-An-Oscar moment. Totally geeked. I may, in the privacy and quiet of my own kitchen, have giggled and bounced around like a giddy pony. MAY have. I can neither confirm nor deny.
I will confirm that having coffee go up the back of your nose? Painful. And incredibly messy.
So today? She pasted me and my kink on her internet billboard for the world to see.
I'm having my own little Sally-Field-Accepting-An-Oscar moment. Totally geeked. I may, in the privacy and quiet of my own kitchen, have giggled and bounced around like a giddy pony. MAY have. I can neither confirm nor deny.
I will confirm that having coffee go up the back of your nose? Painful. And incredibly messy.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Weaning, Weight, and Wookit Me...
Ever since I joined the legions of breeders, becoming an unwitting pacifist in the so-called "Mommy Wars", I have heard more than I ever wanted to know about breastfeeding.
There were a lot of reasons it made sense for me to breastfeed my boys. Beyond all the well-known health benefits, I was staying home with them (accessibility) and it was free (affordability). But I was also told, over and over, how this wonderful gift of nature also meant losing the baby weight faster. Boy, oh boy, was I ever on board for that. Especially after I had put on 80 pounds over the course of my pregnancy. (And no, I didn't go on a Krispy Kreme diet or anything like that. Best medical explaination? It's genetic.)
There was just one problem. I realized very quickly after Jack was born that I was not losing the baby weight. Oh sure, there was the instant weight drop that came from delivering a 10 pound baby and all the other "stuff" that goes out with that. But once I left the hospital? Not an ounce did I shed.
At 9 months old, Jack suddenly weaned himself - rejected the boobies in favor of the bottle and the freedom to crawl and eat simultaneously. As sad as I was for that chapter to be over, within a week or two I noticed something very interesting. The weight? It began to fall off. It was as though my body had been hoarding all those extra pounds "just in case". In case of what I can't be sure (it must be a holdover from those scottish highland genes, maybe an inborn resistance to famine or a cattle shortage. I blame these same ancestors for that whole 80 pound weight gain thing...).
But just like that, I started to see myself emerging from behind the layers of extra mass. I didn't quite make it back to my prepregnancy weight, but that was just fine with me. I embraced my new curves and moved on.
Then I got pregnant with Toby. This time, I put on only about 50 pounds over the pregnancy. And again, after the initial drop in weight after the birth, I watched my weight stay miserably the same. By the time he was 9 months old, I had managed to drop about 10 pounds before my body steadfastly refused to do more.
I had put very little thought into this whole issue as we went through the weaning process over the last month or so. I occassionally stepped on the scale out of idle curiosity, but that infuriating little needle never moved. And then? Then one day I realized, as I stepped off the scale, that the needle was not quite returning to zero anymore. I readjusted the scale to zero it out and BAM - just like that, I was 5 pounds lighter. After verifying at the doctor's office, I heaved a sigh of relief because... apparently the trend will continue.
Weaning Toby was extraordinarily emotional and difficult, but now that it is done? I suddenly get a consolation prize. The fat jeans have been put away, and I even managed to slip into a few pairs of pre-Toby pants.
This long - and totally irrelevant - missive has served the purpose of leading up to the following photos. Of myself. Which is a rare event, by the way, in case you hadn't noticed.
2001 - The Cubicle Dweller
July 2003 - Gestating A Jack
January 2005 - That twinkle in my eye? That's Toby.
October 2005 - Gestating A Toby
April 2006 - Smuggling Midgets In Those Cheeks
October 2006 -Hey, She Looks Familiar...
I'm not a petite little thing, nor do I ever aim to be. That said, getting this extra weight off means less back pain, less hip strain, and more energy for living. And if I can reach a healthy weight, be confident in my appearance, and occsionally squeeze into a little black dress to remind T why he forsook all others? Baby, that's a big win in my book.
So there you are. I will now go back to posting photos of people who are much more fun to look at than little old me. At least until I change haircolors again. Because someone out there is playing "Mel Hairdo Bingo" and they're just panting for me to turn up with a blue mohawk so they can win the toaster.
There were a lot of reasons it made sense for me to breastfeed my boys. Beyond all the well-known health benefits, I was staying home with them (accessibility) and it was free (affordability). But I was also told, over and over, how this wonderful gift of nature also meant losing the baby weight faster. Boy, oh boy, was I ever on board for that. Especially after I had put on 80 pounds over the course of my pregnancy. (And no, I didn't go on a Krispy Kreme diet or anything like that. Best medical explaination? It's genetic.)
There was just one problem. I realized very quickly after Jack was born that I was not losing the baby weight. Oh sure, there was the instant weight drop that came from delivering a 10 pound baby and all the other "stuff" that goes out with that. But once I left the hospital? Not an ounce did I shed.
At 9 months old, Jack suddenly weaned himself - rejected the boobies in favor of the bottle and the freedom to crawl and eat simultaneously. As sad as I was for that chapter to be over, within a week or two I noticed something very interesting. The weight? It began to fall off. It was as though my body had been hoarding all those extra pounds "just in case". In case of what I can't be sure (it must be a holdover from those scottish highland genes, maybe an inborn resistance to famine or a cattle shortage. I blame these same ancestors for that whole 80 pound weight gain thing...).
But just like that, I started to see myself emerging from behind the layers of extra mass. I didn't quite make it back to my prepregnancy weight, but that was just fine with me. I embraced my new curves and moved on.
Then I got pregnant with Toby. This time, I put on only about 50 pounds over the pregnancy. And again, after the initial drop in weight after the birth, I watched my weight stay miserably the same. By the time he was 9 months old, I had managed to drop about 10 pounds before my body steadfastly refused to do more.
I had put very little thought into this whole issue as we went through the weaning process over the last month or so. I occassionally stepped on the scale out of idle curiosity, but that infuriating little needle never moved. And then? Then one day I realized, as I stepped off the scale, that the needle was not quite returning to zero anymore. I readjusted the scale to zero it out and BAM - just like that, I was 5 pounds lighter. After verifying at the doctor's office, I heaved a sigh of relief because... apparently the trend will continue.
Weaning Toby was extraordinarily emotional and difficult, but now that it is done? I suddenly get a consolation prize. The fat jeans have been put away, and I even managed to slip into a few pairs of pre-Toby pants.
This long - and totally irrelevant - missive has served the purpose of leading up to the following photos. Of myself. Which is a rare event, by the way, in case you hadn't noticed.
2001 - The Cubicle Dweller
July 2003 - Gestating A Jack
January 2005 - That twinkle in my eye? That's Toby.
October 2005 - Gestating A Toby
April 2006 - Smuggling Midgets In Those Cheeks
October 2006 -Hey, She Looks Familiar...I'm not a petite little thing, nor do I ever aim to be. That said, getting this extra weight off means less back pain, less hip strain, and more energy for living. And if I can reach a healthy weight, be confident in my appearance, and occsionally squeeze into a little black dress to remind T why he forsook all others? Baby, that's a big win in my book.
So there you are. I will now go back to posting photos of people who are much more fun to look at than little old me. At least until I change haircolors again. Because someone out there is playing "Mel Hairdo Bingo" and they're just panting for me to turn up with a blue mohawk so they can win the toaster.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
School Daze...
The first day of preschool was so typical that I couldn't help but let my inner cynic mock, just a little. There were nervous looks, a few tears, and a little bit of the old "don't leave me!"... but T gave me a good shake, and I cut all that out made my reluctant way back to the car.
Jack was a little nervous, too, but that subsided the moment he was surrounded by pretty high school girls and plenty of legos. By the time I returned to pick him up, he took one look at me and said "I want to go to preschool again! NOW!". I told him he'd be back in 2 days and smiled, while internally I cried, just a little, that my baby was grown up enough to be so independent. But I firmly shook it off because, hey, Toby will benefit from the alone time with me and Jack is already much happier for the experience. And I might actually get to finish a hot cup of coffee in the morning.
Besides, I consoled myself all week with help from my new boyfriend. Yup, I am having a super-hot, steamy, dirty affair. Oh, no worries all... T knows all about it, and he's totally okay with it because he knows that this fling fills a very necessary space in my soul which has stood empty until now.
You see... we bought a SteamVac. (*rimshot*).
I have spent the last week scrubbing every visible piece of carpet in our house. And let me tell you, this is one instance where my intermittent OCD tendencies come in VERY handy. That stain from T's dad and his spill with the Christmas wassail two years ago? GONE. Spot Shot couldn't get it out, OxyClean couldn't get it out, but the SteamVac? Sucked it up like it was dollar margaritas in the last 10 minutes of happy hour. It's a thing of beauty.
And now that the carpets are getting back into condition, I can start working on clearing out the basement for our yard sale in the spring. Because life is too cluttered as it is, and physically making it less so seems to help to clear out the mental clutter as well. And let me tell ya, when it comes to physical clutter? We. Need. Less. Stuff. Or at least, less useless stuff and more of the "good" stuff. More stuff that Maggie would approve of, and less that appears to have fallen off of the back of the bag lady's shopping cart.
Not that the whole house is cluttered - no we've carefully sequestered most of the "miscellaneous" to the unfinished basement. You know, where the SPIDERS live. So going through all the piles down there should be good times... if I can avoid gangrene or the need for a tetanus shot.
Apparently, I'm developing my own "play at home" version of Fear Factor. Pick a scary chore at your house, and join me! Once the intensive Fall cleaning is done, let's meet for Martinis. You know, to wash off the stink. And disinfect the spider bites. And to forget that - the babies? They are growing up. Quickly, and irreversibly. Now if you'll excusethe crying
the watering of my eyes, it appears I need to adjust a contact lens... or ... or... something.
So yeah - about those Martinis.
Jack was a little nervous, too, but that subsided the moment he was surrounded by pretty high school girls and plenty of legos. By the time I returned to pick him up, he took one look at me and said "I want to go to preschool again! NOW!". I told him he'd be back in 2 days and smiled, while internally I cried, just a little, that my baby was grown up enough to be so independent. But I firmly shook it off because, hey, Toby will benefit from the alone time with me and Jack is already much happier for the experience. And I might actually get to finish a hot cup of coffee in the morning.
Besides, I consoled myself all week with help from my new boyfriend. Yup, I am having a super-hot, steamy, dirty affair. Oh, no worries all... T knows all about it, and he's totally okay with it because he knows that this fling fills a very necessary space in my soul which has stood empty until now.
You see... we bought a SteamVac. (*rimshot*).
I have spent the last week scrubbing every visible piece of carpet in our house. And let me tell you, this is one instance where my intermittent OCD tendencies come in VERY handy. That stain from T's dad and his spill with the Christmas wassail two years ago? GONE. Spot Shot couldn't get it out, OxyClean couldn't get it out, but the SteamVac? Sucked it up like it was dollar margaritas in the last 10 minutes of happy hour. It's a thing of beauty.
And now that the carpets are getting back into condition, I can start working on clearing out the basement for our yard sale in the spring. Because life is too cluttered as it is, and physically making it less so seems to help to clear out the mental clutter as well. And let me tell ya, when it comes to physical clutter? We. Need. Less. Stuff. Or at least, less useless stuff and more of the "good" stuff. More stuff that Maggie would approve of, and less that appears to have fallen off of the back of the bag lady's shopping cart.
Not that the whole house is cluttered - no we've carefully sequestered most of the "miscellaneous" to the unfinished basement. You know, where the SPIDERS live. So going through all the piles down there should be good times... if I can avoid gangrene or the need for a tetanus shot.
Apparently, I'm developing my own "play at home" version of Fear Factor. Pick a scary chore at your house, and join me! Once the intensive Fall cleaning is done, let's meet for Martinis. You know, to wash off the stink. And disinfect the spider bites. And to forget that - the babies? They are growing up. Quickly, and irreversibly. Now if you'll excuse
So yeah - about those Martinis.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Don't Call It A Comeback, I've Been Here For... Oh, You Know...
Welcome, welcome, one and all! It's that time, once again: Time to play "Lather, Rinse, Repeat", in which I outline all of the various adventures of the recent-past into neat, bulleted, yet still totally useless form. Strap on your adventure shoes, because away we go...
* Last week we attended the Open House for Jack's preschool, which officially begins tomorrow. It was so sweet to see him get so ramped up about going, I nearly went into spasms of denial. My child. Is going to school. Okay, it's preschool, and it's only twice a week and only half a day... but still! Teachers? They talked at me. Like I was a parent. Like teachers used to talk to MY parents. I wanted to scream "Stop treating me like a responsible adult! Do you want to see my tattoo? DO YOU?! Are you prepared to be responsible for my hair returning to an ungodly shade of purple so that I can cling to my desperately dwindling, misbegotten youth?!!!" But I didn't. I smiled, and nodded, and pointed out the awesome playground dinosaur slide to Jack - who squealed in delight and damn near chewed his way through the chain link fence in order to reach that playground mecca of pure joy.
So preschool starts tomorrow. I still have my fears that mine will be the kid who gets sent home the first day for messing in his pants in the first five minutes, or that he'll scream for his Me-Me until they are forced to call me and ask What, for the love of pete, is a "Me-Me"??? (his security blanket)
Or, worst of all, that he'll have such a good time he won't miss me AT ALL and when I come to pick him up he'll tell me to go away and can't I see that he is trying to play with that cute blond girl who was about to let him sit on the beanbag seat next to her? But alas.. All a Mama can do is check for fresh batteries in the camera, pack a photo in his Thomas the Tank Engine backpack (so he remembers what I look like by noon) and hope for the best. And maybe hit the mall for a consolation latte at Starbucks.
* That thing I can't talk about? Still can't talk about it. It's percolating, though, and I'll talk about it soon. Now stop asking. Seriously. Else I will be forced to start vLogging video of my dog attempting to eat dirty diapers or something equally horrific. Amen.
* Toby has reached a new level of cuteness. His sense of humor is contagious, and he smiles so much more easily now. And last night? Last night we put him to bed an hour earlier than usual (7pm instead of 8pm) and I'll be darned... he slept until 8am this morning. 13 HOURS, PEOPLE! 13 blissful hours, and no nursing this morning. My littlest bean is growing up...
Just don't ask me about his first birthday in two weeks. Unless, of course, you enjoy listening to hiccuping sobs and snorty sniffles broken up by intermittent, indiscernible wailing. I'm not ready for my baby to stop being a baby. The cord may have been cut 11.5 months ago, but he is still firmly attached to my insides. Especially right around my chest... it gets sore every time he moves on to the next milestone. I think I developed a small heart murmer yesterday, when he clapped and quite possibly said the dog's name. We're not sure. It may have just been a hiccup...
* Oh, yes...The dog... For all his inconsistent potty success and bad habits, and his refusal to venture outside on his own if the temperature drops below beach weather, Gizmo has wormed his way firmly into my heart. He is a stubborn, mischevious, manipulative little ball of hair and muscle and very sharp little teeth... and somehow, he has bamboozled me into adoring him. So much so that I just spent half an hour finding a pattern to sew him a little doggy coat to keep him warm when we go out to potty at sunrise. I might even make him a halloween costume.
I may need to mention this in therapy.
* Last but not least, I got my copy of Arianna Huffington's new book, "On Becoming Fearless... In Love, Work, and Life" and I will be reviewing it in the next week or so, once I have finished reading it and had time to absorb. So far, I am riveted - partly because it is well written, includes contributions from the likes of Nora Ephron and Diane Keaton, and it makes a lot of very intelligent references... and partly because the subject matter is so incredibly timely for my life right now. I don't always agree with the Huff, but I never fail to admire the woman for her solid brass cajones. If she has a spare pair I could borrow for a while, I think I could enjoy going after what I want from time to time - without letting the crippling doubts stop me before I've started. Note to Arianna: If you need a new part-time flunky who works remotely, grills you incessantly about good literature, and will never forget to tell you that you have spectacular hair? I am soooo your girl.
* Recent lapses notwithstanding, I am, most definitely, back. Rev up those feed readers, baby...
* Last week we attended the Open House for Jack's preschool, which officially begins tomorrow. It was so sweet to see him get so ramped up about going, I nearly went into spasms of denial. My child. Is going to school. Okay, it's preschool, and it's only twice a week and only half a day... but still! Teachers? They talked at me. Like I was a parent. Like teachers used to talk to MY parents. I wanted to scream "Stop treating me like a responsible adult! Do you want to see my tattoo? DO YOU?! Are you prepared to be responsible for my hair returning to an ungodly shade of purple so that I can cling to my desperately dwindling, misbegotten youth?!!!" But I didn't. I smiled, and nodded, and pointed out the awesome playground dinosaur slide to Jack - who squealed in delight and damn near chewed his way through the chain link fence in order to reach that playground mecca of pure joy.
So preschool starts tomorrow. I still have my fears that mine will be the kid who gets sent home the first day for messing in his pants in the first five minutes, or that he'll scream for his Me-Me until they are forced to call me and ask What, for the love of pete, is a "Me-Me"??? (his security blanket)
Or, worst of all, that he'll have such a good time he won't miss me AT ALL and when I come to pick him up he'll tell me to go away and can't I see that he is trying to play with that cute blond girl who was about to let him sit on the beanbag seat next to her? But alas.. All a Mama can do is check for fresh batteries in the camera, pack a photo in his Thomas the Tank Engine backpack (so he remembers what I look like by noon) and hope for the best. And maybe hit the mall for a consolation latte at Starbucks.
* That thing I can't talk about? Still can't talk about it. It's percolating, though, and I'll talk about it soon. Now stop asking. Seriously. Else I will be forced to start vLogging video of my dog attempting to eat dirty diapers or something equally horrific. Amen.
* Toby has reached a new level of cuteness. His sense of humor is contagious, and he smiles so much more easily now. And last night? Last night we put him to bed an hour earlier than usual (7pm instead of 8pm) and I'll be darned... he slept until 8am this morning. 13 HOURS, PEOPLE! 13 blissful hours, and no nursing this morning. My littlest bean is growing up...
Just don't ask me about his first birthday in two weeks. Unless, of course, you enjoy listening to hiccuping sobs and snorty sniffles broken up by intermittent, indiscernible wailing. I'm not ready for my baby to stop being a baby. The cord may have been cut 11.5 months ago, but he is still firmly attached to my insides. Especially right around my chest... it gets sore every time he moves on to the next milestone. I think I developed a small heart murmer yesterday, when he clapped and quite possibly said the dog's name. We're not sure. It may have just been a hiccup...
* Oh, yes...The dog... For all his inconsistent potty success and bad habits, and his refusal to venture outside on his own if the temperature drops below beach weather, Gizmo has wormed his way firmly into my heart. He is a stubborn, mischevious, manipulative little ball of hair and muscle and very sharp little teeth... and somehow, he has bamboozled me into adoring him. So much so that I just spent half an hour finding a pattern to sew him a little doggy coat to keep him warm when we go out to potty at sunrise. I might even make him a halloween costume.
I may need to mention this in therapy.
* Last but not least, I got my copy of Arianna Huffington's new book, "On Becoming Fearless... In Love, Work, and Life" and I will be reviewing it in the next week or so, once I have finished reading it and had time to absorb. So far, I am riveted - partly because it is well written, includes contributions from the likes of Nora Ephron and Diane Keaton, and it makes a lot of very intelligent references... and partly because the subject matter is so incredibly timely for my life right now. I don't always agree with the Huff, but I never fail to admire the woman for her solid brass cajones. If she has a spare pair I could borrow for a while, I think I could enjoy going after what I want from time to time - without letting the crippling doubts stop me before I've started. Note to Arianna: If you need a new part-time flunky who works remotely, grills you incessantly about good literature, and will never forget to tell you that you have spectacular hair? I am soooo your girl.
* Recent lapses notwithstanding, I am, most definitely, back. Rev up those feed readers, baby...
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Whine and Cheese
Girls night. Too many glasses of Riesling and Cabernet. I am sooo not pregnant, to knock out the biggest assumption on that last post.
File it away. Like in the same brain cells where you store whether or not Kevin and Winnie Cooper ever got together. You know you know it, but it only springs to mind once in a while.
Riesling is good. So is cabernet. But neither can compare to the feeling of talking Arianna Huffington and reviewing her new book with a bunch of moms who are more than just Moms. They are women, intellectual and complex, and infinitely beautiful.
And this, my friends, is my new feminism. That a woman is as she is, as complex as she is, and being a mom does not limit her conversation to gymboree or the latest cure for colic.
Did I mention I got a free copy of Arianna Huffington's new book, "On Becoming Fearless", for free? I will be reviewing shortly. And changing my life forever. Because becoming fearless? How can it NOT change your life? i ASK YOU?!?!?!?!?!
File it away. Like in the same brain cells where you store whether or not Kevin and Winnie Cooper ever got together. You know you know it, but it only springs to mind once in a while.
Riesling is good. So is cabernet. But neither can compare to the feeling of talking Arianna Huffington and reviewing her new book with a bunch of moms who are more than just Moms. They are women, intellectual and complex, and infinitely beautiful.
And this, my friends, is my new feminism. That a woman is as she is, as complex as she is, and being a mom does not limit her conversation to gymboree or the latest cure for colic.
Did I mention I got a free copy of Arianna Huffington's new book, "On Becoming Fearless", for free? I will be reviewing shortly. And changing my life forever. Because becoming fearless? How can it NOT change your life? i ASK YOU?!?!?!?!?!
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Here We Go Again...
I have very few pet peeves. The ones I do have tend to be very specific. For example:
Toilet paper hung on the roll the wrong way. The paper should roll forward off the top. Seriously. And don't get me started on the paper not being hung on the roll at all, I might actually go into apoplexy.
White noise. There's enough static in my head, I really have no use for unnecessary excess fuzz. T and I have had an ongoing grudge match at night, because he is a hot sleeper who requires a fan to run all night. The man literally puts out about 1000 BTU's of pure hot-hot-heat in his sleep, and without the fan we run the risk of the bed literally bursting into flame. And so, I suck it up and talk myself down from the mental ledge and accept that THE EVIL FAN WILL RUIN YET ANOTHER NIGHT OF REST.
And finally? I detest it when people say "I have really REALLY big news, but I can't tell what it is."
And on that note? I have really REALLY big news, but I can't tell you what it is.
Which may help explain why I have been somewhat Blog MIA of late. Things are going a little crazy, and my life is turning a little bit upside down, and I promise to spill all the details as soon as is humanly possible.
But, FEAR NOT! Console yourself in knowing that Season 3 of Battlestar Galactica premieres October 6. 2 WEEKS, PEOPLE! My Starbuck girl-crush is fully a'twitter.
To make life that much more full? Jack starts preschool in just over a week. SO, 2 days a week Toby and I will have mornings alone to play, to plan, and hopefully to get some housework done before Jack comes home to tear the house apart again.
And, seriously? BSG. 2 weeks. Let the shivers of anticipation begin.
Toilet paper hung on the roll the wrong way. The paper should roll forward off the top. Seriously. And don't get me started on the paper not being hung on the roll at all, I might actually go into apoplexy.
White noise. There's enough static in my head, I really have no use for unnecessary excess fuzz. T and I have had an ongoing grudge match at night, because he is a hot sleeper who requires a fan to run all night. The man literally puts out about 1000 BTU's of pure hot-hot-heat in his sleep, and without the fan we run the risk of the bed literally bursting into flame. And so, I suck it up and talk myself down from the mental ledge and accept that THE EVIL FAN WILL RUIN YET ANOTHER NIGHT OF REST.
And finally? I detest it when people say "I have really REALLY big news, but I can't tell what it is."
And on that note? I have really REALLY big news, but I can't tell you what it is.
Which may help explain why I have been somewhat Blog MIA of late. Things are going a little crazy, and my life is turning a little bit upside down, and I promise to spill all the details as soon as is humanly possible.
But, FEAR NOT! Console yourself in knowing that Season 3 of Battlestar Galactica premieres October 6. 2 WEEKS, PEOPLE! My Starbuck girl-crush is fully a'twitter.
To make life that much more full? Jack starts preschool in just over a week. SO, 2 days a week Toby and I will have mornings alone to play, to plan, and hopefully to get some housework done before Jack comes home to tear the house apart again.
And, seriously? BSG. 2 weeks. Let the shivers of anticipation begin.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Ghana Getcha, Getcha, Getcha....
Yeah, I'm still kinda reeling from the news.... Not sure exactly how I feel about it all yet, but my parents are off on a grand adventure and, really, at nearly 70 how can I *not* be happy that they are finally getting to do something they have always dreamed of? A mission to Ghana... and they will, after all, have internet access so at least we'll be able to keep in touch electronically.
I am, of course, good and sad that I'll have to miss my mom for such a long period. I will miss my weekly phone calls with her, and I had hoped to have here come out when we have our next baby (which won't be any time soon, but very likely will occur before 3 years from now).
On the religious front - going on a mission is not, of course, something I would do for myself... but I totally support my parents in doing what they feel is right for them. Just as I would hope they would do for me. (They survived my tattoo and the revelation that I enjoy my morning cup of coffee, so I think they've held up pretty well so far. Better than I would ever have expected really).
I highly doubt that we will be able to make it out there while they are there -- just too much responsibility here with the boys and the house and T's job and everything. It would be really cool, though. I'd love to capture the sights on film, and maybe do some sketches there.
But also, given the choice and what with my brother moving his family to Rome for 3 years next summer, I have to say I would probably hit Europe before venturing off to the dark continent. I still have "Explore Paris" on my Life Goals Checklist, and I would soo love to check that off whilst sipping cappuccinos in some little french cafe... *sigh* (Nice little daydream, but of course there are no screaming children when I imagine it in my head. The reality would probably be somewhat less romantic, especially since I suspect the french likely don't have those "Koala Kare" changing tables in the restrooms and may frown on small American children who say things like "you want a piece of me?!").
So, to sum up? I'm sad they are leaving, and especially sad it's so soon -- I won't have a chance to see them again before they go -- but I'm happy for them that they have this opportunity to do something so rare and extraordinary in their lives. I would not begrudge anyone that chance, least of all the people I love.
And at least they are going with some friends - friends who have already served a 2-year mission in Ghana and who just got back a year ago. So they will have someone to look after them. I do worry about those parents of mine wandering off into the jungle or the like. Or maybe Mom going into chocolate withdrawals. I may have to fedex her a cocoa IV drip... just to take the edge off from time to time...
And the whole thing inspires me to make sure I don't wait until I'm nearly 70 before having an adventure that sounds half as exciting as living in Africa. Right now I'm honing my skills in the SAHM department (which is to say I'm constantly seeking new ways to maintain an IQ over 80 in my conversation and waging my own personal war against "mom jeans" and the cable knit sweater). And prepping Jack for preschool - he lately learned to use the potty for all the right purposes and is now looking forward to terrorizing adults beyond the ones who are related to him.
And for now those goals are right and proper. And as long as I get my next piece of ink and manage to sow a few seeds of revolution at the mommy meet-ups from time to time, I think this will be enough to tide me over until I the kiddos are old enough to appreciate going with on grand adventures. Or old enough to drop off for a while with adoring grandparents.
Maybe even ones who can regale them with tales of their adventures in Africa...
I am, of course, good and sad that I'll have to miss my mom for such a long period. I will miss my weekly phone calls with her, and I had hoped to have here come out when we have our next baby (which won't be any time soon, but very likely will occur before 3 years from now).
On the religious front - going on a mission is not, of course, something I would do for myself... but I totally support my parents in doing what they feel is right for them. Just as I would hope they would do for me. (They survived my tattoo and the revelation that I enjoy my morning cup of coffee, so I think they've held up pretty well so far. Better than I would ever have expected really).
I highly doubt that we will be able to make it out there while they are there -- just too much responsibility here with the boys and the house and T's job and everything. It would be really cool, though. I'd love to capture the sights on film, and maybe do some sketches there.
But also, given the choice and what with my brother moving his family to Rome for 3 years next summer, I have to say I would probably hit Europe before venturing off to the dark continent. I still have "Explore Paris" on my Life Goals Checklist, and I would soo love to check that off whilst sipping cappuccinos in some little french cafe... *sigh* (Nice little daydream, but of course there are no screaming children when I imagine it in my head. The reality would probably be somewhat less romantic, especially since I suspect the french likely don't have those "Koala Kare" changing tables in the restrooms and may frown on small American children who say things like "you want a piece of me?!").
So, to sum up? I'm sad they are leaving, and especially sad it's so soon -- I won't have a chance to see them again before they go -- but I'm happy for them that they have this opportunity to do something so rare and extraordinary in their lives. I would not begrudge anyone that chance, least of all the people I love.
And at least they are going with some friends - friends who have already served a 2-year mission in Ghana and who just got back a year ago. So they will have someone to look after them. I do worry about those parents of mine wandering off into the jungle or the like. Or maybe Mom going into chocolate withdrawals. I may have to fedex her a cocoa IV drip... just to take the edge off from time to time...
And the whole thing inspires me to make sure I don't wait until I'm nearly 70 before having an adventure that sounds half as exciting as living in Africa. Right now I'm honing my skills in the SAHM department (which is to say I'm constantly seeking new ways to maintain an IQ over 80 in my conversation and waging my own personal war against "mom jeans" and the cable knit sweater). And prepping Jack for preschool - he lately learned to use the potty for all the right purposes and is now looking forward to terrorizing adults beyond the ones who are related to him.
And for now those goals are right and proper. And as long as I get my next piece of ink and manage to sow a few seeds of revolution at the mommy meet-ups from time to time, I think this will be enough to tide me over until I the kiddos are old enough to appreciate going with on grand adventures. Or old enough to drop off for a while with adoring grandparents.
Maybe even ones who can regale them with tales of their adventures in Africa...
Sunday, September 17, 2006
The Boys Of Summer
Ahh Summer. We hardly knew ye.
I have been chastised for being so all-too-serious on here of late, and neglecting to appreciate all the good in my life. To demonstrate that I do, indeed, recognize that I am blessed beyond what I have any right to expect... I present the half-naked men in my life enjoying the benefits of Summer.
I don't, for a minute, think that there is nothing but bad in my life right now. In fact, I see it more as there is just too much of everything. Too many good things, bad things, indifferent things, and too many possibilities to consider. I'm overwhelmed, sure, but I'm not saying it's all bad. In fact, I'm not generally a supporter of cannibalism, but this photo? This photo makes me want to look at the baby and say "Would you mind terribly if I just took a bite out of you? Because I bet you taste like Marshmellow Peeps. And Sunshine."
Doing my part to keep America beautiful. One illegally cute baby at a time.Friday, September 15, 2006
When The Other Shoe Drops
My life has been a series of moves. Every time I get settled in somewhere, it has been the calm before the storm and I knew a change was coming.
The new meds seem to be helping more than I had hoped possible. We finally have both boys going to bed at a decent hour and without any tears, and the dog is being trained at breakneck speed.
It only makes sense that the bombs would start falling now.
My parents announced they are leaving the country for at least 18 months on a religious mission to Africa. Seriously. How does that happen?
T's work situation is growing more unstsable by the day, with layoffs left and right and no certainty as to whether we'll still be employed a year from now.
With all of this insanity? The thing weighing heaviest on my mind is Jack and his potty training. Preschool starts in 2 weeks, and yesterday he "dropped some kids off at the pool" for the very first time. I was so proud I nearly wept, and I let him stay up an hour past bedtime so he could help me make chocolate chip cookie dough.
Today, though? No such luck. In fact, no poop at all.
I feel like there's a giant highway in my brain right now that says "Road Closed, All Major Exits Blocked, Please Detour Through Potty Town". Because, you know... my Mommy being in Africa for the next few years? Totally out of reach of phone calls to relate the hilights of my life or lend a supportive shoulder on the days I feel like a total failure as a mother? Not something I am prepared to ponder for any length of time at present.
At least not unless somebody wants to write me a prescription for some much stronger meds.
The new meds seem to be helping more than I had hoped possible. We finally have both boys going to bed at a decent hour and without any tears, and the dog is being trained at breakneck speed.
It only makes sense that the bombs would start falling now.
My parents announced they are leaving the country for at least 18 months on a religious mission to Africa. Seriously. How does that happen?
T's work situation is growing more unstsable by the day, with layoffs left and right and no certainty as to whether we'll still be employed a year from now.
With all of this insanity? The thing weighing heaviest on my mind is Jack and his potty training. Preschool starts in 2 weeks, and yesterday he "dropped some kids off at the pool" for the very first time. I was so proud I nearly wept, and I let him stay up an hour past bedtime so he could help me make chocolate chip cookie dough.
Today, though? No such luck. In fact, no poop at all.
I feel like there's a giant highway in my brain right now that says "Road Closed, All Major Exits Blocked, Please Detour Through Potty Town". Because, you know... my Mommy being in Africa for the next few years? Totally out of reach of phone calls to relate the hilights of my life or lend a supportive shoulder on the days I feel like a total failure as a mother? Not something I am prepared to ponder for any length of time at present.
At least not unless somebody wants to write me a prescription for some much stronger meds.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Creepy Crawly Internet Suckage
For one reason or another, I have been unable to get a reliable connection to the interweb for more than a few minutes at a time on the wifi the last few days. Result being that many great ideas I sat down to bang out were totally gone by the time I got sick of arguing with the non-working cable modem.
I'll keep this short, since it's extraordinarily past my bedtime and I'm not sure when my connection will puke again.
Let's limit it to the hilights.
* Latest grocery shopping trip: $212 worth of groceries for $167 after coupons. ROCK!
* The dog was a disaster yesterday, and the house ended covered in animal waste. After cleaning up and starting fresh today, we ended up with only 2 accidents and one half-accident that I caught mid-squat and managed to move outside. Gizmo is learning fast.
* Jack still refuses to poop in the potty, but I may have struck on the golden bargaining chip. I told him that once he learns to do it, he will be a "big boy" and will no longer have to take a nap in his bed every afternoon. The up side here is that he will still get tired enough to nap on the couch, but he thinks he wins and I still get what I want.
* T's back is a disaster and he's convinced one leg is shorter than the other. I leave you now to do something called "The Deerfield Test". I suspect it's just an excuse to have me crawl on him while he's naked, but we'll see.....
* Started the new drugs today. A long story for another post, but the weaning is nearly complete and the pediatrician helped me come up with a way to give Toby one session in the morning and still get on the new meds and hopefully get things sorted out better.
Until next time, kids... Knowing is half the battle.
I'll keep this short, since it's extraordinarily past my bedtime and I'm not sure when my connection will puke again.
Let's limit it to the hilights.
* Latest grocery shopping trip: $212 worth of groceries for $167 after coupons. ROCK!
* The dog was a disaster yesterday, and the house ended covered in animal waste. After cleaning up and starting fresh today, we ended up with only 2 accidents and one half-accident that I caught mid-squat and managed to move outside. Gizmo is learning fast.
* Jack still refuses to poop in the potty, but I may have struck on the golden bargaining chip. I told him that once he learns to do it, he will be a "big boy" and will no longer have to take a nap in his bed every afternoon. The up side here is that he will still get tired enough to nap on the couch, but he thinks he wins and I still get what I want.
* T's back is a disaster and he's convinced one leg is shorter than the other. I leave you now to do something called "The Deerfield Test". I suspect it's just an excuse to have me crawl on him while he's naked, but we'll see.....
* Started the new drugs today. A long story for another post, but the weaning is nearly complete and the pediatrician helped me come up with a way to give Toby one session in the morning and still get on the new meds and hopefully get things sorted out better.
Until next time, kids... Knowing is half the battle.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Insanity Unleashed
We aspire to take the chaos in our lives to that next level. Regular old "dizzy and nauseated chaos" just wasn't... chaotic enough. Apparently? We need to be the Emperors of CrazyTown...
And so, may I present - for your viewing pleasure - the newest member of the team:
99.99% American Boxer, .01% pure evil.
But he's the cute kind of evil, so he fits right in. And he naps on my feet while I blog, which totally solves the problem generated by the final breakdown of my fuzzy slippers.
He also, so far, is extraordinarily gentle with both cats and children, and follows us around like a... well, like a puppy. He's curious in the extreme and loves to cuddle (especially when rewarded with liver snaps.) He also enjoys long walks and parcheesi, and his turnoffs include wet grass and anyone who does not give him liver snaps.
And so far? Just going out to take him to do his business has gotten me out of the house more in 2 days than I have in the last month or so. All I can say about that is... I think Gizmo is probably exactly what this family needed.
Even if he has already pooped on the rug in enough quantity to make me suspect he may have eaten a small village somewhere in Amish Country before we got him. If he coughs up a linen bonnet I am SO calling for an old priest and a young priest and a gallon of holy water.
And so, may I present - for your viewing pleasure - the newest member of the team:
Master "Django McQueen De Mardi Gras", Esq.
Affectionately, "Gizmo".
Affectionately, "Gizmo".
99.99% American Boxer, .01% pure evil.
But he's the cute kind of evil, so he fits right in. And he naps on my feet while I blog, which totally solves the problem generated by the final breakdown of my fuzzy slippers.
He also, so far, is extraordinarily gentle with both cats and children, and follows us around like a... well, like a puppy. He's curious in the extreme and loves to cuddle (especially when rewarded with liver snaps.) He also enjoys long walks and parcheesi, and his turnoffs include wet grass and anyone who does not give him liver snaps.
And so far? Just going out to take him to do his business has gotten me out of the house more in 2 days than I have in the last month or so. All I can say about that is... I think Gizmo is probably exactly what this family needed.
Even if he has already pooped on the rug in enough quantity to make me suspect he may have eaten a small village somewhere in Amish Country before we got him. If he coughs up a linen bonnet I am SO calling for an old priest and a young priest and a gallon of holy water.
Friday, September 08, 2006
My Breast Friend
T commented the other day that I've been a bit of a downer on here lately, and could I please perk it up a little, k thanks? So for your entertainment ("Dance, Monkey, DANCE!") I present the story of my public nudity. Sort of.
I've always been timid around the ocean. I'm no wilting flower - if you've ever met me, you can attest that I am built like a brick **** house - but the ocean is mighty and the sheer, unforgiving power of the waves scares the hell out of my inner control freak.
So it was with no small amount of trepidation that I ventured into the crashing surf on the Outer Banks. I inched into the water until the breakers crashed over my back, pushing me forward a few steps each time. Finally, I took a deep breath and threw myself into a big wave. It was exhilerating! I rode it forward, body-surfing into the shore.
I waved ecstatically to T, who was sitting on the beach blanket with the boys and filming me with the new camcorder. He waved me further out, and I went out and rode in on another wave.
After about 15 minutes of this, I heard a faint voice. I rode in on one more wave and, as I landed at the shore, I distinctly heard a voice say "Excuse me!"
I stood up, wiped the salty spray from my eyes, and looked around to see a bikini-clad blond in her 30's standing a few feet away. Just behind her was, I assume, her husband and her 4 or 5 year old son.
"Excuse me! Fix your suit!"
I stared blankly at her. Was she talking to me?
There are a lot of things nobody will ever tell you, before you have kids, about pregnancy and your body before, during, and after. One of those things is that your breasts? They lose serious sensitivity while you are breastfeeding. The makeup of the skin itself actually changes, becoming more elastic and tougher, providing less sensation.
See where this is going yet?
I looked down to find that one breast had popped entirely out of my tasteful one piece suit. Not just a little bit out - we're talking Jane-of-the-Jungle Full Exposure.
Flustered, I said "Oh! Thanks." as I tucked my errant mammary back under cover.
Oh, but the story ends not there, my friends. Not nearly. You see, it wasn't until we got home and plugged the camera into the big screen TV to watch our vacation movies that the full reality set in. You see the boob? It was in full, glorious view for quite some time. We're talking like 10 minutes or so. On a very conservative beach.
Is it wrong that I'm really not all that concerned? Is it wrong that I wanted to just say to that woman "you could have pointed that out to me with something resembling empathy for my possible embarrassment rather than acting as though my wardrobe malfunction could possibly be turning your innocent child into a future pornography addict".
Either way? I can finally say I've gone topless on the beach. Checking that off my life-list, Mr. Leonsis. Next up? Time for my next tattoo.
I've always been timid around the ocean. I'm no wilting flower - if you've ever met me, you can attest that I am built like a brick **** house - but the ocean is mighty and the sheer, unforgiving power of the waves scares the hell out of my inner control freak.
So it was with no small amount of trepidation that I ventured into the crashing surf on the Outer Banks. I inched into the water until the breakers crashed over my back, pushing me forward a few steps each time. Finally, I took a deep breath and threw myself into a big wave. It was exhilerating! I rode it forward, body-surfing into the shore.
I waved ecstatically to T, who was sitting on the beach blanket with the boys and filming me with the new camcorder. He waved me further out, and I went out and rode in on another wave.
After about 15 minutes of this, I heard a faint voice. I rode in on one more wave and, as I landed at the shore, I distinctly heard a voice say "Excuse me!"
I stood up, wiped the salty spray from my eyes, and looked around to see a bikini-clad blond in her 30's standing a few feet away. Just behind her was, I assume, her husband and her 4 or 5 year old son.
"Excuse me! Fix your suit!"
I stared blankly at her. Was she talking to me?
There are a lot of things nobody will ever tell you, before you have kids, about pregnancy and your body before, during, and after. One of those things is that your breasts? They lose serious sensitivity while you are breastfeeding. The makeup of the skin itself actually changes, becoming more elastic and tougher, providing less sensation.
See where this is going yet?
I looked down to find that one breast had popped entirely out of my tasteful one piece suit. Not just a little bit out - we're talking Jane-of-the-Jungle Full Exposure.
Flustered, I said "Oh! Thanks." as I tucked my errant mammary back under cover.
Oh, but the story ends not there, my friends. Not nearly. You see, it wasn't until we got home and plugged the camera into the big screen TV to watch our vacation movies that the full reality set in. You see the boob? It was in full, glorious view for quite some time. We're talking like 10 minutes or so. On a very conservative beach.
Is it wrong that I'm really not all that concerned? Is it wrong that I wanted to just say to that woman "you could have pointed that out to me with something resembling empathy for my possible embarrassment rather than acting as though my wardrobe malfunction could possibly be turning your innocent child into a future pornography addict".
Either way? I can finally say I've gone topless on the beach. Checking that off my life-list, Mr. Leonsis. Next up? Time for my next tattoo.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
I Don't Want To Go On The Cart.
I'm not dead yet, y'all. Not even close. You thought maybe, though, didn't you? It's just that - you see - I've been settling in.
Not unpacking - the suitcases stand in the living room still full of clean clothes waiting to be put away.
Not cleaning the house - the chaos surrounding me at this moment could choke a camel.
No, I've been settling in. Getting the boys back on some semblence of a routine since returning from the beach.
Ahhhh the beach. Let's pause for a moment, shall we, and reflect on the beauty and wonder that is the Outer Banks. For all the usual vacation wacky-ness that ensued, the long drives, and the stressing about "do I REALLY need to spend the extra 5 bucks to get a coffee mug to remind me of this vacation?" (And yes, I did. It has a crab and says "Crabby 'till I get my coffee"... see? Can't you just TASTE the cheese?!) it was the most relaxed I've been in a long time.
Being home again is odd. There wasn't much time to ramp up, and we dove right back in to the chaos of living once we got home. Yesterday was spent in a half-awake stupor after Toby was up all night teething, constipated, and totally time-confused. Today was a trip to my dentist office which, because I don't trust the local good'ole boy dentists to do their best to leave me with at least SOME of my natural teeth, is located a good 40 minutes away and next to T's office. Tomorrow I plan to finally catch up on the myriad of household chores that need doing before I have a Sign Language playgroup here on Friday.
And Saturday? Well, Saturday is tentatively reserved for the arrival of our new baby.
Yes, because the hubs and I are both big children, we are breaking every known rule of parenthood and going ahead and getting the dog NOW, even though Jack has yet to prove that he will actually poop in anything not resembling a diaper. Except for that one time he took a steamy squat on my living room rug, but I'm doing my best to repress the memory. Take me at my word when I say it was right up there with stepping in cat puke first thing in the morning.
There are so many thoughts floating around in my head about things that happened on vacation, plans for the future, the total failure of my attempts to wean at the beach, and Toby's unshakeable determination to NOT give up his lordship of my breasts or sleep through the night. Or sleep at all when he can help it, for that matter. I couldn't possibly organize my thoughts enough to communicate anything coherent, so I'm afraid you will all have to deal with the slow trickle of anecdotes as they reappear at the forefront of my brain in the coming days. There are some really great stories to be told - like how I accidentally exposed myself to a beach full of strangers and how fun it is to have someone look at you strangely when you say "I got crabs from Dirty Dick's!" - but they will have to come later. I'll have to ease back into this, so be gentle... and maybe lubricate me with a scoche of Vanilla Latte. Beyond that?
It's (mostly) good to be home. (but it was better to be on vacation.)
Not unpacking - the suitcases stand in the living room still full of clean clothes waiting to be put away.
Not cleaning the house - the chaos surrounding me at this moment could choke a camel.
No, I've been settling in. Getting the boys back on some semblence of a routine since returning from the beach.
Ahhhh the beach. Let's pause for a moment, shall we, and reflect on the beauty and wonder that is the Outer Banks. For all the usual vacation wacky-ness that ensued, the long drives, and the stressing about "do I REALLY need to spend the extra 5 bucks to get a coffee mug to remind me of this vacation?" (And yes, I did. It has a crab and says "Crabby 'till I get my coffee"... see? Can't you just TASTE the cheese?!) it was the most relaxed I've been in a long time.
Being home again is odd. There wasn't much time to ramp up, and we dove right back in to the chaos of living once we got home. Yesterday was spent in a half-awake stupor after Toby was up all night teething, constipated, and totally time-confused. Today was a trip to my dentist office which, because I don't trust the local good'ole boy dentists to do their best to leave me with at least SOME of my natural teeth, is located a good 40 minutes away and next to T's office. Tomorrow I plan to finally catch up on the myriad of household chores that need doing before I have a Sign Language playgroup here on Friday.
And Saturday? Well, Saturday is tentatively reserved for the arrival of our new baby.
Yes, because the hubs and I are both big children, we are breaking every known rule of parenthood and going ahead and getting the dog NOW, even though Jack has yet to prove that he will actually poop in anything not resembling a diaper. Except for that one time he took a steamy squat on my living room rug, but I'm doing my best to repress the memory. Take me at my word when I say it was right up there with stepping in cat puke first thing in the morning.
There are so many thoughts floating around in my head about things that happened on vacation, plans for the future, the total failure of my attempts to wean at the beach, and Toby's unshakeable determination to NOT give up his lordship of my breasts or sleep through the night. Or sleep at all when he can help it, for that matter. I couldn't possibly organize my thoughts enough to communicate anything coherent, so I'm afraid you will all have to deal with the slow trickle of anecdotes as they reappear at the forefront of my brain in the coming days. There are some really great stories to be told - like how I accidentally exposed myself to a beach full of strangers and how fun it is to have someone look at you strangely when you say "I got crabs from Dirty Dick's!" - but they will have to come later. I'll have to ease back into this, so be gentle... and maybe lubricate me with a scoche of Vanilla Latte. Beyond that?
It's (mostly) good to be home. (but it was better to be on vacation.)
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Notes From The Edge
My experience with oceans was, until this week, primarily limited to the Pacific. The cold, angry, unforgiving, beautiful in its bleakness Pacific Ocean.
The Outer Banks are more beautiful than I could have imagined. There's something insanely peaceful about lounging on a giant sand bar. At one point about half an hour south of here, you can actually see from the Atlantic shore to the shore on the sound -- the whole island is about 150 yards across there, at most.
The water is warm. The sand is velvety soft. The sun is hot, and the air is sultry and serene.
In bits and pieces, I am floating back to myself here. I can remember feeling this good at some indistinct point in the past, and it is an unexpected joy to find myself there again. A few things have not gone according to plan -- I've called a halt to weaning until we get home, which has saved me the frustration of the first 2 days with a hungry, wailing infant. Also? Apparently Hurricane Ernesto may be rolling through here in the next 48 hours. We're hanging tight with a "wait and see" attitude, because we are not about to leave here early unless absolutely necessary.
I thought I would be updating more frequently while we are up here, seeing as how there's wi-fi and all, but to be honest, I have been too busy out LIVING life this week to take the time to write about it. I do promise copius photos and maybe even a video or two when we get back. And maybe one more update before we leave on Saturday.
Suffice it to say that - for now? I almost feel alive again. The layers of baked on stress are dissolving away in the Atlantic surf, and I almost feel clean and shiny and new again.
Will wonders never cease....
The Outer Banks are more beautiful than I could have imagined. There's something insanely peaceful about lounging on a giant sand bar. At one point about half an hour south of here, you can actually see from the Atlantic shore to the shore on the sound -- the whole island is about 150 yards across there, at most.
The water is warm. The sand is velvety soft. The sun is hot, and the air is sultry and serene.
In bits and pieces, I am floating back to myself here. I can remember feeling this good at some indistinct point in the past, and it is an unexpected joy to find myself there again. A few things have not gone according to plan -- I've called a halt to weaning until we get home, which has saved me the frustration of the first 2 days with a hungry, wailing infant. Also? Apparently Hurricane Ernesto may be rolling through here in the next 48 hours. We're hanging tight with a "wait and see" attitude, because we are not about to leave here early unless absolutely necessary.
I thought I would be updating more frequently while we are up here, seeing as how there's wi-fi and all, but to be honest, I have been too busy out LIVING life this week to take the time to write about it. I do promise copius photos and maybe even a video or two when we get back. And maybe one more update before we leave on Saturday.
Suffice it to say that - for now? I almost feel alive again. The layers of baked on stress are dissolving away in the Atlantic surf, and I almost feel clean and shiny and new again.
Will wonders never cease....
Friday, August 25, 2006
Remembering Why I Married Him...
...Because he went to Wal-Mart (which he hates) and picked up feminine products all by himself. Okay, not JUST feminine products, he was getting supplies for our trip, but he did get me tampons and maxi pads and he DID get exactly the right brand, type, size, and style.
It's things like this that explain why I totally do all the dirty stuff that most wives don't do.
Wish us luck driving tomorrow; between the rugrats, I suspect it will be.. um.. interesting to say the least. But, at the end of that very long drive? Sand, surf, and nary a cell phone or traffic jam for miles. *swoon*
It's things like this that explain why I totally do all the dirty stuff that most wives don't do.
Wish us luck driving tomorrow; between the rugrats, I suspect it will be.. um.. interesting to say the least. But, at the end of that very long drive? Sand, surf, and nary a cell phone or traffic jam for miles. *swoon*
tags: love
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