Thursday, September 30
Wednesday, September 29
Holy snakes! and Tricks!
First, holy snakes you guys--what is UP with you and the cysts and the Mexican street justice doled out on them at home? Pushing, popping, slipping sandals...yowza. I winced and laughed and shook my head. Lands. Apparently, these ganglion suckas are an ailment shared by many.
All of this kind of reminds me of Ezra lately. Everyone thinks their treasured child is wonderful and special and Absolutely the Most Unique Individual on the Earth. Ezra's love of rocket ships and planets and moons and astronauts and bulldozers and excavators and cement mixers and steam rollers...yeah, well, apparently all boys size 3T love those things too. While extremely cute, his interests apparently don't make him that...umm...rare. Ah well. On miniature Ikea hangers, hang an entire fall and winter wardrobe adorned with everything listed above. Good love him, Ezra gets so excited to wear a shirt with a rocket ship on it. How can I deny him that?
Also! ALSO!
Iris is clapping! Two hands together applauding everything in sight. It's pretty darn awesome. J the Fabulous Nanny apparently shrieked when Iris started doing it and scared the pants of Iris. Then Iris went on a clapping streak and did it for 20 minutes straight; repeated only again once we got home.
We all--T, Ezra and me--looked like a bunch of damn fools clapping around Iris while she stared at us, but it was still great.
Hurrah!
All of this kind of reminds me of Ezra lately. Everyone thinks their treasured child is wonderful and special and Absolutely the Most Unique Individual on the Earth. Ezra's love of rocket ships and planets and moons and astronauts and bulldozers and excavators and cement mixers and steam rollers...yeah, well, apparently all boys size 3T love those things too. While extremely cute, his interests apparently don't make him that...umm...rare. Ah well. On miniature Ikea hangers, hang an entire fall and winter wardrobe adorned with everything listed above. Good love him, Ezra gets so excited to wear a shirt with a rocket ship on it. How can I deny him that?
Also! ALSO!
Iris is clapping! Two hands together applauding everything in sight. It's pretty darn awesome. J the Fabulous Nanny apparently shrieked when Iris started doing it and scared the pants of Iris. Then Iris went on a clapping streak and did it for 20 minutes straight; repeated only again once we got home.
We all--T, Ezra and me--looked like a bunch of damn fools clapping around Iris while she stared at us, but it was still great.
Hurrah!
Tuesday, September 28
Because you were on tenterhooks
Went to my internist yesterday morning and it turns out that the nodule/bump/thing won't necessarily turn my hand into the chicken foot, but is something that needs to exit stage right.
"Now about this bump, doctor..."
He called it a ganglion cyst and told me there was fluid inside. I may have also heard this, "Blah blah blah cyst blah ganglion blah full of fluid that is trying to escape blah needs to be removed." Trying to escape? Which of course brought to mind the whole alien-jumping-out-of-the-stomach scene from Alien. Always unpleasant.
In reading about these things, the best tidbit has been that Back In The Day--people would whack these bumps with a Bible to get them to burst. Wrong on so many levels (bursting!) so I will be keeping T from reaching for the NIV at home.
I'll be seeing the surgeon at the end of October which happens to fall during the week T is in Germany (because that seems like a good time to be down to one hand--geez), so we will see what he/she says then. It appears, though, that I seem to have dodged amputation. For now.
"Now about this bump, doctor..."
He called it a ganglion cyst and told me there was fluid inside. I may have also heard this, "Blah blah blah cyst blah ganglion blah full of fluid that is trying to escape blah needs to be removed." Trying to escape? Which of course brought to mind the whole alien-jumping-out-of-the-stomach scene from Alien. Always unpleasant.
In reading about these things, the best tidbit has been that Back In The Day--people would whack these bumps with a Bible to get them to burst. Wrong on so many levels (bursting!) so I will be keeping T from reaching for the NIV at home.
I'll be seeing the surgeon at the end of October which happens to fall during the week T is in Germany (because that seems like a good time to be down to one hand--geez), so we will see what he/she says then. It appears, though, that I seem to have dodged amputation. For now.
Monday, September 27
The hassle never stops and a point made
A phone conversation with T who is working from home today.
Me: "You wanna get together for lunch today?"
T: "No, I can't. I have a bunch of emails to respond to and I have to do the lawn."
"Dude, it's just lunch."
"I can't. Sorry."
"Hey, do you know where my axe is?"
"What the...why do you need an axe?"
"For the big branches that fell."
"Oh. I think I moved it up higher in the garage so Small Fry wouldn't chop off his fingers. Look for it at eye level."
"Okay."
"Hey, can you remember to trim with the weed wacker?"
"Why with the special requests all of a sudden?"
"Listen, you can't just cut the lawn and then not trim the edge-y bits--it looks like crap. It's, like, why even bother with the mowing?"
"You know, you have two obsessions: vacuuming and trimming."
"Here's the deal: you can't have floors and then have crumbies--it'll look crappy. You can't have grass and not trim--that also looks crappy. It's the way it is."
"I see. Fine then. Yessssss, I'll trim."
"Gracias. See you at home."
End scene.
Me: "You wanna get together for lunch today?"
T: "No, I can't. I have a bunch of emails to respond to and I have to do the lawn."
"Dude, it's just lunch."
"I can't. Sorry."
"Hey, do you know where my axe is?"
"What the...why do you need an axe?"
"For the big branches that fell."
"Oh. I think I moved it up higher in the garage so Small Fry wouldn't chop off his fingers. Look for it at eye level."
"Okay."
"Hey, can you remember to trim with the weed wacker?"
"Why with the special requests all of a sudden?"
"Listen, you can't just cut the lawn and then not trim the edge-y bits--it looks like crap. It's, like, why even bother with the mowing?"
"You know, you have two obsessions: vacuuming and trimming."
"Here's the deal: you can't have floors and then have crumbies--it'll look crappy. You can't have grass and not trim--that also looks crappy. It's the way it is."
"I see. Fine then. Yessssss, I'll trim."
"Gracias. See you at home."
End scene.
Saturday, September 25
Input
Let me begin by saying that T comes home tonight. Poor soul had to get up at 3:00am to catch his 6:00am flight out of LAX...it could be touch and go around here come bedtime.
Anyway, I would like you gauge the following on what I am calling the Douchebag Meter. So, in the situations/queries below--how douchey are they? 1 being acceptable and 10 being so douchey it reminds of you of that guy whom you met in the bar and then made fun of with your friends. You know the one.
Judge away.
Anyway, I would like you gauge the following on what I am calling the Douchebag Meter. So, in the situations/queries below--how douchey are they? 1 being acceptable and 10 being so douchey it reminds of you of that guy whom you met in the bar and then made fun of with your friends. You know the one.
Judge away.
- The fact that I am not on Facebook
- Not posting a new blog post announcement on Twitter
- Wearing a corduroy skirt on the regular
- Honking at people/asshats while I drive
- Loving BigMacs
Friday, September 24
Nubbin
So I have this thing on the sole of my hand, under the skin, and it hurts. My unborn twin complete with little hair and little teeth. Perhaps.
It's been hurty for a while, but I thought maybe it was just an achey joint or something from wrangling kids or the remote or chips and dip. Which, oh my lands, with T out of town I've been hitting the french onion dip and Ruffles chips harder than a mutha. Gah. Soooooo tasty.
Then one day last week while I was driving, it was really kind of hurting so I pressed on it and...boo!...there is a hard lump the size of a pea about an inch below my right finger. It wasn't there a few weeks ago so I can only assume I am growing something under the skin. It doesn't hurt to type or stuff food in my maw, so this lumpus is certainly not impeding 99% of what I do in a day, but still. This ain't natural.
Google called it a nodule and thought it was no biggie. Unless it turns out to be this in which case it seems my fingers will start to resemble a chicken foot.
I see the doctor on Monday, so we'll see what he says. If he recommends amputation, I'm totally getting a hook.
It's been hurty for a while, but I thought maybe it was just an achey joint or something from wrangling kids or the remote or chips and dip. Which, oh my lands, with T out of town I've been hitting the french onion dip and Ruffles chips harder than a mutha. Gah. Soooooo tasty.
Then one day last week while I was driving, it was really kind of hurting so I pressed on it and...boo!...there is a hard lump the size of a pea about an inch below my right finger. It wasn't there a few weeks ago so I can only assume I am growing something under the skin. It doesn't hurt to type or stuff food in my maw, so this lumpus is certainly not impeding 99% of what I do in a day, but still. This ain't natural.
Google called it a nodule and thought it was no biggie. Unless it turns out to be this in which case it seems my fingers will start to resemble a chicken foot.
I see the doctor on Monday, so we'll see what he says. If he recommends amputation, I'm totally getting a hook.
Thursday, September 23
Armed with a head
It is becoming apparent to me that I really only have two states of being: Zen Calm or Chicken Little Minus a Head.
Zen Calm is often what the Small Fries get. I rarely yell as Ezra responds better to low, firm tones. Students at work also get Zen Calm. My words might say, "Why, yes, there is such a thing as a stupid question, you douche." but my tone is all spa-music-with-a-side-of-scented-candle. Friends also often receive Zen Calm.
Chicken Little Minus a Head is a little alarmist and a little...umm...cuhrazy. There is much flapping of hands and fanning of face, some potty-mouth used out of worry of impending doom and a dash of repeatedly asking the same question over and over and over again in hopes of a different answer. T often receives Chicken Little Minus a Head. God bless him.
Lately, I have been feeling Chicken Little Minus a Head over lots of things: Iris getting sick and having to be readmitted into the hospital. T and I and how we communicate as well as constantly reevaluating the state of our marriage. (Things are fine--but I like to be proactive. And typing that sentence annoys even me. Geesh.) T's stress level over his juggling his new job and the fam. The amount of time he's going to be gone and leaving me to man the fort. How much money we're spending on J the Fabulous Nanny and then feeling like an ass clown for even sweating it. Trying to constantly remember stuff like putting on pants and buying Kleenex. Wondering when the hell I'm going to find the time to buy Christmas presents come December. Trying to anticipate how I'm going to feel about November 12.
Blech.
But this morning...with T out of town, everything went spectacular. I woke up feeling weary but not smoked. E wasn't surly and simply wanted to read books. Iris while snotty with an impending cold, wasn't coughing or ailing too horribly. I had time to drop off dry cleaning before work. It was smooth sailing.
I looked ahead in my calendar and noticed on November 12 and saw that I'd written "Iris' Birthday." I felt excitement and happiness and hope. I'd not written down, "Day Baby Died" or "Day Wind Was Knocked Out of Us" because even though that's also what happened...eff...now I'm crying...the focus may have shifted ever so slightly without me realizing it.
I remember talking about this date with the therapist I saw immediately after it all hit the fan and she said this (more or less), "You will remember what happened that day and it will be hard. But it won't always be what it was. Eventually it will be what you want it to be." What I want it to be is a date for celebration.
Ooofff.
Anyway, like the title suggests, I have my head on my shoulders today and am feeling a little less worried about things. I plan to enjoy it.
Zen Calm is often what the Small Fries get. I rarely yell as Ezra responds better to low, firm tones. Students at work also get Zen Calm. My words might say, "Why, yes, there is such a thing as a stupid question, you douche." but my tone is all spa-music-with-a-side-of-scented-candle. Friends also often receive Zen Calm.
Chicken Little Minus a Head is a little alarmist and a little...umm...cuhrazy. There is much flapping of hands and fanning of face, some potty-mouth used out of worry of impending doom and a dash of repeatedly asking the same question over and over and over again in hopes of a different answer. T often receives Chicken Little Minus a Head. God bless him.
Lately, I have been feeling Chicken Little Minus a Head over lots of things: Iris getting sick and having to be readmitted into the hospital. T and I and how we communicate as well as constantly reevaluating the state of our marriage. (Things are fine--but I like to be proactive. And typing that sentence annoys even me. Geesh.) T's stress level over his juggling his new job and the fam. The amount of time he's going to be gone and leaving me to man the fort. How much money we're spending on J the Fabulous Nanny and then feeling like an ass clown for even sweating it. Trying to constantly remember stuff like putting on pants and buying Kleenex. Wondering when the hell I'm going to find the time to buy Christmas presents come December. Trying to anticipate how I'm going to feel about November 12.
Blech.
But this morning...with T out of town, everything went spectacular. I woke up feeling weary but not smoked. E wasn't surly and simply wanted to read books. Iris while snotty with an impending cold, wasn't coughing or ailing too horribly. I had time to drop off dry cleaning before work. It was smooth sailing.
I looked ahead in my calendar and noticed on November 12 and saw that I'd written "Iris' Birthday." I felt excitement and happiness and hope. I'd not written down, "Day Baby Died" or "Day Wind Was Knocked Out of Us" because even though that's also what happened...eff...now I'm crying...the focus may have shifted ever so slightly without me realizing it.
I remember talking about this date with the therapist I saw immediately after it all hit the fan and she said this (more or less), "You will remember what happened that day and it will be hard. But it won't always be what it was. Eventually it will be what you want it to be." What I want it to be is a date for celebration.
Ooofff.
Anyway, like the title suggests, I have my head on my shoulders today and am feeling a little less worried about things. I plan to enjoy it.
Tuesday, September 21
Love/hate Tuesday
Love: Iris had a check-up with her pediatrician yesterday and she is, by the hair of her chinny chin chin, almost on the growth chart for her actual age of 10 months. She is 14lbs.
Hate: That bowling post below was supposed to post on Monday not Sunday.
Love: It is 82 here today!
Hate: Oh, Lindsey Lohan. Why with the drugs?
Love: For the past three weeks I have been sleeping like the (unmedicated) dead. The super dead. I don't wake up for anything. 9:30pm-5:30am--a goner.
Hate: These shoes have made my feet tore up from the floor up. I was hobbling by 10:00am.
Love: I am finally caught up at work after being out on maternity leave.
Hate: I am thinking of writing a kinda scholarly article and have no idea where to start. So far I'm just making a pile of paper that is going nowhere fast.
Love: Our nanny
Hate: She just called because Iris' ear looks red inside; not ear infection-red, but odd-red. Hmmmm.
Love: Lunch is approaching and I love mealtimes.
Hate: Am trying to be judicious in my eating but I almost always want to go balls to the wall. Old habits die hard, I guess.
What are you loving/hating?
Hate: That bowling post below was supposed to post on Monday not Sunday.
Love: It is 82 here today!
Hate: Oh, Lindsey Lohan. Why with the drugs?
Love: For the past three weeks I have been sleeping like the (unmedicated) dead. The super dead. I don't wake up for anything. 9:30pm-5:30am--a goner.
Hate: These shoes have made my feet tore up from the floor up. I was hobbling by 10:00am.
Love: I am finally caught up at work after being out on maternity leave.
Hate: I am thinking of writing a kinda scholarly article and have no idea where to start. So far I'm just making a pile of paper that is going nowhere fast.
Love: Our nanny
Hate: She just called because Iris' ear looks red inside; not ear infection-red, but odd-red. Hmmmm.
Love: Lunch is approaching and I love mealtimes.
Hate: Am trying to be judicious in my eating but I almost always want to go balls to the wall. Old habits die hard, I guess.
What are you loving/hating?
Sunday, September 19
Bowl o' rama
Yesterday we went bowling for one of my younger brother's birthday. We kept Iris at home because even though the ability to smoke in public spaces has changed in our state, who knows the last time the inside of this particular bowling alley caught a whiff of fresh air. Just sayin'.
It was Ezra's first time bowling and even though he has a monster bowling set, the concept of roooolllllling a ball is significantly less interesting than chucking it overhand. At a window. Or your head. With deadly accuracy.
Anyway, T decided to stay home with Iris and after nap Ezra and I ventured out to the world of manky shoes, pretzel rods and Coke by the pitcher.
Those left behind.
Incidentally, this is basically what goes down at our house in the weekends. Those on the floor also flinch and protect themselves as Ezra goes running by.
Loaded up in the car and armed with Wonder Pets fruit snacks. Verdict on the fruit snacks, "I no like it. Too sticky." Wait until you get to bowling alley, kid. You haven't even seen sticky yet.
He played the bowling balls like bongos for a hot second.
My dad helping Ezra bowl his frame. They had these nifty "slides" for the balls that you then basically had to just shove down the aisle.
Watching it...
Shazam!
This is about the time that Ezra lost his ever loving mind. The house muzak blaring over the speakers (so loud I left with the 'itis), two simulataneous birthday parties taking place ("CAKE FOR ME, MAMA?"), his grandparents/my parents in attendance, popcorn--holy snakes. He was literally rolling around on the ground and cutting the rug at the same time. Based on the number of things he was licking in excitement, I expected all of us to ebola by the time we went to bed.
"Take a picture of my fancy shoes, Mama! FANCY!" Geez, okay.
It was Ezra's first time bowling and even though he has a monster bowling set, the concept of roooolllllling a ball is significantly less interesting than chucking it overhand. At a window. Or your head. With deadly accuracy.
Anyway, T decided to stay home with Iris and after nap Ezra and I ventured out to the world of manky shoes, pretzel rods and Coke by the pitcher.
Those left behind.
Incidentally, this is basically what goes down at our house in the weekends. Those on the floor also flinch and protect themselves as Ezra goes running by.
Loaded up in the car and armed with Wonder Pets fruit snacks. Verdict on the fruit snacks, "I no like it. Too sticky." Wait until you get to bowling alley, kid. You haven't even seen sticky yet.
He played the bowling balls like bongos for a hot second.
My dad helping Ezra bowl his frame. They had these nifty "slides" for the balls that you then basically had to just shove down the aisle.
Watching it...
Shazam!
This is about the time that Ezra lost his ever loving mind. The house muzak blaring over the speakers (so loud I left with the 'itis), two simulataneous birthday parties taking place ("CAKE FOR ME, MAMA?"), his grandparents/my parents in attendance, popcorn--holy snakes. He was literally rolling around on the ground and cutting the rug at the same time. Based on the number of things he was licking in excitement, I expected all of us to ebola by the time we went to bed.
"Take a picture of my fancy shoes, Mama! FANCY!" Geez, okay.
Friday night fun
Swinging hard and fast. T and I tend to call this Fancy Feet because his toesies are a blur and you really should wear a helmet when he's In The Zone.
After being told that he can only throw and swing at his ball in the playroom. Which, we've been trying to call the playroom rather than his playroom. Not that I think this change in verbiage will make sharing one bit easier, but it can't hurt.
5:55pm. I turn my back to get her sweet potatoes out of the fridge and she passed clean out. I scrapped the sweet potatoes and carried her upstairs where she slept through the entire diaper change, jammies being put on, feeding and being lowered into her crib. Crikey. Her naps during the day are more...of the power-nap variety. We've cut out two of the naps that were kind wienie naps (15 mins) and lumped the other two together. It helped a bit. Heck, she's quiet at night and passes clean out (see picture), so I'm not complaining at all.
Friday, September 17
An open letter
Dear Law Student,
No, I don't have my law degree. But guess what?--neither do you. That's why you're here. At least I'm getting paid to be here. Stop being a douche.
Signed,
Last Night's Cranky Librarian
****
Dear Crap-ass Driver,
Your car is beat down, and don't think I don't see the bungee cords holding your hoopty ride together. Perhaps if you stayed in your own lane while driving 80 you would not need said cords in the first place.
Sincerely,
The VW Behind You
****
Dear Co-Worker,
Listen, I cry bullshit on your niceness. Let's cut the crap. You and I both know you went all nutso about my schedule while Iris was in the hospital. And, to be honest, I've tried to be so very WWJD but mostly I want to be YADTM (You Are Dead To Me).
I'm cool without the pleasantries.
Best,
Gal Who Knows What's What
****
Dear Honeycrisp apples,
Don't think that because I bought you on Sunday and I've yet to eat you that this means your bacon is safe. No sir. Tonight you and I will meet with some sharp cheddar on the side.
Until then,
Your Apple Luvah
****
That is all.
Feel free to write your own.
No, I don't have my law degree. But guess what?--neither do you. That's why you're here. At least I'm getting paid to be here. Stop being a douche.
Signed,
Last Night's Cranky Librarian
****
Dear Crap-ass Driver,
Your car is beat down, and don't think I don't see the bungee cords holding your hoopty ride together. Perhaps if you stayed in your own lane while driving 80 you would not need said cords in the first place.
Sincerely,
The VW Behind You
****
Dear Co-Worker,
Listen, I cry bullshit on your niceness. Let's cut the crap. You and I both know you went all nutso about my schedule while Iris was in the hospital. And, to be honest, I've tried to be so very WWJD but mostly I want to be YADTM (You Are Dead To Me).
I'm cool without the pleasantries.
Best,
Gal Who Knows What's What
****
Dear Honeycrisp apples,
Don't think that because I bought you on Sunday and I've yet to eat you that this means your bacon is safe. No sir. Tonight you and I will meet with some sharp cheddar on the side.
Until then,
Your Apple Luvah
****
That is all.
Feel free to write your own.
Thursday, September 16
Shut up with the cuteness
While not necessarily addicted because I only bought a few of them for him--I loved stuffing Ezra's little melon into hats. He had a tomato one purchased from a stall at our local farmer's market and then a raccoon one from Gymboree and then some sort of jester contraption from Target because I ran out of time before it started to snow.
Well, it's that time of season again! Time for hats! And now I have TWO melons to outfit. Hurrah!
I feel as if Iris should venture into produce-chapeau territory, but I'm not sure where. Eggplant? Strawberry? Hmmm....
Wednesday, September 15
Random useless tidbits
I am getting pimped from Verizon and need to change my plan with them. However, I am too lazy to waste a valuable lunch break (60 minutes to DO WHATEVER I WANT) to do so.
Umm...originally typed "waste" as "waist." My parents would be so proud of the money they spent on my English degree. Sheesh.
****
I cannot work a curling iron to save my life.
****
T is heading to California next week. He is then home for 24 hours and heads to Germany.
His idea of consoling me, "I'm not even going to talk about Japan! But, hey, I'll bring you chocolates."
Eff.
****
Iris had an appointment with a geneticist yesterday because a number of her ailments were congenital and not associated with her prematurity. We don't know if Noah shared any of the conditions as we didn't do an autopsy. (My stomach just turned typing that...)
Anyway, the geneticist was doing his physical exam and noting her appearance, and for various reasons had to pick apart her appearance and facial features. Both J the Fabulous Nanny and I decided later that we did not like that. At all.
But what was funny was that he was looking closer to see if she had between her eyebrows and I wanted to say, "Dude, I'd have a unibrown if it weren't for tweezers--we're German."
****
I'm thinking of leaving work early today so that I can a) go to Target and b) make some dinner.
Oh. And kiss babies.
****
My addiction to fruit snacks is reaching epic levels.
****
I forgot to put on deodorant today. I've been fresher.
****
What's randomly going on in your life?
Umm...originally typed "waste" as "waist." My parents would be so proud of the money they spent on my English degree. Sheesh.
****
I cannot work a curling iron to save my life.
****
T is heading to California next week. He is then home for 24 hours and heads to Germany.
His idea of consoling me, "I'm not even going to talk about Japan! But, hey, I'll bring you chocolates."
Eff.
****
Iris had an appointment with a geneticist yesterday because a number of her ailments were congenital and not associated with her prematurity. We don't know if Noah shared any of the conditions as we didn't do an autopsy. (My stomach just turned typing that...)
Anyway, the geneticist was doing his physical exam and noting her appearance, and for various reasons had to pick apart her appearance and facial features. Both J the Fabulous Nanny and I decided later that we did not like that. At all.
But what was funny was that he was looking closer to see if she had between her eyebrows and I wanted to say, "Dude, I'd have a unibrown if it weren't for tweezers--we're German."
****
I'm thinking of leaving work early today so that I can a) go to Target and b) make some dinner.
Oh. And kiss babies.
****
My addiction to fruit snacks is reaching epic levels.
****
I forgot to put on deodorant today. I've been fresher.
****
What's randomly going on in your life?
Sunday, September 12
You put in your notebook...
Today we took Ezra to a live production of Blue's Clues at our local civic theater. We'd never taken him to something like this--something Live and furry and where he'd need to park his biscuits in a seat for longer than .02 seconds--so before I bought the tickets, T and I prepped ourselves: if the idea tanks, so be it. We were going to try and be Easy Breezy Parents (sometimes easier for T than I) and let Ezra set the pace. I'm sure he's going to need to therapy for umpteen reasons, why add this to the list. If Ezra was creeped the hell out and wanted to bolt, we would.
He's just starting to understand the time space continuum, so last week I started telling Ezra that we were going on Sunday to see Blue's Clues in person.
"Joe? Joe there?"
Ezra has always preferred Joe to Steve whereas I find Joe and his frontward combed hair and little too...suspicious. Parents are either pro-Joe or pro-Steve; there are two camps.
"No, Joe won't be there. Joe will be taking a nap so it'll just be Steve."
"Otay."
The show started at 2pm--slap dab in the middle of naptime--so this added to the potential sleepy/scared crapstorm, but we just moved everything (breakfast, church, lunch, nap) up an hour to accommodate the afternoon.
My parents arrived at 1pm to hang out with Iris and we were off...
He's just starting to understand the time space continuum, so last week I started telling Ezra that we were going on Sunday to see Blue's Clues in person.
"Joe? Joe there?"
Ezra has always preferred Joe to Steve whereas I find Joe and his frontward combed hair and little too...suspicious. Parents are either pro-Joe or pro-Steve; there are two camps.
"No, Joe won't be there. Joe will be taking a nap so it'll just be Steve."
"Otay."
The show started at 2pm--slap dab in the middle of naptime--so this added to the potential sleepy/scared crapstorm, but we just moved everything (breakfast, church, lunch, nap) up an hour to accommodate the afternoon.
My parents arrived at 1pm to hang out with Iris and we were off...
Ezra's review after the show?
Me: "Did you like Tickety Tock?"
Ezra: "I NO LIKE TICKETY AND SLIPPERY SOAP. SCARY!"
"What about Mailbox?"
"Yeah!"
"What about Steve?"
"I like Steve. Where Joe go?"
"Joe was eating lunch and taking a nap. What about Blue?"
"Yeah!"
So...live action Tickety Tock and Slippery Soap? Thumbs down. In fact, T took him out of the theater a few times when the characters danced down in the aisle and got up in people's grills. Steve and Blue? Thumbs up. Mailbox? Hearty thumbs up and he even sang the song.
Most of you probably have no bloody idea what the hell Blue's Clues is while I, sadly, can sing all the songs. T too. It's what we've been reduced to but it was worth it for this face:
Saturday, September 11
10 months, suckas
Tomorrow Iris will be 10 months old. Eff-freaking-me. That's almost a year, folks. And aside from milestones and what sized diapers she wears and how holy-snakes-on-a-plane Iris is doing so much more now that she's no longer being operated on, let me just say this: We all survived.
We did.
I can't believe it most days, but the calendar doesn't lie. Nor does my ever lessening dependence on sleep medicines to quiet the monkey brain at night.
In two months Iris will be a year old which boggles my mind more than trying to figure out how things at the South Pole aren't truly upside down.
I still read a Preemie message board on The Bump and still, to some degree, find it useful. While the bulk of the parents (mothers, really) are those with children still in the hospital--it helps me hear the advice from those that are further along the road than we are; to know that time continues to roll on and children continue to thrive.
Do I still compare where she is at 10 months actual/7 months adjusted to where Ezra was? Kinda, but less and less everyday. It was a voice that shouted at me when she was in the hospital ("Iris is 5 months old! She hasn't even been outside let alone rolled over!" But in all caps, all the time.) still tried to make itself heard in July ("Lands. Ezra was crawling by now and Iris just mastered rolling over...") but today is barely a whisper.
And again with the crying, but seeing her at physical therapy this morning--mimicking the clapping and rolling motion for her arms to "Pat-a-cake"--happy tears rolled down my face.
I'm.just.so.proud.of.her.
I am not a pushy stage mother and fully respect the professionals wisdom ("She's only 7 months old. Remember that due date."), but I hold Iris to a different standard--that of a 10 month old--because I know what kind of stock she's made of. I know that she can get "this."
She does everything appropriate for a seventh month old and some things appropriate for a 10 month old. Her cardiologist is amazed by her continues to solemnly remind me how and where she started her journey--it wasn't good. Her therapists, all four of them, are surprised at the progress she makes each week.
She's doing it.
Iris is in six month clothes and size 2 diapers.
She babbles non-stop.
She gets tastes of fruits and veggies three times a day.
She sleeps 12 hours a night and only wakes up to eat once.
She can almost sit on her own and push a ball back and forth.
Iris rarely cries.
Iris loves music, turning pages in books and watching other children.
She laughs when we move her arms up and down really fast.
She's grabbing her thighs and sometimes her feet.
She has T's eyes and my nose and Ezra's hair.
The sight of her brother makes her nose wrinkle with a smile.
Iris is pocket sized and lovely.
She is amazing to me.
We did.
I can't believe it most days, but the calendar doesn't lie. Nor does my ever lessening dependence on sleep medicines to quiet the monkey brain at night.
In two months Iris will be a year old which boggles my mind more than trying to figure out how things at the South Pole aren't truly upside down.
I still read a Preemie message board on The Bump and still, to some degree, find it useful. While the bulk of the parents (mothers, really) are those with children still in the hospital--it helps me hear the advice from those that are further along the road than we are; to know that time continues to roll on and children continue to thrive.
Do I still compare where she is at 10 months actual/7 months adjusted to where Ezra was? Kinda, but less and less everyday. It was a voice that shouted at me when she was in the hospital ("Iris is 5 months old! She hasn't even been outside let alone rolled over!" But in all caps, all the time.) still tried to make itself heard in July ("Lands. Ezra was crawling by now and Iris just mastered rolling over...") but today is barely a whisper.
And again with the crying, but seeing her at physical therapy this morning--mimicking the clapping and rolling motion for her arms to "Pat-a-cake"--happy tears rolled down my face.
I'm.just.so.proud.of.her.
I am not a pushy stage mother and fully respect the professionals wisdom ("She's only 7 months old. Remember that due date."), but I hold Iris to a different standard--that of a 10 month old--because I know what kind of stock she's made of. I know that she can get "this."
She does everything appropriate for a seventh month old and some things appropriate for a 10 month old. Her cardiologist is amazed by her continues to solemnly remind me how and where she started her journey--it wasn't good. Her therapists, all four of them, are surprised at the progress she makes each week.
She's doing it.
Iris is in six month clothes and size 2 diapers.
She babbles non-stop.
She gets tastes of fruits and veggies three times a day.
She sleeps 12 hours a night and only wakes up to eat once.
She can almost sit on her own and push a ball back and forth.
Iris rarely cries.
Iris loves music, turning pages in books and watching other children.
She laughs when we move her arms up and down really fast.
She's grabbing her thighs and sometimes her feet.
She has T's eyes and my nose and Ezra's hair.
The sight of her brother makes her nose wrinkle with a smile.
Iris is pocket sized and lovely.
She is amazing to me.
Friday, September 10
Then and now
In trying to sort through the nonsense that is our online photo albums, I realized T and I have taken photos on some of the same days throughout the year. Perhaps not so strange say you, but we're not rampant photo takers and there are 365 days in a year. While not a math wizard, I still think this makes the odds kinda interesting.
Anyway, here are few from the same day throughout the years:
October 31...
2006...T and I in Pisa. That bad boy really does lean.
2008...Ezra getting his first taste of rice cereal.
2009...I'm about five months pregnant here with Noah and Iris and it's the only photo I have of that pregnancy. Upon finding this photo I cried. It is both extremely hard to look at and miraculous to see.
November 14...
Anyway, here are few from the same day throughout the years:
October 31...
2006...T and I in Pisa. That bad boy really does lean.
2008...Ezra getting his first taste of rice cereal.
2009...I'm about five months pregnant here with Noah and Iris and it's the only photo I have of that pregnancy. Upon finding this photo I cried. It is both extremely hard to look at and miraculous to see.
November 14...
Thursday, September 9
A conversation on the way home
Me: "How was your day at school?"
Ezra: "Dood."
"What did you do today?"
"Played wiff my friends and sang songs and TRUCK! TRUCK! I see a TRUCK, Mama!"
"I see it too."
"Pizza! I wanna pizza for lunch, Mama! Pizza now and milk and fruit and pudding and ice cream and oven mits and pots."
"That sounds tasty. J is cooking a pizza right now at home."
"Home? What's dat over dere, Mama? A CAVE! We're going in a CAVE! DARRRKKK!"
"It's a bridge."
"FIRE TRUCKS!"
"MAN AT THE GAS STATION!"
"CITY BUS!"
"DAT MAN IS NUDIE!"
"What?"
"Over dere."
"That man isn't nudie. He has pants and a shirt on. And shoes."
"Oh."
"Pants?"
"Yep."
"Ohhhhh."
Ezra: "Dood."
"What did you do today?"
"Played wiff my friends and sang songs and TRUCK! TRUCK! I see a TRUCK, Mama!"
"I see it too."
"Pizza! I wanna pizza for lunch, Mama! Pizza now and milk and fruit and pudding and ice cream and oven mits and pots."
"That sounds tasty. J is cooking a pizza right now at home."
"Home? What's dat over dere, Mama? A CAVE! We're going in a CAVE! DARRRKKK!"
"It's a bridge."
"FIRE TRUCKS!"
"MAN AT THE GAS STATION!"
"CITY BUS!"
"DAT MAN IS NUDIE!"
"What?"
"Over dere."
"That man isn't nudie. He has pants and a shirt on. And shoes."
"Oh."
"Pants?"
"Yep."
"Ohhhhh."
Wednesday, September 8
To self: Shut your yap already
I have decided to tell myself to "Shut up!"
Exclamation point.
When Iris first came, my tummy was in knots over how much harder two kidlets is than one. Color me sucka punched--I had no bloody idea. Really. I wanted to yell it from the rooftops, "Fools! We were FOOOOOOLS!" Fools in the sense that I wouldn't want to not get pregnant again and introduce Curly-haired Life into our home, but Fools in that I really hadn't considered the full potential for Nuttiness on almost an hourly level.
Of course, I love routine and calm and mellow (anyone call a librarian?), and somehow an infant and a toddler aren't always this.
Before Iris came home, T reminded me that he was committed to traveling overnight for work in early July. I balked. Stared him down. Mentally groveled that he not go. How the holy eff was I supposed to manage two in the mornings? Two bedtimes that fall almost at simultaneous times? A toddler who, while I consider farely well-behaved, would most certainly chose this time to electrocute himself and fall down the stairs?
I know I couldn't be an asshat and ask T not to go--he already had The Guilt. But I shit you not that from June 2 at 1:30pm when Iris crossed our threshold to July 6 when T got on the plane, I thought about that trip with dread almost every hour. That's how consumed I was.
Flash forward a few months and T was presented with the opportunity to go to California for a recruiting event for Black MBAs (the people being black, not the diploma itself and, apparently, all black people with MBAs are in California--who knew?). What I thought was going to be a two day trip at the end of September has turned into a five day trip. During my busiest time at work. Again leaving me alone with two kids. Did I mention the simultaneous bedtimes?
Why this all consuming hand-wringing is legitimate: I get home at 5:30pm. Ezra takes forever to eat dinner. Iris' bedtime starts 6:00pm otherwise she goes off the reservation and the entire process takes even longer. She needs meds and food and breathing treatments which leaves Ezra without a pair of eyeballs on him for about 45 minutes. I have to rush through the evening routine at a time when I just want to nuzzle my little kids' necks.
Why this hand-wringing kinda makes me a Douche: No one will (probably) die. I can ask J the Fabulous Nanny for an extra hour during those nights. My parents would even be willing to come play with Ezra for an hour until bath. It'll be okay.
It was pride that had me not asking for help. Pride in one's work is a pretty good thing. Pride that will keep you stressed and not asking for help is not. So, I may have mumbled a "Hey, what do you think but you don't have to if you don't want to because I know you already are here 9.5 hours a day and may want to relax and have a life so I'll just write down the dates and you let me know if any of them work..."-kind of proposal to J the Fabulous Nanny. Her response? "Sure. Anytime."
Well, then.
I guess I could've just relaxed and asked for help at the start of all this, but in my core--and I still feel this way--I felt as if I should be able to do both. I should be able to work and care for both of my kids in the evening without someone coming to my aide. Lots of people do. Lots of my good friends make it happen on the regular--why can't I get my act together? And maybe someday I will. We are all wearing pants and I have managed to do my hair, so maybe Having One's Act Together is a tiered process. Kinda like schilling for Amway--always something to work towards.
Exclamation point.
When Iris first came, my tummy was in knots over how much harder two kidlets is than one. Color me sucka punched--I had no bloody idea. Really. I wanted to yell it from the rooftops, "Fools! We were FOOOOOOLS!" Fools in the sense that I wouldn't want to not get pregnant again and introduce Curly-haired Life into our home, but Fools in that I really hadn't considered the full potential for Nuttiness on almost an hourly level.
Of course, I love routine and calm and mellow (anyone call a librarian?), and somehow an infant and a toddler aren't always this.
Before Iris came home, T reminded me that he was committed to traveling overnight for work in early July. I balked. Stared him down. Mentally groveled that he not go. How the holy eff was I supposed to manage two in the mornings? Two bedtimes that fall almost at simultaneous times? A toddler who, while I consider farely well-behaved, would most certainly chose this time to electrocute himself and fall down the stairs?
I know I couldn't be an asshat and ask T not to go--he already had The Guilt. But I shit you not that from June 2 at 1:30pm when Iris crossed our threshold to July 6 when T got on the plane, I thought about that trip with dread almost every hour. That's how consumed I was.
Flash forward a few months and T was presented with the opportunity to go to California for a recruiting event for Black MBAs (the people being black, not the diploma itself and, apparently, all black people with MBAs are in California--who knew?). What I thought was going to be a two day trip at the end of September has turned into a five day trip. During my busiest time at work. Again leaving me alone with two kids. Did I mention the simultaneous bedtimes?
Why this all consuming hand-wringing is legitimate: I get home at 5:30pm. Ezra takes forever to eat dinner. Iris' bedtime starts 6:00pm otherwise she goes off the reservation and the entire process takes even longer. She needs meds and food and breathing treatments which leaves Ezra without a pair of eyeballs on him for about 45 minutes. I have to rush through the evening routine at a time when I just want to nuzzle my little kids' necks.
Why this hand-wringing kinda makes me a Douche: No one will (probably) die. I can ask J the Fabulous Nanny for an extra hour during those nights. My parents would even be willing to come play with Ezra for an hour until bath. It'll be okay.
It was pride that had me not asking for help. Pride in one's work is a pretty good thing. Pride that will keep you stressed and not asking for help is not. So, I may have mumbled a "Hey, what do you think but you don't have to if you don't want to because I know you already are here 9.5 hours a day and may want to relax and have a life so I'll just write down the dates and you let me know if any of them work..."-kind of proposal to J the Fabulous Nanny. Her response? "Sure. Anytime."
Well, then.
I guess I could've just relaxed and asked for help at the start of all this, but in my core--and I still feel this way--I felt as if I should be able to do both. I should be able to work and care for both of my kids in the evening without someone coming to my aide. Lots of people do. Lots of my good friends make it happen on the regular--why can't I get my act together? And maybe someday I will. We are all wearing pants and I have managed to do my hair, so maybe Having One's Act Together is a tiered process. Kinda like schilling for Amway--always something to work towards.
Tuesday, September 7
Mr. Roboto
I have wanted to write this incredibly memorable and well-written post about how much I cry lately and why I think it is that I will cry at the drop of a hat.
Seeing a friend wronged so horribly by a man she loved--tears. Seeing preemie clothes at the store--tears. Reading a story about a child with cerebral palsy who died--tears. Thinking of a friend for whom life is finally becoming calm--tears. Seeing Iris roll onto her side and play--tears. Hearing Ezra exclaim, "Oh my DOODNESS!" over and over--tears.
If it tears at any part of my heart, I weep.
Everything feels as if it is just under my skin...kinda of simmering and all it takes is just one heartfelt moment to have a little geyser of crying spout forth; releasing the pressure a little bit.
Talking it over with Sam, I came to the realization that is perhaps because I no longer feel the need to be stoic. While Iris was in the hospital, stoic was all I had keeping the nonsense together. Because whether I want to realize it or not, underneath I was probably shredded to pieces. My daily life, though, did not allow me to entertain anything other than moving forward and keeping it together. I had anger for the masses, but sadness could not be a part of it.
So, now it all sits under my skin and gets squeezed out bit by bit so that someday soon I won't look so Weepy Willy.
Seeing a friend wronged so horribly by a man she loved--tears. Seeing preemie clothes at the store--tears. Reading a story about a child with cerebral palsy who died--tears. Thinking of a friend for whom life is finally becoming calm--tears. Seeing Iris roll onto her side and play--tears. Hearing Ezra exclaim, "Oh my DOODNESS!" over and over--tears.
If it tears at any part of my heart, I weep.
Everything feels as if it is just under my skin...kinda of simmering and all it takes is just one heartfelt moment to have a little geyser of crying spout forth; releasing the pressure a little bit.
Talking it over with Sam, I came to the realization that is perhaps because I no longer feel the need to be stoic. While Iris was in the hospital, stoic was all I had keeping the nonsense together. Because whether I want to realize it or not, underneath I was probably shredded to pieces. My daily life, though, did not allow me to entertain anything other than moving forward and keeping it together. I had anger for the masses, but sadness could not be a part of it.
So, now it all sits under my skin and gets squeezed out bit by bit so that someday soon I won't look so Weepy Willy.
Friday, September 3
What I'd like to know from you (again)...
- How do you manage/put on a happy face/muscle-through when something is particularly rocky?
- Do you have a favorite pair of shoes?
- What are your plans for when those shoes start to wear out and look, say, crappy?
- How do you feel about Fall as a season?
Thanks, and that is all.
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