We made it. Thirty posts. Thirty days. I wrote it. You read it. Well, you scanned it, anyway.
What have I learned?
That I can still grind it out when I have to. This either means that I'm still good at coming up with something under pressure, or that I'm completely inane and like to talk about nothing.
That not every post was inspired, to say the least. I usually just blog when I have something I'd like to say, get off my chest, share. Some days I'm just too freaking tired from being up eight times a night to have anything more to say then "slurb. ugga. gobble uck uck." And yet, I filled the space and, I hope, occasionally entertained.
That I looked forward to having my writing time each day - well, mostly, except for the other day when I was actually dozing/drooling on the couch and realized I had to come up with something and all I REALLY wanted to do was go to bed. But there is something nice about knowing that, at some point in the day (or night, as the case may be) I'm going to take time to put my thoughts on "paper." This did often involve multitasking: I typed while eating, while my baby clung to my pants and screamed, while my older son needed his butt wiped, while Sage had a temper tantrum or three, while watching TV... Alone time is rare. Makes me realize I could use more of it.
The best part is I did resuscitate this blog. Breathed some life into this old girl and got it going again.
I'm excited about moving forward with it. I want to make some changes to, you know, make it even more Special and Saucy. I will keep you posted.
I even (gasp) redid my twitter address. You can now find me at specialsauceith. It's like my blog with a lisp. But the full name was too long, so I had to improvise.
Okay. So I can't promise I'm going to do daily thing again in December. We've got our wedding anniversary, the holidays, Sawyer's birthday, my birthday and general craziness.
But I will definitely be around a lot. I hope you will too.
I will never forget what it felt like when I, just about seven weeks pregnant, went for my weekend run with my running partners (memba them?). Yes, it was really hot out, but I wasn't so worried about that. I'd trained for two marathons. I knew how to keep myself hydrated for a seven mile run.
But I was completely freaked out because my OB and everything I read on the net recommended that I not allow my heart rate to exceed 140 beats per minute - because I jumped up to 170 bmp pretty darn fast. Considering I had recently completed a marathon AND my resting heart rate was somewhere in the 50 bpm range, the 170 wasn't due to being out of shape. It's just how I am.
So while I watched Torrey and Cindy run ahead and leave me bhind, I walked. Jogged a bit. And kept my eyes locked on my heart rate monitor.
I knew I couldn't even think about running with them anymore. And then, at about 10 weeks pregnant, I stopped going to my trainer because I couldn't work out hard anyway - and the nausea didn't help, either.
Imagine my surprise upon finding this article on ESPN.com.
And I quote:
In 1985, [Dr. Raul Artal, chairman of obstetrics, gynecology and women's health at Saint Louis University in St. Louis] said, he and other doctors suggested guidelines to the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists to have pregnant women keep their heart rate below 140 beats per minute during exercise. The concern, Artal said, was that the fetus would be deprived of oxygen if a woman's heart rate went any higher...
Artal said that, in 1985, he and another doctor used intuition and calculation to determine the 140 beats rule. Six months later, when actual testing of women in a lab proved them wrong, Artal said he asked for the 140 beats notation to be stricken from the guidelines.
"For some reason, people caught onto that and they never let go," he said. "Each time I get asked about it, I said forget about it. I think it should be ignored."...
To this day, he said, there is no standard limit to how high a woman's heart rate should be in pregnancy.
Really? REALLY?!?!?!?! You have GOT to be shitting me.
I'm not saying I would've been one of those women who run an ultra marathon the day before they deliver. But I certainly would've kept exercising for so much longer without worrying that somehow I was going to deprive my developing fetus of oxygen.
It is beyond upsetting that women are kept to the modern-day version of the fragile pregnancy myth because of misinformation that was put out there almost 25 years ago. Hello! Obstetricians? Many of you guys/gals weren't even in med school yet when this stuff came out. How bout some recent info?
Yes, I realize some pregnancies are, in fact, perilous. But for those of us who were in fabulous shape when we got pregnant and have no apparent issues with the ongoing pregnancy, we should not be treated like invalids.
I ran one of the slowest three miles of my life the other day, as I gingerly attempt to get myself back in shape. I wonder now how much different I might feel nine months post-partum had I kept running into my second trimester, if I had continued to work out to a level with which I felt comfortable even in my third trimester.
We have enough guilt as moms and moms-to-be. Letting our bodies do what they can shouldn't be something to feel bad about. It should be something to celebrate.
I'd love to blog. I really would. I mean, once the kids are in bed, I usually sit down at the computer and figure out what I'm going to write about. I scan through my pictures, I wait to see what Kirsten's writing about over at Nilsen Life, I go on Facebook.
But not tonight, people. Not tonight.
Because for the first time in eight months, two weeks and four days, my husband and I are going out.
WITHOUT CHILDREN.
Oh yes.
We're just going over to a friend's house to celebrate her upcoming 40th birthday. Frankly, where we're headed isn't important. It's THAT we're headed somewhere. Alone. Together.
It's long overdue.
So pardon the interruption in my regularly scheduled blogging. It's time to break out the flat iron and the eyeliner.
Okay, so yes, my husband left the house before 6 a.m. to go do some shopping. But does it really count if your stops are Lowes, Home Depot and Sears? The man came home with a value pack of batteries and two shop vacs, which joined the one he'd just bought the week before.
He was home by 8 a.m. And that was the extent of our Black Friday extravaganza. See, we have more important things to do the day after Thanksgiving. On our little street, it's time to put up the Christmas lights.
It's such a pain to put them up, we want to make sure they're up for a good long while: until New Year's Day.
The neighbors all started wandering out somewhere around 9 a.m. Everyone chatted. We spent about 20 minutes of our lives watching a gardener cut down two of my next-door neighbor's palm trees. They were in the way of her Christmas decorations, so they had to go. That, and she's hated them for years. The trees, that is.
The kids started playing, riding bikes, razors, playing baseball - the usual stuff. One of our neighbors had family over, so that added six more kids to the mix. The only break was for lunch. Then they were all back out there. Friends came, and brought their kids, too.
Another neighbor dragged their fire pit into their driveway. So of course there had to be smores, right? I believe it was the first for Sawyer and Sage.
By now it was late. Time, finally, for everyone to go back into the warmth of their homes.
This was no Black Friday. This was Red and Green and Snowmen Friday. This was fire and melty marshmallows and kids who will always remember this day as the one they stayed out playing way past dark.
Today we bought our turkey. Thanksgiving just snuck up on us, I guess. This apparently happens when you have three kids and it's all you can do to get through the day (and night), never mind looking ahead.
So of course we had to pay four times what we would have for a frozen turkey. We just didn't think we'd have time to thaw it, and I will never forget the year my mother and sister had to blow dry the turkey to get it to soften up.
We weren't about to take any chances.
It will just be the five of us, with a new little face at the table this year. I don't have any family in the state, and David's mother is visiting his borther and family in Florida.
The meal will be simple: turkey, green beans, potatoes, stuffing (for David. I personally don't get stuffing. It's, like, mushy bread. Discuss.), corn bread muffins and pumpkin pie with whipped cream.
It's nothing fancy. I'd like to think that in the future I'll get more creative. But it will be more than enough food for us. Hopefully Sage will decide to actually try the turkey - or churkey, as she calls it.
Today Sawyer's class had their Thanksgiving feast. It was cute. They got to play games outside, and then finally came in for the food. There were about 60 kids in the classroom as they combined the morning and afternoon class.
This was the first time I'd volunteered. X was napping and David was home, so I snuck out. I was taking some artwork off the wall when one of the moms shrieked to me, "LOOK at what your SON is DOING!!!"
And there was Sawyer, practically on top of his friend K as he tried to kiss her on the back. Yes, he loves the ladies. What can I say. Actually, what I SAID was something we've talked to him about before: we only kiss family and we keep our hands to ourselves.
"But I LIKE her, Mommy!"
Well, yes. We can see that. Fortunately, HER mom thought it was funny when I told her. And the feeling is mutual - K asked if she could have a playdate with Sawyer. Apparently it will have to be supervised...
He does have excellent taste. She's adorable.
I'm thankful my boy has such an open heart. They'll be time enough for him to harden it.
I love my baby boy. I just don't want to party with him every night.
But that's what teething does. It makes him wake up every hour and a half - all night long. And since his crib is in our room, it's really tough to let him cry it out. I mean, he can SEE me. He clings to the top of the crib rail and wails and wails and wails.
The other night, after he'd already been up twice, he was up again at about 4:30 a.m. I nursed him, both sides, and still he screamed when I tried to put him back into his crib. But this time, in between his sobbing, he said "da dee da dee da dee!" So I elbowed David and said, "He wants you, dude." And David actually got out of bed, picked him up and walked him around a bit. Then he gave him some motrin and the kid finally passed out.
He was back at it again the next night, and the next. Last night he got up at 11:20, then at 4:30. He dozed a little on my stomach, but was up for good at 6 a.m.
And if that wasn't bad enough, there are the other two kids. Sage came in a couple nights ago because she was scared of the witch in her Scooby Doo book and needed David to take the book out of her room. Last night Sawyer crawled into our bed between us. David removed him, but I was so out of it I didn't wake up.
Then there was the time last week that Sawyer came in at 6 in the morning - after X had just fallen back to sleep - to loudy announce that he had, er, made a deposit in the bathroom. Yes, the baby woke up.
It's been 8 1/2 months. He's had a few nights here and there where he's slept from 7 p.m. to 6 a.m. But then he regresses and we start all over. The first two kids were great sleepers as babies, so this is new territory for me.
The worst part is I can't seem to get myself into any kind of workout routine. I used to run at 5:30 a.m. three days a week, and the other two days I'd take a 5:45 a.m. spin class.
I'm either nursing or passed out at that time these days. I could go to the gym after he goes down at night, but frankly, I'm exhausted.
I know this too shall pass. I guess I should just savor all these extra moments I have with my baby while he still needs me so much.
The pavement, the treadmill, the bike - it'll all still be there, waiting for me.
It's the sweetest sentence in the world. Ten words that brought tears to my eyes.
Why? Cause my kid read them. By himself. Today. For the first time.
He will be six years old in a few weeks. And while I knew of course that eventually he would read, I still wondered how. When.
This is a child who gets so frustrated practicing letters on his homework he slams his pencil and wants to quit.
Suddenly, today, it's game on.
His teacher sends home weekly notes to the parents, telling us what's going on in the classroom. She has a list of sight words that she wants the kids to learn. I finally wrote them on index cards today and had Sawyer review them. He did pretty well, so I started making them into sentences.
And then I watched Sawyer sound them out. He's never done this before. I mean, he sounded out the hard consonant, then the vowel, then the other consonant. Correctly.
It seems like everyone I know has kids who started reading when they were four. Or younger. I couldn't help wonder when it would click for Sawyer. He was an early talker and I'd heard usually they're early readers, too. I started thinking Sage might end up reading before he did.
Thing is, he's a kid who would listen to us read for hours if he could. I couldn't wait for him to fall in love with reading the way I did as a child, to bury himself in a book and be transported. To hear him read to his baby brother.
But he never showed the slightest interest in doing it himself. Until today. I swear I heard the gears start turning in his brain. The best part? How proud and excited he was. His eyes lit up as he correctly read each word. We wrote sentences for an hour before dinner. And he wanted to do more after dinner.
A black cat sat on an orange bat.
I can see my purple hat on the green man.
I know he has a long way to go. It wasn't exactly literature we worked on. He still needs some prompting on some words.
It was simply the first step, a matter of him gaining confidence. I'm guessing my days of spelling stuff I don't want him to hear to David will come to an end pretty soon.
I had to find something presentable. But not dressy. Jeans. The perfect piece of clothing to wear, especially in the cooler weather.
I love my jeans. I have a pair of 7s that were my gift to myself after I lost the baby weight from Sage. Eventually they got a little baggy. So the next year, I picked up a pair of True Religions.
Both have remained folded in my drawer through much of my pregnancy, patiently waiting for me to lose the baby weight from X.
Well, you know, some of those pounds are still hanging around, and I needed my jeans. The True Religions were completely out of the question,so I figured I'd see if I could stuff my stuff into my 7s.
People, this wasn't pretty. I got them on. Buttoned, even. I'm thankful they have a little bit of Spandex in them, but, um, the low rise sure let my midsection swing free.
Let's just say I will NEVER look at a muffin the same again. Ever.
I didn't need to wear them until today. So every day for the past few, I've worn them around in attempts to stretch them further. Therefore it came as no surprise last night when I found two glops of dried sweet potato on the leg, courtesy of my cruising little boy.
But, you know, I couldn't WASH them. All that hard work! All that cutting off of circulation! All those deep knee bends! There was NO WAY I was going to risk them shrinking after the amount of time I've spent trying to make them bigger.
I guess that's why we have paper towels. I rubbed the food right off and shoved myself into my 7s this morning. Pulled my shirt down to my hips and hopes of hiding everything.
She has the potential to be a good little player. She's at least always running in the correct direction...
A little shout-out to Sawyer, who scored the first goal of the game last week. It was quite a kick...
Sage went to almost all of Sawyer's games for the past couple years. So she was pretty happy her big bro came to watch her last game.
And with Sawyer's third season ending last week, my job as Soccer Mom is on hiatus til next Fall, unless Sage decides she wants to play again this spring.
This year we're trying to explain to the kids what it means to be thankful.
I decided to make a Thankful jar. The kids tell me what they're thankful for. We write it on a piece of paper and stick them in the jar, which is currently decorated by Sage's turkey (or churkey, as she's pronouncing it). Then on Thanksgiving, we'll read them.
I'd love this to be the start of a tradition. Next year Sawyer will be able to write his all on his own.
It will be very interesting to see how the things they're thankful for change over the years - to say nothing of their handwriting. And decorating skills.
As many of you know, I'm the anti-craft. I have absolutely no ability to do any kind of crafty thing whatsoever and this jar is nothing fancy.
But in this case, it's more important what's on the inside.
I had not seen my friend Paula in, as best we could remember, 20 years. Sadly, that's half a lifetime. So when she was in LA this week, we were excited about the chance to get together.
Twenty years? Sure it wasn't just 20 minutes?
There are friends by chance or location, the people you hung around with because they lived on the same floor of your college dorm or had the cubicle next to you at work. Maybe you had drinks together every Friday or talked on the phone about what to wear to the club or if she'd seen the cute new guy in accounting.
These are friends of the moment. Maybe there are a few with whom you will connect and the friendship will continue after you go your separate ways, even after one of you marries and has kids and the other embarks on a career that takes them places you've only dreamed of.
Those are rare. Most fade because of geography or different life phases or what you had in common - school, work, etc. - is no longer there.
Then there are old friends. REAL friends. Friends you found on your own, when you were a child, without anyone pushing you in that direction. You met when you were 11 and suddenly you were best friends.
You spent a lot of time at each other's houses. You worried your walls would dent from the furious artillery fire of rock-hard Jolly Ranchers. You braved her attack cat. You went to church with her Sunday mornings after sleepovers at her house - even though you were Jewish.
You both had a love affair with the Beatles in eighth grade and made the band out of paper sandwich bag puppets and a toilet paper roll drum set for your school report. You danced them around to I Want To Hold Your Hand. You think you got an A.
You were 12 and you called her, excited to tell her that you got IT, only to find out SHE'D gotten It months earlier.
You listened while she told you about her first kiss, in the band practice room of the junior high school. You wondered if you'd ever get your first kiss. You did. But it was much later.
By then, you'd drifted. It was the usual thing: you got to high school, and after freshman or sophomore year, you no longer ran in the same crowd. She was an extremely talented flutist and hung with the band crowd. You quit band and hung out with the jocks.
You were still friendly, but it wasn't the same. Then she went to college in Boston and on to grad school in Miami. She eventually landed in Tucson. No surprise, she's a professional flutist now.
The last time you saw her was college, although she thinks maybe it was a few years after.
You went on to become a sportswriter. You married, had three kids. She married, divorced, no kids, but she does have an awesome motorcycle.
You are not surprised by her career choice. You love that she found a job doing something that she is so passionate about. She is not surprised by your career as a professional writer. You used to spend hours together in your room, creating a book about a teenage girl who was far more popular than you and she ever were (and she remembered you'd named the main character Nina Poole).
So on the phone on her drive here you apologize in advance for your appearance and not-so-perfect house. She was coming from a five-hour flute lesson and said she was not dressed appropriately to meet someone she hadn't seen in 20 years.
But you know? It was perfect. You had plenty to talk about. It wasn't just shared history. Whatever it was that made you friends 30 years ago, the essential part of your connection remains intact.
And it wasn't a matter of picking up where you left off. This was better. It was fascinating hearing about her life and what brought her to this point; to get to know her again - as an adult.
You know it is still your friend Paula. The best part? She is someone you'd want to be friends with if you just met her today for the first time. And you are so thankful you have found her again.
I had my first official parent-teacher conference today. And got to review Sawyer's first official report card.
Man, kindergarten is tough. A lot tougher when we were little. They expect the kids to, like, know stuff! It's nuts! Didn't we just fingerpaint and make projects out of gumdrops and glue?
Anyway, Sawyer is doing well. I've noticed in the past week or so he's starting to remember some of the sight words they're learning, such as "like" and "see." He's showing, for the first time, some interest in sounding out words. I don't have an early reader. I was kind of surprised, considering how early he spoke and how much he loves books, but it just hasn't quite clicked yet.
Now I can see it happening. I really feel the wheels are starting to turn. It's pretty cool. I can't wait to hear him reading to his little sister and brother.
The report card is a progress report based on evaluations they've done over the past month or so. They test the kids on all kinds of things, like figuring out which is more, less or equal, writing as many numbers as they can in order, identifying uppercase and lowercase letters, and even how well they follow directions.
Sawyer is pretty much at grade level in most things and she had nothing but positive things to say.
At the end of our meeting, I showed his teacher a worksheet that went home with Sawyer today. I had some concerns about the message she was sending:
Before I went to the conference I asked Sawyer why he chose the colors he did.
"Well, the blue is because he goes in the water, and then when he dries off, he goes in the grass so he's green. And of course his feet are yellow. I picked purple because I just liked it."
"Okay, so if you saw a penguin at the zoo, what color would it be?"
"Black and white, Mommy!"
Like, duh!
I explained Sawyer's reasoning to the teacher. She got it. I guess she didn't realize he actually thought about the colors he used and didn't just randomly grab the first crayon he saw. She did say she wouldn't send a note like that again.
Because, frankly, there are enough rules in school. I want my kids to live in a world where there could be pink, blue and green penguins.
That's part of the wonder of childhood. And that's something that can't be measured.
He called me the other day from his Los Angeles office. They were giving away free flu shots. He wanted to know whether he should get one. Cause, you know, he's never had the shot and he's never gotten the flu.
I was all, "ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?!?!"
Perhaps he didn't remember a time, just over eight months ago, when he almost missed the birth of his son BECAUSE HE HAD THE FLU! I reminded him how my midwife and doula were laughing because he was moaning louder than me - and I was in active labor!
Funny thing is, he actually needed me to tell the tale again. I thought it was the woman who wasn't supposed to remember the pain of childbirth?
We hung up, with me not sure what he was going to do. When he came home, I knew he'd gotten the shot - because he was muttering something about how now he has "flu-like symptoms" that can sometimes be a side affect.
He didn't. He was just fine.
And the good news is, now HE can take care of my unvaccinated self if I get the flu.
"Sawyer, now that soccer is over, is there any activity you'd like to do this winter?"
"Little League."
"Well, that starts in March. You have a few months in between if you wanted to try something else. Basketball, maybe?"
"No, I think I'd like to do a snowman making competition."
"That sounds great, but we don't have snow here."
"Why don't you check on your computer, Mommy? I'm sure you can find one."
If only it were that easy. Because a snowman making competition with my little boy? Sounds awesome.
And for those of you who live in places where this would be possible, take a moment or two from cursing out the weather this winter and remember how really cool it is to play in the snow with your kids.
I promise not to send pictures of us building sand castles at the beach.
Wow. I look kinda bad-ass in this picture. Or stoned.
Anyway, here we go:
1. I was interviewed in my hometown paper in fourth grade because I was appearing in a play as Mary the Fairy. I said I wanted to be an astronomer. I later found out that required math knowledge. And so the dream was dashed.
2. I loathe mayonnaise. I mean, DESPISE it. I gag if I have to put it on Sawyer's sandwich. Thankfully he forgot about this particular condiment and hasn't asked for it in months.
3. I played the clarinet for five years. I was awful. I wanted to play the saxophone but the store was all out. I clearly never recovered from the disappointment.
4. I was a varisty badminton player in high school. Oh yes. Fastest racket sport in the world, people. And in Connecticut, there were lots of private schools to play against, including Miss Porters, of which Jackie O was a graduate.
5. My second and third toe are longer than my big toe. Aside from practical uses such as picking up pencils from the floor and creeping out my friends and family, it is actually a structural issue and is why distance running is not such a good activity for me.
6. I met my husband-to-be at Atlanta-Hartsfield airport (I was not wearing open-toed shoes, see #5). We didn't see each other again for six months, on our first date.
7. I used to sit on my bed and look out the window to see if I could spot Rudolph's nose on Christmas Eve. Apparently he doesn't fly by the Jewish kid's house.
8. My favorite ice cream is Coffee Heath Bar Crunch. I will be eating it for breakfast once I'm allowed to eat dairy again. I mean, it has coffee in it, right?
9. When I actually get to leave the house without kids, my arms physically ache to hold Xander if I am gone too long.
10. I would move back East in a New York minute. Unfortunately, my husband is not interested. So here I stay. It's been more than 10 years out here now and still it does not feel completely like home yet. Maybe a nice, bigger house would help?
He still loves him some MJ. David made him a CD for him to listen to in his room and in the car. It actually makes me smile to think about how much he's getting into music that I listened to when I was young.
There's just something cool about it, you know? I'm sure the day will come when they'll be blasting something in their rooms and I'll cover my ears and be all, "What IS that stuff you kids are listening to??"
Makes me remember the day I found my parents' Harry Belafonte album (yep, we're talking vinyl) and listened to him sing about a beautiful bunch of ripe bananas. Over and over and over. My parents probably dug that. Maybe it made up for my Violent Femmes phase later on.
When I got to junior high, I discovered my sister's Doors album. Eighth grade was the Beatles. I wrote lyrics to their songs on my book covers (do kids still do that? We used to cover them with brown paper bags).
Then I got into Springsteen. My kids can now recognize The Boss when they hear him, but they haven't gotten into him as much as Michael Jackson. Must be the sequined glove. Who doesn't like sparkly things?
Whatever. We will always have this touchstone: the connection of enjoying the same music, even when we might not agree on anything else.
Anyone else discover your parents' music, and now your kids are finding yours?
We looked at the most beautiful house today. It was stunning. Could've been a model home.
It's a short sale, as many homes on the market are around here. The owners still live there, and the woman greeted us at the door. She asked us to take our shoes off.
Maybe that's how she kept those beautiful travertine floors clean. Turns out they have two kids, ages 5 and 2, and two small dogs. You'd never know it. The house was immaculate. There wasn't even a small smear of chocolate on the banister.
At some point they'd hired a professional designer, who, to the tune of about $300,000, added such gorgeous things an imported Italian glass chandelier to hang over the stairs. There were mahogany and beveled glass doors on a downstairs library, in which there was a small gas fireplace.
A custom-made glass sink was in the downstairs powder room, which had murano glass wallpaper. There was a butler's pantry off the kitchen. Apparently this is a small area where the "butler" can set the food before bringing it out to the dining room. It included a wine refrigerator and shelves to hold glassware.
Upstairs was an office with custom built-ins and four bedrooms - with a fabulous view of the mountains from the master. The closets all had storage shelves in them. It was easy to picture how much stuff we could cram in there.
The only negative was the teeny backyard that was completely hardscaped. We asked her where her dogs peed, and she said at the park - which is literally a house away. This park has a basketball court, big grassy field, playground equipment and an Olympic size pool.
There are tons of kids in the neighborhood, and friends of ours live a short walk away.
I asked if the backyard was an issue with small kids, and she said it wasn't because the park was so close - and the nanny just takes the kids there.
Say what?
They lived in the house for just three years. And put a ton of money into it. But now they can't pay their mortgage and have to move. Wonder if the nanny is still employed.
She said she's sad, in that it's the place they brought their daughter home from the hospital, but that they're ready to move on and hope to move out of state in a few years.
I wondered (to myself, even I'M not that nosy, if you can believe it) what the heck happened. Did one of them lose a job? Things can go wrong quickly, I guess.
While we were there, tons of people came traipsing through. I can't imagine what that must be like, watching as strangers open your closet doors and wander into your kids' rooms.
I was in fact absolutely mortified to see MY kids STANDING on the family room couches, banging on the piano in the library, and generally racing around like lunatics. It was like they'd been in a tiny cage all day and we'd just released them, but not before making them suck down a pack of pixie sticks.
The woman was totally cool with it, since she has kids, but judging by how pristine all the furniture was, I don't think she lets them dribble popsicle on the couch or use the walls as a canvas for their "artwork."
David finally took them to the park, and I chatted with the owner before she had to greet yet another family coming to look around. I felt a little like a voyeur. Even though we are interested in the house and might make an offer. There was just something depressing about the whole business, capitalizing on someone else's misfortune.
I'm sure I could get over it, though. The house is THAT awesome.
No, not with him, silly. Well, actually, it kind of is. Since X has taken up residence in our room, we have not watched the shows we used to watch together before bed. So with all three kids asleep at a decent hour, David and I are finally going to watch one of our faves.
House. The season premiere. We're only a month or so late.
So I'll see you tomorrow, blogosphere. I'm off to date night. On the couch. With David. My container of sorbet. And Hugh Laurie.
We got the call yesterday from the pediatrician that the h1n1 vaccine was available and to call immediately if we wanted it.
The message was left during the two hours the office is closed for lunch, and shockingly, I totally forgot about calling them back. Until this morning. Then it was like trying to call to get concert tickets back in the day. Just constant busy signal. I just kept hitting redial until I finally got through.
I made the appointments for 4 p.m.
Then I was left to stew for the next six hours or so.
I guess I have the same questions about the vaccination as everyone else. Is it safe? Is it necessary? What's the deal with the thimerasol?
This is one of those times I wish I wasn't the Mommy, having to make this decision. David did not seem all that excited for them to get the shot. He assumed I did all the research, and I have, but it's all conflicting.
If every time Sawyer got a cold it didn't immediately take up residence in his chest, I probably wouldn't get the shot. But it does. Even the simplest of colds end up with us having to give him nebulizer treatments.
Still, I didn't want to put something in his body that potentially could be dangerous. I also don't want him to become really ill with the flu.
Unfortunately I'm no longer someone who just goes along with whatever "they" say. Chalk it up to all the stuff I discovered along the way to making my decision to have natural childbirth. I learned to question the medical establishment. That of course has its downside, in that you end up with a lot of information to sift through.
The CDC says, of course, that it's safe. Logically, it makes sense that since they already make a safe seasonal flu shot, then one made exactly the same way but with a different strain should also be safe.
I think there is a basic mistrust of government. Especially lately. Like this is just a big money-making scheme for the government, which is in bed with the pharmaceutical companies. And that's why they're pushing the vaccine like a meth dealer on a playground.
The thing is, that just sounds so, well, cynical. Maybe it's just trying to keep people healthy, and in some cases, alive. Keep them productive and at work and at school.
We are left to read and question and poll our friends and ultimately, make the decision that's best for ourselves and our family.
So off they went. Sawyer came home and proudly announced he didn't even cry. Sage was STILL crying when they got home.
I feel okay about getting them the shot, though. At least I can say that today I did something to protect my kids.
In honor of his eight month birthday, Xander decided he wanted lots of together time. So he was up every three hours through the night. He chose 5 a.m. as the perfect time for us to get up for the day. Once I put my glasses on I could see why: the boy had the runniest nose. Ever.
There is something rather sad (and, truthfully, quite amazing) about such a tiny nose producing such a prolific amount of snot. He clearly didn't feel good. Which means he wants to cling. Which is okay, except for I did something painful to my back and it's at times difficult to stand.
So I'd occasionally have to put him down, and he'd cry, thereby creating yet even more snot. Sawyer was playing with him and kept me updated by such helpful comments as "Mommy! He has boogers running down his nose! And into his mouth! And onto the floor!" Needless to say I got quite the workout chasing him down with kleenex.
See, X does not sit still. He pulls up on everything. The door. The stairs. The vacuum cleaner. One of his favorites is the shoe basket, because then he can reach in and extract a flip flop or sneaker to gnaw on.
He's been babbling for awhile, but now he likes to do it back and forth with his siblings. He hasn't advanced past bababa but he now likes to do it louder. Sometimes he follows me around when I'm busy getting stuff for the other kids, and I'll hear "Mmm mmm mmm mmm" as he frantically tries to get my attention so I will...wait for it...pick him up.
The thing that's so cool about him is that, generally, he's a happy little dude (except he is now starting to cry when you take something he's crawled all the way across the room to stick in his mouth - like a Bionicle piece or a Polly Pockets shoe - away from him).
Otherwise, he smiles at everyone. When David is holding him and he sees me coming, his face explodes into a grin and he bounces up and down and flaps his arms. I think the only one happier to see me is one of my dogs when I start scooping out the kibble.
He likes to be where his big brother and sister are, and is beyond thrilled when they roll a ball or crawl next to him. And he is totally into the Leapster.
He is still eating the same stuff: sweet potato, pear and apple, along with a little ground turkey. He's also eating cheerio-type ceral that is made from oats, and he seems okay with it. I've been gradually adding a little wheat into my diet and he's been okay so far (cross fingers). Of course, I hope this runny nose isn't an allergic reaction to it.
My neighbor has a son who is six days younger than X. She was feeding him his first graham cracker yesterday. I couldn't help but be envious. What must it be like to not worry about what you feed your baby? I've never known it.
But just like with Sawyer, I focus on what he CAN have. And what he can do. Which is fill us up with his cuteness.
I mean, seriously. Blog every day for a month? That's a lot of, you know, thinking and stuff.
Kinda reminds me of when I used to cover a Major League Baseball team. Every day I'd have to come up with notes to file soon after the game started. Sometimes I had a LOT of space to fill.
I'd drive to the yard, wracking my brain for SOMEthing to write about. Maybe someone broke a fingernail putting on their batting glove and I'd be the only one to find out about it? Seriously, I'd occasionally feel THAT desperate. I'd go back over my notes from the past couple days to see if there was something that I didn't have the chance to get in the paper yet.
So all the way there, I'd mentally run down every player on the team, wondering if there was something about one of them I hadn't written about yet. There was also the manager and five coaches to consider.
Then I'd get to the stadium and set up my computer in the press box before heading down the stairs or the elevator. Mild panic had now set in. I'd walk through the tunnel to the clubhouse, notebook and pen in hand, silenty praying that I'd actually get to use them.
I'd enter the room and look around, seeing which player might be at his locker and available to talk. Hoping an idea would come to me.
And you know what? It always did. Every day. A casual conversation with a player might reveal something interesting about him that I didn't know. Or maybe the shortstop on the opposing team was his best friend.
There were days when I'd luck out and the team would announce news, whether it be an injury, a trade, a player signing a new contract. Or, once in a while, a player would confide something really juicy and I'd get a big scoop in the paper the next day.
Either way, I still had space to fill. And as we say in the biz, "We're a daily, not a weekly." That means do your job today, and come back again tomorrow and do it all over again.
Kind of like this blog.
Hopefully, before this month of daily blogging is done, I'll give you something juicy, too.
It currently has 18 kids, ranging from a little boy who is six days younger than X to a senior in high school. Our neighbor diagonally across the street is pregnant and due in January, so that'll make 19 (yes, even I can do that math!).
Drive up our street any afternoon (if you go too fast we will stand in the middle and stare you down) and you'll find a bunch of them riding Razors or bikes, or running around waving light sabers, or in a front yard playing soccer or baseball, or maybe in a driveway coloring with chalk.
Usually there are several parents hanging out, drinking an adult beverage (or, as one neighbor says, having a drink with "grownups" in it.) We don't have a problem neighbor on our street. Now, there might be those on our street who feel they have a big problem neighbor (namely us), but we can literally walk out the door and have a great conversation with everyone who lives here. And we all looks out for one another's kids.
The location is awesome. We're right across the street from a good elementary school, and close to the toll road and shopping. What's also nice is the houses are terraced so we're not right on top of each other. Our backyard is definitely pool-sized.
The problem? We've outgrown the inside, all 1560 square feet of our house. We have three bedrooms, and, as the old joke goes, they're so small you have to walk out to change your mind. Sawyer and X could eventually share a room, but it's not like they could each really have their own space. There's just not enough to go around.
The master bedroom barely contains our queen size bed and two dressers. The entire downstairs is really one big room, except for the extra small room which serves as David's office.
The "laundry room" is the garage. Need I say more?
We've considered renovating our house, adding a downstairs room and a bedroom, loft area and bathroom upstairs. I'm just not eager to deal with construction crews while trying to get X to nap.
We have started casually house hunting. We've seen a few, but nothing outstanding. It's been eye-opening, however, to see how small our house really is in comparison.
There is much to consider. Do we try to stay in the same general area so the kids can attend the same school Sawyer is at now? Do we stay in the town but move to a different section? Or do we figure this will be our last move and expand our search, especially to areas closer to the beach?
We dream of space. A playroom to contain the kids and all their toys. A loft with an area for them to do homework. A retreat in the master bedroom where I can curl up with a book and escape for awhile. A three-car garage so David can finally get either a project car or a zippy little number to cruise in.
Laundry UPstairs. Possibly a pool in the back yard.
Thing is, this house is jam-packed with memories. We bought it nine years ago and signed the closing papers while on vacation in Hawaii. We got engaged a few days later. It was supposed to be our home for five years max, but after we bought it, the housing market went through the roof and WE couldn't even have afforded to buy this house a few years ago, as it more than doubled in value.
The walls have more chocolate finger prints than I'd care to admit. The hardwood floors are grooved from the dogs running in and out and in and out of the back door. Dress-up clothes spill over the trunk and onto the floor of Sage's room; the closet is already full. Sawyer was suprised to learn he can now see into the top drawer of his dresser. He's getting bigger. X can crawl from one end to the other in less than 10 seconds.
It's our first home, where we brought our first baby from the hospital, where two others breathed their first breath. Our family has grown. The house has not.
Still, could we find such wonderful neighbors, or such a perfect spot for our kids to play? Will summer evenings find everyone outside, gathered in someone's driveway while the kids run and play until it's way past bedtime?
Maybe. We can hope.
We're not in a hurry, but if the right place were to come along..well, then we'd be ready to stuff another house full of life. We already have all we need to make a new house a home: each other.
Guess we'd just have to sit in our driveway and invite all our new neighbors along for the ride.
Actually, it's the mouth that screamed. And it belongs to my daughter. A healthy pair of lungs on that one. The exciting this is that everyone within a square mile radius are aware of just how hale and hearty they are.
Just today she proved how loud she could shriek to all six teams playing soccer, including her own, at an elementary school field. She also impressed all the parents, friends, siblings, etc. who were lining the sidelines, the four tee ball teams on two separate diamonds on either end of the field, and everyone in the parking lot.
I actually ordered her to SCREAM LOUDER as I was carrying her, kicking and hollering, across those fields and to our car.
The whole exercise started when she complained she was HUNGRY during her game. There were like 10 minutes left. It was her turn to go play, and she instead whined and cried and refused to go in.
I told her either stop crying and go in and play, or we could leave. She didn't want to do either. So after going back and forth for a little bit with this, I'd had it. So I grabbed her, picked her up, and hilarity ensued.
Sawyer walked along beside me, and got injured by a flailing cleat. But even he looked impressed with my lack of Bullshit Tolerance.
Of course all the way to the car I'm having the classic internal dialogue of am I doing the right thing, did I lose my patience too quickly, how could I have handled this better, etc. I'd already committed, though, you know?
The lesson here for the kids wasn't so nebulous as the parenting angst swirling through my mind. For them, they learned that you DON'T MESS WITH MOMMY.
Luckily David was there and held the baby while I transported her. It was also fortunate because I put X and Sawyer in my car and stuck David with Little Miss Sunshine. She entertained him by screaming most of the way that she wanted candy when she got home. She also wanted to watch TV. Imagine her surprise when Daddy wasn't down with either of her visions.
She had calmed down by the time we arrived. She even ate a nice grilled cheese sandwich and didn't complain much when she noticed it was burned on one side.
The awesome thing about her tantrum ability is the way she can flip that switch more than once in a day. Just when you think you've seen the Tantrum To End All Tantrums, she outdoes herself.
This time, we had dropped Sawyer off for the miniature golf portion of a party. We had to kill an hour or so before we picked him up and then transported him to the pizza place. Sage was pretty good as we bought baby gates (I know! Finally!) and then went to an open house of a million dollar home.
But once we picked Sawyer up, a certain reality set in: she still was not invited to the party, so she would not be going to the pizza place. Worse, she would NOT get a goody bag.
David had to stop at the grocery store real quick to pick up a garnet yam for Xander's dinner. In the 7 minutes he was in the store, Sage worked herself up into a full roar.
It went something like this:
"I WANT A GOODY BAG!!!"
You're not getting one, because it's not a party for you.
"I WANT A GOODY BAG!! IT'S NOT NICE!!! IT'S NOOOOOOT NIIIIIIIICE!!!!!"
And then she bit Sawyer's finger. Not sure how she even got to it, but she's never bitten anyone in anger. Ever. Cleary she was upping her game.
Just then, David came back to the car. Cue the screaming. It continued all the way during the few minutes it took us to get home. She kept it up as I ordered her to her room. She refused to go. I threatened to drag her by her hair. She still didn't move, so I grabbed her ponytail and BOY did she run!
Okay, a little digression here, but if you haven't seen this video yet, check out the ponytail yank (and NO, I did not even tug Sage's ponytail, just grabbed it, so this isn't meant to be an illustration). This is simply an example of a player who just loses it - and it's a girl.
Anyway - Sage then came back downstairs, and this time David chased her back up. I wish I could describe the exact pitch of her shrieking and what it does to the inside of my brain. Think of a thousand nails scratching on a thousand chalkboards in a tiny room, and you have the general idea.
David and Sawyer left, and Sage came back down, promising to be nice. Her eyes were puffy, her cheeks red, and I actually felt bad that such a little person can expend such a huge amount of energy.
She snuggled with me on the couch. For the second time today, I forgave her.
No one, that's who. These dogs are eight years old and we STILL have to confine them to David's office when we're out. Why? They like to chew. Gable (he's the one with the "My, what big ears you have" look) has decided he likes to go in my room and pluck clean diapers out of the basket and shred them like confetti all over the house. So he can't be trusted.
Garbo is the type of dog who, if we'd let her (or if we don't notice), will sit under the table with her head in one of the kid's laps while they eat, hoping they'll drop something. She's usually rewarded. Barring the availability of real food, she'll just gnaw on whatever else she can find.
Sometimes we lock them in the garage. That's when they take advantage of every toy they can find (and if you saw my garage, it's not like they're finding a needle in a haystack). Their favorite substance is plastic. Nice, chewy plastic.
So it really shouldn't have surprised me at all that they have barfed every day this week in David's office. At least, every day since Tuesday, which is the day he left for the week for "business" in Hawaii.
That left me to deal with barf, which is not my favorite bodily fluid, let's just say. Shockingly, I found pieces of bright blue chewed up plastic in the vomit. At first they (not sure which one, but I do know BOTH have been throwing up) hit the floor and not the white berber carpet. But hey, they have to stay in there while I take the kids to school, to dance, to the park, to the mall, etc. It was just a matter of time before they left their mark on the carpet.
The good news is David gets to steam clean it once he gets back (he's coming home tonite, but I'll give him a bye until tomorrow). I mean, there has to be SOME unpleasantness when you've just spent four days in Oahu.
Seriously, I know he was working. But I'd even take the six hours of uninterrupted time on the flight over at this point.
Lucky dog. David that is. The other two? Maybe a little milk of magnesia is in order.
No. He's not sleeping through the night yet, though thanks for asking. If he were sleeping through the night, do you really think I'd have bowling balls beneath my eyes? Do you think my hair would be in a perpetual ponytail? Would I REALLY be this cranky? (okay, maybe that'd be a yes to #2 and #3, but whatevs.)
Yes, my first two kids were sleeping all night by this point. Sawyer was the best. I think by seven or eight weeks he was going 10 or 11 consecutive hours. Sage wanted to get up once a night, around 3 a.m., for a bottle. We shut her down at six months. The first night she cried for an hour and a half, and all I could think was "What child cries for that long?" The answer is MY child, and she continues to show her dramatic "flair" at age 4. Anyway, the second night she cried for about 30 minutes, and that was it.
Xander will be eight months old next week. And he still likes a nocturnal visit or two. Part of the issue is that his crib is in our room. So it's tough to let him cry it out when he's two feet away from me. I mean, he KNOWS I'm there. We had to drop the mattress down to its lowest position because I could see his little face peering at me from over the crib rail.
He is also the first child I have nursed this long. I wonder if he's actually hungry when he wakes up, and since he had that scary month where he gained just three ounces, I figure I'd better feed him if he's asking.
I don't want to move him into Sawyer's room yet for two reasons: 1) he'd wake Sawyer up with his yelling and 2) Sawyer would wake HIM up when he went to bed later.
Some have suggested moving Sage into Sawyer's room so Xander could have a room to himself in which to cry it out. But I don't want to even ponder Sage's reaction to that suggestion. Plus, her stuff is, you know, pink. Which is fine with me. As the only girl, I want her to have her own girly place, where she can have all her dress-up stuff and her play kitchen and her dolls (I should mention that our bedrooms are the size of cereal boxes, so there's no space for all that in Sawyer's room).
There's also the issue of the two of them staying up for hours, alternately giggling together and slapping each other silly. Then NO ONE will sleep.
I keep waiting for Xander to figure it out on his own. I suppose I should admit that a little part of me is just melty for my last child. Maybe I don't mind so much our little late-night snuggle. Pretty soon he'll be done and we won't have this kind of closeness. Which is fine, you know, part of growing up and all.
But for now, if he needs a mommy fix at 2 a.m., well, I guess I'm an enabler.
You mommies know what I'm talking about. It happens when your child really, really, really wants something. And not, for instance, when they're begging for McDonald's when you've just slaved over a nice dinner of salmon, brown rice and broccoli for him. Altho, actually, my son would love that dinner. My daughter, on the other hand...
This is the one where it's going to cost you a nice chunk of change. And you're not sure it's exactly what you had in mind. But your kid is giving you The Eyes. It's now up to you.
This happened to us yesterday. Sawyer complained that his sneakers were too small. I took that seriously because I am one of those moms who brings their children to get shoes, only to find out when their feet are measured that their current shoes are two sizes to small.
I also noticed his shoes had absolutely no tread on them and were ripped. Shocking, because they're Geox, and Sawyer usually outgrows them before he outwears them.
All the way to Nordstrom he talked about getting light up shoes. For some reason, light up shoes make me nuts. I don't know why. I'm not a person who has a seizure from spinning lights or anything. I think it's because it just makes our choices so much more narrow. In fact, when I bought him his last pair of shoes, he was VERY upset they didn't light up and did not care that I found them for a steal at Nordstrom Rack.
I told him they were Star Wars shoes because they were kind of a bronze, silver and black, which are clearly Star Wars Colors! Yeah. They were also too big on him, and in the interim, we had to go to the Stride Rite store at the outlet mall to find him light up shoes in his size. And wouldn't you know, a few days later, one of the shoes stopped lighting up. He was completely unmoved and he wore those things to death.
So in the car, I warned him that they don't make light up shoes in his size, that it's really for little kids, etc., and he was all "I don't care. I want light up shoes."
And wouldn't you know, the second we got to the shoe department he'd already found a pair of light up Sketchers. I steered him toward the Geox, saying that I didn't think they had light ups, but they had some cool colors...and the freakin' salesguy was all "Oh no, we have light up Geox RIGHT HERE!"
DOH!
It appears his foot has grown about a half-size. At the rate he's going, Sage is going to pass him pretty soon, as she seems to be blessed with my size Ginormous feet.
But the next size up were too big, and he ended up fitting into the same size as his old shoes - except for some reason this particular pair of shoes are made bigger (Geox didn't make the half-size).
So now it was decision time. These shoes are, shall we say, not cheap. And he definitely needed new ones.
The thing is it makes you feel so powerful. You know that their entire life (okay, that's what THEY think, when really it's just their MOOD) depends on whether you utter a simple Yes or No.
It's that intent gaze and little hopeful smile as they wait as patiently as humanly possible for a kid below the age of 6 while you make up your mind.
There he was, all big eyes and half-smile, imploring me to let him have these black light up sneakers.
Please.
Who was I too squash him? So yes. Yes yes yes.
Celebration ensued. And hugs. And plenty of "I love you Mommy!"
My girlfriend Ciaran's baby is almost exactly a year older than Xander. This means I am the lucky recipient of all the stuff she wants the heck out of her house.
One of these things is her Beaba Babycook. It's a gadget that steams and purees food in the same container. It is SO easy. Even for those of us who might be considered culinarily challenged. You seriously can't mess it up.
I decided to try it. With Xander's digestive sensitivities, it seemed like a good idea to control exactly what was going into his food.
Turns out, I actually find making his food to be very relaxing. And satisfying too. Maybe it's the peeling of the apples and garnet yams or whatever, or maybe it's the chop-chop-chop with a nice sharp knife.
I even dig the pureeing part, whirring the blades til the consistency is just so.
The best part is, of course, watching Xander enjoy the food that I made. It's as satisfying as when I've made something new for dinner that has, like, sauce or something on it and my kids actually eat it - even Sage! So when he only takes a few bites because he's too distracted by, say, trying to shove a toy in his face instead of the spoon, it's frustrating. I'm all "But you liked it yesterday! Why won't you eat it today???" Maybe he's practicing so he'll be ready for his Terrible Twos.
Yes, there have been times when I am aware that it would be more convenient to go the jarred food route. And I still might pick up a few to have on hand, just in case.
But not today. Not when there are three containers of sweet potatoes and one of apples waiting in the refrigerator.
But David was sure the baby would be a disaster. Maybe it'd be better if I just stayed home. Again. That sounded like it was probably the smart thing to do. Especially since Daylight Savings. X's schedule was all kinds of messed up.
The trip was short: a train ride to San Diego, a visit to the USS Midway, and the train back home. Our neighbors were going and the kids were SO excited to be going on an outing with their friends.
I didn't want to miss seeing them have a good time. And, frankly, I'm stir-crazy. I can't remember the last time I went anywhere. Especially somewhere, you know, fun.
Still, I have a cold. Maybe it'd be nice to have a couple hours to myself (while X napped). It'd be quiet. Too quiet.
When I woke up this morning (at 5 a.m., thanks to the little face peering at me from over the crib rail), I decided to go. I mean, X is actually a pretty good baby. Positive thinking, right?
The train ride was a thrill, as you can see...
And why not? Check out the view!
The day was absolutely gorgeous. Blue skies, temps in the mid-70s, and because most kids were in school (our district was off) the Midway (a retired air craft carrier) wasn't crowded at all.
David and I switched off holding the baby. I got to go up to the bridge with Sawyer and Sage. If you look carefully, you can make out a man standing next to a stroller on the flight deck.
Here are Sawyer and Sage sitting in the Captain's chair. Now that's a scary thought..
And here is Xander, showing Daddy that he actually IS a great baby and not a hot mess. Really, he only got fussy when he was hungry or tired (so? I do too!), but he did take a few short naps and hung with 'em like a champ.
Then it was time to get back on the train, in which, incidentally, our group got our own car. The kids (there were seven from our hood) treated it as a fort, flying their new toy jets and running all over, until a homeless guy peed in the next car and everyone moved into ours.
At any rate, on the walk back to the train, Sawyer complained that his "foot hurt" and he couldn't possibly take one more step. As a guy commented as we walked by, "Dude, you look like a opossum."
You know, it was a fun, exhausting day. Makes me think maybe I should get out more often.
I guess this counts as #1. As you might have noticed, I've fallen waaay behind on updating my blog. Maybe it's because I have absolutely nothing interesting to say. Either that, or my energy level only lasts long enough for me to update my status on facebook.
Either way, I need motivation. I will now attempt to blog every day for a month. You will be all "Shut up already!" by mid-month, I'm sure. But apparently I can win a PRIZE! if I can actually do this.
I can't promise prose, but I'll try my best to make it at least slightly entertaining. Thanks in advance for all your support!
Like a waterfall in slow motion, Part One
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