Make Time For Love

Tales and Old as Time

2012-01-12T12:24:00.000-05:00

So despite our efforts to introduce sports and dinosaurs and the color blue into our house, we live in a land of ballet and pink and princesses. It really is a tale as old as time, and one of the reasons why I am so glad that Disney makes princesses that don't just swirl in pink dresses waiting for their prince to arrive anymore. The princesses of today are brave and smart and bold.

Enter Belle, one of the favorites in our house. So when we were given the opportunity to see Beauty and the Beast 3D this weekend, I jumped at the chance. And you know what, it was fantastic. Most 3D movies give me a headache, but the cartoon had a different perspective to to. The big dance scenes were wonderfully animated and 3D-a-fied.

Most tellingly though, is the fact that both girls sat through the movie. This is a first for our family. Sure, it might have been the novelty of seeing one of their favorites on a big screen, with popcorn and sporting funny glasses - but that doesn't explain the whispers of "Ooooo, fancy."

If your on the fence about wether is you should pay money to go see a movie that has already been watched 1000 times from DVD, go see it. It is worth it!

* The tickets to the screening were complementay (we still shelled out $25.00 for popcorn though), and the complements are all my own. Good job Disney!

On the Other Side

2012-01-03T07:42:00.005-05:00

So this weekend was SO. MUCH. BETTER. than last weekend.

Writing the last post made me feel lighter. At Blogher, one of the sessions I actually attended railed against the idea of just manically typing and hitting publish. I think that is bullshit, because it works. It did what I intended it to do, make me feel better.

I think Gracie could see the crazy in my eye. On the way home Friday afternoon, we had a long conversation about how she would loose a lot of privileges this weekend if she didn't act appropriately. Toys would be confiscated, televisions would be unplugged, timeouts would be administered. There were a lot of "Yes, Mama's" uttered, but I was not a believer.

That night at dinner was the first time in weeks that Clare didn't throw her food on the ground in protest and try to stand on my plate. When Clare started to give us the "How dare you feed me!" stink eye, Gracie broke out in song and they were both laughing within seconds. The rest of the dinner was spent singing The Wheels on the Bus, with occasional Olivia interludes. It was bliss.

New Years Eve was filled with a trip to the zoo for the girls, much needed alone time for me and one of the best 9pm sans-children at home dinners we've ever experienced. It is amazing what a bottle and a half of champagne and two hours of uninterrupted conversation can do for the psyche.

Most of all, thank you for the comments and support. Knowing that I am not alone (or crazy) is the perfect catharsis to heal the wounds of last weekend.

Blue Christmas

2011-12-30T08:56:00.001-05:00

Christmas was rough this year.

I take that back. It was horrible. There, I've said it. It only took me a week to say. It was horrible.

We seem to be in a .... complaining phase .... around our house. Grace whines every time she doesn't get precisely what she wants within 30 seconds of asking for it (or within 30 seconds of her thinking about it but forgetting to ask), and Clare says NO! to everything.

A friend and I once had a conversation about how much harder it is to be a calm parent than one that yells and hits. These last few weeks have been a challenge. I have never (and will never) hit either of the girls, but I find myself yelling so much more that I want to, in a primitive attempt to raise my volume over theirs in an emotional (nonsensical) attempt to have my desires heard too.

It is soul crushing, this new feeling of parenting failure. I keep oscillating between thinking it is just two and four year old growing pains, and wondering if we are to blame for the constant poor behavior and we are doing our jobs wrong.

Maybe it is both.

And in admitting that, comes new stomach churning worries that the behaviorisms of our parents that haunt us and are constantly fought against are seeping into our girls lives too. Are we expecting too much of them? Are we too quick to take out our frustrations with frowns and sharply spoken orders? Are we too quick to drown those frustrations in an extra large glass of wine?

The answer is probably yes to all three, but how do we change that? How do you teach a two year old that it is not OK to climb on the kitchen table during dinner without frowns and sharp words? How do you teach a four year old about patience after the same request has been made 10 times in a row without frowns and sharp words?

Matt and I have spent a lot of time taking about the future lately. Four months from now, 12 months from now, three years from now. How our future will be brighter, relaxed and secure. For now though, I am worried about the now.

Tomorrow starts another three day weekend.

White (House) Christmas

2011-12-23T08:36:00.000-05:00

Matt is always one for new adventures.

His latest started at the end of October. It was an ego boost of an adventure, for he was recruited. Was explicitly told that his name was one on a very short list of people that have their sought after skill set. It would be a commute heavy detail of six months, but would yield experience (and prestige) that would be unattainable any other way in his current position.

Plus, there seems to be other seasonal perks they forgot to mention.

You know, like making the list to receive a White House Christmas card.

Tree

2011-12-10T08:58:00.000-05:00

I love our annual Christmas tree hunt.

I will buy a fake tree before visiting a pre-cut a lot. There is something about the smell of the pine in the air and the rush that indicates the start of the season that makes the whole ordeal worth while.

And it really is an ordeal. Figuring out proper shoes and clothing is a pain and I never seem to get it right. We always forget to bring our own saw. And the cookies sold in the barn were sub-par this year. (You know there is a problem with your sugar cookies when a sugar crazed toddler throws it on the ground.)

But, we hunted and we found. Clare was a helper and Grace once again absconded with my phone and took pictures the whole time.

And Gracie took what I think is one of my all time favorite photos of Clare.

3' 3"

2011-11-28T13:48:00.001-05:00

I let Grace use my camera at her Thanksgiving program. My real camera with the nice lens that makes me cringe at the sight of grubby fingers wandering towards the magical moving toy.

Now, she fancies herself as a photographer. She wanted to use the real camera again. I compromised and showed her how to use the camera on my iPhone. I have almost 200 new pictures added to the collection from this weekend. So it seems a waste to let them go undocumented. (Because you can bet once this posts, I am hitting the delete button on the camera.)

The weekend from 3' 3":

Run Turkey Run

2011-11-24T16:22:00.001-05:00

We went for a walk this morning. Some penitence for what would be coming later today.

Daddy, I like the hills!, she said. I think it would be a lot more fun for you if you ran down them. I will cheer.

So he ran.

Faster, faster daddy! Wheeeeeeeeee! Faster daddy, faster! I know you can go faster than that! Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

I am Thankful for a husband who loves his family more than he loves himself, and is willing to take a beating to prove it.

Happy Thanksgiving all!

The Burbs

2011-10-29T07:15:00.002-04:00

For the metro-DC crowd, we live in the boonies. The Wilds of Maryland, where there are still lots of u-pick farms minutes away, cows a-plenty, and a decent segment of the population that wear flannel shirts by choice and trade. It is very Republican in these parts.

I love our neighborhood with it's neurotically manicured laws, big green open parks and neighbors that wave to every car that drives by. Our next door neighbors are like family to us. They have a set of keys to our house and will always help if you need it. It is a quiet, friendly, safe place to live.

This images keep haunting me.

I was putting Clare down for bed. I kept thinking, What is that noise? The neighbors must be having a party. Thank goodness Clare is a heavy sleeper.

Matt and Grace weren't home. It was the first time in... well, ever ... that they were gone at 7:30 at night. He took her to a town all meeting to voice his support for a bike trail near our house.

When I went downstairs, the noise was louder. I walked right past the front windows and into the kitchen to clear the dinner dishes. Through the water I caught snippets of words.

Come out with your hands up.

Holy shit. Wait, what???

I immediately called next door. Across the street, a neighbor was being arrested. I saw it. I stood like a statue, though shaking slightly at the thought of what might come, with all the lights turned off and the front window open. I saw him come out after an hour; I saw him remove the gun from his waistband; I saw him put it on the car; I saw him kneel down and put his hands on his head; I saw the police take him away.

It was horrible. For the family, the neighborhood and for us.

We don't know the family very well, their post college aged children don't mesh much with our preschool demographic. But Gracie loved the family dog, and the kindness the man who was just taken away always showed her.

We were never afraid of him. Should we have been?

Chicken Feed

2011-10-16T08:35:00.003-04:00

Grace has been at her new school for two and a half months now, and its been..... fantastic.
We love the school. We love the curriculum, the teachers and the families. We knew it would be a great fit from the first week.

I was worried though. I was worried about the change and how it would effect her, which was silly because I was the one who cried on her last day of school at her old daycare, not Grace. I tried writing about a fantastic party the school held in honor of the end of summer West African Yam Festival, but Clare threw up all over me after eating about 1lb of rice, and I didn't feel much like talking about it.

So one of the things that we love about the school is that they spend A LOT of time outdoors. The kids eat lunch outdoors whenever possible, they do yard work (raking leaves, pine needles and gathering branches), they garden (planting, watering, harvesting and spreading hay), they being afternoon recess at 3pm and stay outdoors until pickup and they care for their chickens.

Yeah, you heard me, they have chickens. Some of the (even more liberal than us) parents seem to raised concerns that the chickens being kept in the coop over weekends was cruel, so beginning last weekend families were asked to sign up for a weekend day to care for the birds.

We, of course, were the first family to enroll.

The coop, will there be eggs?
Of course not.

Release of the birds. I only stayed in the pen for 30 seconds after that.

If your on chicken duty you have to feed them, right?
Luckily we'd been saving egg shells and strawberry tops for a week.

Clare under the impression that the little beasties wanted to play with her instead of peck her.
Thank goodness for the upgrade of two layers of chicken wire.

We all escaped the good deed unscathed, next up, the Thanksgiving Picnic.

Four

2011-10-12T08:03:00.000-04:00

You are four now. No more of this almost business.

This morning when you came downstairs, there was a demure batting of the eyelashes at the birthday paraphernalia hanging from the ceiling, and you whispered a sincere Thank You.

You will be a brilliant four.

In the last year you have grown so much. So full of life, beauty, kindness and empathy. So full of creativity, curiosity and chutzpah (at times). You reason and love more than you fight and cry. You hug with your whole body and snuggle with your whole heart.

We love everything you are and all that you will be. Happy 4th Birthday Gracie!

Almost Four

2011-10-10T20:09:00.001-04:00

Sunday was Gracie's birthday party. It's been under discussion for the last 10 months. She was very specific in her wishes.

One, a princess cake:

These cakes are how you know I love my children. A weekend of test cake making and then a full Friday/Saturday combo of baking and decorating went into this beast.

Two, a pinata:

Carefully selected with the inspection given to dozens before this unicorn was chosen. On the way home from the store, she hugged it and whispered how it was beautiful, but she was going to whack it with a stick and it wasn't personal.

Three, the ability to dress up:

So do you see what Sugar and Spice in all their Princess Glory are holding in this picture? Yep, the head of the unicorn. There is a whole series of photos where they entertained themselves by pummeling the broken paper-mache carcass.

The irony of it though? Grace was REALLY upset when I through the bits into the dumpster.

The best part of the party for me? A concentrated mass of mom's from her new school telling me how sweet, well mannered and kind she is.

Savage

2011-09-19T13:18:00.011-04:00

2011 SavageMan Triathlon - Westernport Wall #6

(Fast forward to 27:40 on the video. Matt is the guy powering up the hill wearing a white Old Style jersey)

Race: SavageMan Triathlon

Race Type - 1/2 Ironman
Total Time - 7h 14m 21s
Overall Rank - 250/390
Age Group - 35-39
Age Group Rank - 35/53

Race Report:

Headed to Deep Creek Saturday morning, with a quick stop in Westernport to see if I could make it up the Wall with the recently installed 11/28 cassette (I failed last month with a 25), made it fairly easily, so I had much more confidence going into Sunday. Packet pickup and racking were uneventful, and by the time I went and checked in at Wisp, it was time to head up to the Carb Dinner. The whole reception and dinner was great, good food, lots of friendly people, and Dave Scott was really down to earth and fun to talked too. I congratulated him on his upcoming victory over me. I didn't sleep very well, and was pretty much awake at 3:30, not cool when your race doesn't start until 8:45.

Swim: 38:41 | 1931 meters | 02m / 100meters

I pretty much focused my swim training on being comfortable for the distance, and not setting the world on fire. I wouldn't say it felt great getting in the water, but it was sure as hell better than standing out in the air.

Normal tumbling at the start, also, realized about five minutes in that I had forgotten to start my watch. Oops. Made it to the turtle turnaround much faster than I had expected, then coming back to the second turnaround at the Swan there was some chop that was a little distracting, but nothing serious.

What would you do differently?: I did the required distances in training, however I've never really done the training sets that make you a faster swimmer. I really should if I want to stop being a back of pack swimmer.

T1:06:49

So running out of the water I had the first of many silly conversations with myself. I was so numb from the water, I actually thought I might be warm enough to avoid most of the extra clothing I had for the bike. Fortuantely, the small part of my brain that contains intelligence said, "Hey, see that smoke coming out of your mouth? That means it is still cold dummy." Hence the long transition time, drying off as much as possible, putting on bike pants and jersey over my trisuit, and finally arm warmers and gloves. I did not regret using any of these items.

What would you do differently?: Maybe just bring a Snuggie to wear and avoid clothing volume?

Bike: 04:01:59 | 56 miles | 13.89 mile/hr

You would think that as hard as the bike course is, any nerves or excitement would be concerning all of the hills, not just one of them. But I'm a guy, and thus, inherently dumb, so all I could think about was the Wall. What if I don't make it? Will that ruin my day? Will I curse the poor volunteers for their grievous sin of helping me get up? Despite all of these thoughts, I managed to multitask and pedal the bike at the same time. Those first 18 miles are downright pleasant, except for that Wall voice in my head.

So, here we go. Passed into Westernport and headed up the small ramp a block or two before the start of the Wall. I shifted to my small front chainring, and of course, the chain wouldn't catch. Panic time. Fumbled blindly with my shifters, and thankfully, somehow, it caught. Then you turn the corner, and it's time for the four block adventure. If they don't already, I think they should have someone recording expressions as riders get their first look up the Wall. Audio might be nice too. I did the first three blocks with a couple gears to spare, then put it into the 28 for the final part. I could hear the noise, and part of me noticed the crowd, but for the most part I just talked/screamed at myself. Here's what the conversation was like over the last block:

Voice 1:"Okay dummy, spin real fast now and stay to the right."
Voice 2:"I don't think I can do this."
Voice 1:"Shut up. Look, that guy that fell to your left, he's blocking everyone else from getting in your way."
Voice 2:"Thanks Voice 1, I think we might do this!"
Voice 1:"Crap, that other guy just fell in your preferred line, veer left right here towards the top and go over that big pothole!"
Voice 2:"WHAT?!?"

And then I was at the top. The race is over, right? I pumped my fist to the crowd and everything, so it's time to go home.

No, not exactly. But I will say, it was an awesome feeling, and I'm really looking forward to seeing the video to see if it really was as crazy as it seemed at the time.

Now it was time to assess things. The clothing drop was just ahead, but honestly the sun hadn't come out and it was chilly enough that my lungs were burning pretty good. I decided to keep everything with me, and it ended up being a good decision. Then, the long slog up Big Savage. Nothing memorable, other than the repeated conversations everyone had on the way up asking whether you had gotten your brick.

I made my biggest mistake of the day at the top of the climb. At the aid station, I got a bottle of water and some salt pills. In juggling both I managed to lose the water bottle, which went spiraling back down the hill. Winning the "Worst Idea Ever" award, I decided I should just keep going and stick it out to the next aid station. It's only 14 miles, right? Never mind there are three really nasty climbs in between. Fortunately (not that I deserved it) I was saved by Ronna, who I talked to for all while on the gentle climb before McAndrew. Besides being really nice in general, she gave me one of her bottles. I suppose now I have to do something nice for someone someday. Although I didn't get to see Ronna finish, I did manage to sneak into her transition area to return the bottle afterwards (it was a nicer, fancy one).

McAndrew and Otto were not bad at all, just grinding out the climb, and then I saw my favorite sign of the day, already mentioned in another race report, "Don't Look Left!". On my training ride last month I didn't think Killer Miller was too bad. Not the case today. Several people were walking their bikes up, and my quads were starting to get that special tingle that meant I was on the verge of serious cramps. There were some good crowds on the ascent though, and that really helped keep me going. Made it to the aid station and actually managed to hang on to the bottle this time. Yay team.

Maynardier wasn't too much of a problem, and I felt I was pretty good to go, until mile 47 when I hit this tiny little hill, and decided to stand in the pedals for just a second or two to stretch things out. Oops. Both quads seized at once. It was bad. "Might not finish the race" kind of bad. Somehow the cramps eased up, and I didn't have to walk the rest of the bike and half marathon doing a double peg-leg stumblefest. I had been hoping to finish the bike leg under 4 hours, but especially given the scare towards the end, I was just glad to get through in one piece.

What would you do differently?: Not a thing.

T2: 02:21

That's more like it. Since I had already put my arm warmers and gloves in my jersey, I just had to take the jersey and bike pants off, change shoes, and out the door I went.

What would you do differently?: Wait a week before coming back to do the half marathon.

Run: 02:24:34 | 13.1 miles | 11m 02s min/mile

I saw coming in that two break seven hours I'd have to do better than 10 minute miles. I knew it was possible, I just didn't know if it was possible today. I felt great the first two miles, and then my legs started playing a game called "Guess Which Part Will Hurt Next?". Nothing consistent, just roving aches and pains throughout, with an occassional back spasm for good measure. At the aid stations I took on salt, alternated water and Heed, even had some pretzels at one point. I think I was averaging under 10 minute miles for the first half of the loop, but then I hit the fire road. I really did plan on running up it, I swear I did. But when there is someone walking up ahead of you, and you're not catching them while "running", you kinda need to reassess priorities. So, I walked up the last half, then started running again. One funny moment just before mile 6, a spectator shouted (encouragingly) that I was almost done, and her friend chastised her, since you never know if someone is on their first or second lap. I just smiled and said I'd see them in an hour or so. I finished my first loop in about 1:08, so I knew sub-seven hours wasn't happening. Oh well.

Second lap was pretty consistent with the first, although a little slower. This is primarily since I now walked up 3/4 of the fire road. I was feeling ok, and actually passed some people those last few miles. I tried to stay lighthearted, saying goodbye to everyone I'd seen the first time around, and letting that girl (now at mile 12) that it was ok to tell me I'm almost done now. Happily the last mile or so of the run is flat, which was a huge relief at that point since you never get completely comfortable with giant hills that want to destroy your soul. Crossed the finish line, feeling really spent, sore, but overall ok. Nice touch that they had the finish line tape up for me, makes us slow folks feel a little bit prouder.

What would you do differently?: It was what it was. As you'll read below, there is a likely reason I wasn't as fast as I could have been.

Post race

Warm down: Right after finishing BT'r SBRDave found me, having finished well before I did and hearing my name coming down the finish chute. We talked for a bit while I ate a sandwich (great post race food and ice cream by the way). I even got to take a shower after packing up to head home, so I didn't have to drive for three hours feeling like a dirty salt lick.

What limited your ability to perform faster: Yeah, this is the real fun part. I arrived home at around 8PM, and shortly thereafter my wife started exhibiting symptoms of a stomach bug. Same symptoms hit me at 1AM, and it was party one from there, so I assume it was something we caught Friday or Saturday that blew up Sunday night. Did it affect me? No idea, but either way I don't think it kept me from that podium spot.

Event comments: Simply the best supported, organized, and fun race I have ever done. My biggest regret is that I didn't get to fully take in the weekend and enjoy the area. I think I'll do the 70.0 again, but what I really think would be fun would be to run the Olympic on Saturday and then volunteer on Sunday. I've become a bit complacent in my race reporting over the last year or two, this is the first race report in a while that I was excited about writing.

Remembering

2011-09-11T14:33:00.006-04:00

I hate all of the 'Where were you?' September 11th posts.
'How did you feel? What were you doing?'

I suppose I was lucky that day, I was safely ensconsed in suburban Chicagoland. I knew nobody in New York or at the Pentagon. But today still riddles me with sorrow.... guilt.

'How did you feel? What were you doing?'
I rarely join in on the conversations. I listen, and smile sympathetically, but I don't contribute. I still feel so guilty about my response to those questions. I guess I should just go ahead and tell my story. Maybe my shoulders will lighten a little bit.

*******************

On September 11, 2001, I was working for a stockbroker.

I hated the job. It was a two man shop, me and him. He was hardly ever in the office, often out playing golf with clients. He was maybe two or three years older than me. I never asked him how old he was, I really didn't want to know. He talked constantly about how much money he was making, knowing that more than a few of his big ticket customers were there because I charmed them while he was out playing golf. I hated the job.

I mostly worked an 8 am - 4pm schedule, skipping lunch so I could leave early. The New York Stock Excahnge opened at 9:30 am which usually gave me an hour and a half to open the office and sort all the voice mail messages and faxes that had come through overnight.

Around 8:50 am a fax came through from headquarters. To my recollection, it said 'The Market will be delayed in opening. It has been reported that a small prop plane as struck a building in downtown NYC.'

And I laughed.

That is my guilt, my sorrow. I was glad for a delay to the start of my day. I laughed for a solid 5 minutes.

Until the next fax came through. And the one after that. And the one after that.

Details came through slowly, or so it felt. The handful of minutes between updates felt like hours. We didn't have a TV in the office and I don't know why it didn't dawn on me to turn on the radio. I just read the supply of faxes that started pouring in, each with an increasing about of information and horror. I started flinching every time I heard the machine kick on.

Per his normal schedule, my stockbroker flew into the parking lot a few minutes after 9:30.

'Have you heard what happened?' he asked, 'This will be bad for buisness. I need to think.' He shut himself in his office behind me. I sat in shock and read the flow of faxes.

I had laughed.

Around 10am he emerged with a pile of printouts. 'We have to do something. We have to tell people that their money is OK,' he announced. He handed me a stack of papers. It was a list of clients and phone numbers, A-M. 'People need to hear from us. We need to personally call everyone and reassure them their investments are safe.'

My stomach flip-flopped but I didn't say anything outside of saying that I wasn't comforatable with it. I should have screamed at him, told him what an asshole he was. People were dying and he was worried about money. I didn't say it though. I sat at my desk for 10 minutes and then picked up the phone.

A few numbers in, somebody answered. She answered with a shakey, tear filled voice. I followed my script. She screamed at me. Screamed the things that I should have screamed at my stockbroker. She knew people in those buildings. I deserved those words. The full impact of what was happending and what I had just done fully hit me. I wept uncontrolably.

That is the second fold of my sorrow, my guilt. I blindly followed instructions that I knew weren't right. That I knew were crass and careless.

After I told the stockbroker what happened, he sent me home for the day. And he changed his tactic. He narrowed this list to just his biggest clients and rang with concern about their families and connections on the East Coast.

****************

That is my story, my remembering. It isn't as horrible as it could be, as many are. But, it could be so much easier to tell, if only my actions that day were more thought out, more careful. I made someone's life worse that day, their heart ache more.

And you know what? 10 years later, I don't feel a shred better for having written this.

A Little Bit of Disney

2011-08-26T09:02:00.000-04:00

Robin has become my fairy blogmother. She raises her wand (or hits forward, whatever) and adds my name to the list. Yes, Shannon from Make Time For Love would be interested.

Do you recognize this face?

Not Grace's, because, you know, I try not to actually show her face on the blog. But the ears in front of here should be a giveaway of where we were.

The fine folks in Orlando, brought a little bit of Disney world to Baltimore yesterday.

I made them mistake of not doing by bloggey research on the Disney Summer Social, and billed it as a princess party to Grace. While it was in no way princesses-ey, it still was filled with enough Mickey Mouse and princess paraphernalia to satisfy her. Particularly when I declared that Grace was the princess at the party.

Hurray Princess Crown!

There was food and toys abound, along with an artist decorating the kids with their favorite Disney characters.

But what I thought was the best thing about this event?

It really wasn't about the kids. It was about the moms. I seemed to be one of the few people in the room that wasn't already connected to the rest of the crowd, but it was still nice. It was a safe, comfortable, environment to let you kid play while you talked to other moms. Disney, you got the Summer Social right.

Grace and I both went home happy. I can't wait until the girls are old enough for our first trip to Disney World!

Eyes Wide Open

2011-08-24T11:10:00.003-04:00

I like my natural disasters to be straight forward. To give some sort of warning.

I grew up in a Chicagoland tornado alley, so honestly, those whipping columns of wind hardly even phase me. I'm like a human radar. I look at the sky patterns and color, sniff the wind and then head back inside.
Meh, it's fine. Let's finish dinner.
Most of the time it's a false alarm. Either way, you've had plenty of warning if something is going down.

Hurricane's too. While I do not claim to be an expert on this weather phenom, you can see them coming. There have been days and days of incessant news stories and time to prep. And you'd better prep early because everyone now has the fear of Katrina in them. I never see the downside of buying extra milk and canned goods though. There is never any such thing as too much milk in our house. In fact, I think we will be stocking up for Irene this Friday.

Earthquakes though, those are tricky things. No warning. No odd goings-on in the sky or newscasters instilling panic in us. Just BAM: Shooka-shooka-shooka.

Yesterday's earthquake only lasted 36 seconds. It was 36 seconds of quiet panic though. In the metro DC area a person's mind tends to wander towards man-made causes of a shaking building, not Random Acts of God.

It was 36 seconds of panic and then a few minutes of:
Where are my babies? What do I need to grab to leave? Do I have time to tweet this? Does Matt feel this too? Is this an earthquake? Yes, it is an earthquake. No, I don't know what magnitude it is, I am using my phone to tweet. Make sure you grab your stuff, who knows if we'll be let back in. What if the parking garage collapses? What if this building collapses; lowest bidder you know. No, I don't know the magnitude yet, I'm texting.

After an hour of sitting outside with Clare (relatively) in my arms, solidified with confirmation that we did indeed part of the East Coast earthquake and feeding a miraculously found sleeve of Ritz crackers that were in my purse to hungry children, we were sent home so building assessments could be preformed.

While there has been reports of damage to buildings, including the disheartening indefinite closure of the Washington Monument, our house remained unscathed.

Unless you find shifted books and photographs upsetting.

Shannon and the Bean Stalk

2011-08-22T09:29:00.001-04:00

At the beginning of summer, I planted three string-bean plants. They were small, scrawny little things. I was positive that they wouldn't grow, but Grace was on a bean kick and who am I to deny her green vegetables?

It took a long time for them to grow. We were producing red tomatoes before the plants had even climbed to the top of their trellis. Then, suddenly, they sprung to life. I added a second cage to the trellis. Up, up, up they went.

I was so proud.

Alas, there were no beans. Shouldn't we have beans by mid-July? I saw a cousin facebook about here bean bounty weeks earlier. Our plants kept growing and growing though. The weight of the plants became too much. It toppled over onto our wood pile. The creeping vines overtook two of the cherry tomato plants. That was the end of July.

While surveying the damage of our structural collapse, I noticed these. Yea!

And over the next few weeks, it seems we have more little flowers than leaves on this monster of a plant.

And we have our first real bounty of home grown string-beans.

Grace at two and Clare threw hers on the floor. Matt ate them because he knows what is good for him. Me? I savored every bite.

Family Circles

2011-08-16T12:32:00.001-04:00

It’s funny how you can love babies before they are even born. How you know you will protect and love them in every way you can before you even see eyes fluttering to look at you. How it doesn’t even matter that they are not part of your flesh and a product of your womb.

I have added another boy to my ranks of children today.

I raced to claim the status of the first outside of the family to caress him. I rocked my swaddled bundle for an hour before I relinquished my hold on his warm little body. I can still smell the sweet, blessed odor of newborn on my skin.

R.K.M.

Welcome to this world little man. You come into with so much more love waiting for you than you can possibly realize.

Up Where the Air is Clear

2011-08-15T15:21:00.000-04:00

Clare has been walking for a week now.

One whole week. Only one week. It's like she came out of the womb toddling along.

It's how this kid does everything though. We she crawled, she crawled. There was little wiggle-worm shimmying involved. Same with her steps. Although I take that back, she's been cruising for months. But always with a death grip on something like the Earth would swallow her whole if she let go.

Clare with her boa(constrictor) boa

Last weekend (while I was away) she finally let go. And hasn't looked back.

Me. My. Mine.

2011-08-11T09:30:00.000-04:00

I’ve been thinking about this post a lot. I know what I want to say, I just don’t want it to be misconstrued. So let me start off with this:

I LOVED BlogHer. (As a whole), I had a fantastic time. I ~~would~~ will do it again in a heartbeat.

I read a lot of posts from other bloggers before I left denouncing it as a ‘girls weekend’ before I left last week though. For me, that is exactly what it was though. I am completely unapologetic for that. I was there for the sunshine and parties. Contrary to what I felt was a common theme at BlogHer, blogging is not my Business. I was there for four days of being child-free. I registered on a whim and didn’t even look at the session agendas until a few days before. I went into the conference promising that my enjoyment was paramount as was being true to myself.

What does that mean?

It means I had every intention of walking out of seminars that I found lack-luster.

It means that my idea of good times at the parties was an abundance of free drinks and swag.

It means that I wasn’t going to put pressure on myself to network when all I wanted to do was look at palm trees.

So that is what I did. And I had a wonderful time being true to myself.

Come Talk to Me @ BlogHer

2011-08-01T08:31:00.000-04:00

So I’m about to go on an adventure.

All by myself.

Well, not really all by myself. Robin and Denise are coming with me.

But right now, I feel all by myself.

I tried packing my bag all weekend long. I put things in, I took things out. Grace put things in and took things out. I’ve analyzed if I have enough room to bring my own pillow like a child because I just don’t sleep right without it.

And now? My stomach is churning. The calendar has flipped and it is officially August and I am officially leaving in 2 days for San Diego.

Posts like this have really been helping, but still…. I get it is OK to be awkward. In my mind though, it is fine for other people to be awkward, but aren’t I supposed to have my shit together and fully embrace the idea of freedom and adventure for five very long days. Part of me relishes the idea of seeing this computer based life in person, but another part of me feels like such a fraud.

You know, you read me. You’ve noticed that my posts have dropped off significantly in the last year or so. Am I a blogger, just because I have a url? Well, I guess I did have business cards made to that effect.

Once I get on the plane I know I will be fine. We have invites to parties galore, and lot of free booze will make all my worries go away, right?

So really, come talk to me. Because I think I will really need it.

Have I mentioned that my stomach is churning?

First of the Lasts

2011-07-29T13:52:00.004-04:00

Yesterday, for the first time, the realization that she is leaving friends that she has known since infancy behind for new adventure. With reassurances that since their mama’s were friends, they would of course still see each other, her panic was short lived.

For me, it was one long, ongoing battle. There was lots of tears.

Today is the first of the lasts.

I have drove to work with two children in my car for the last time.

*****

I entered with her for the last time.

I unpacked her for the last time.

I signed her in for the last time.

I asked for my push out the door for the last time.

*****

I packed her up for the last time.

I collected her things for the last time.

I signed her out for the last time.

I exited with her for the last time.

*****

I left work with two children in my car for the last time.

Upon her departure there were heartfelt hugs and gifts. A box covered with glitter and filled with love. Drawings, messages, feelings. When we got home, she carefully went through the box picture by picture, giving each a hug and declarations of friendship.

The countdown calendar still says three days until her starts her new school. I think we planned it wrong. I think today should have said zero yesterday. To me, that was the benchmark. The Last.

The last picture of Grace with her class

The Potty Trained Princess

2011-07-18T09:09:00.006-04:00

Lately, Grace’s whole world has revolved around princesses.

In her world, princesses are the ultimate super hero. They dance and twirl and fly, always help those in need. Oh, and the best thing about being a princess? The clothes.

A few months ago, I found a cache of princess dresses and they became out potty training prizes. You peed in the potty? Pick a prize! What will it be? A dress, a wand, some sparkly shoes??

I don’t know if the dresses have really had anything to do with it (she had announced to me that she would no longer need diapers when she went to her new school ages ago), but Grace has been potty-trained for 2 full weeks now.

The feat required one more dress, the one dress that is missing from her extensive collection. The Princess and the Frog Tiana costume. And through the wonder that is the internet, we were gifted* a dress for her final reward from Wholesale Halloween Costumes.

It fit the bill perfectly. Twirly, girly and sparkly. It was everything I had hoped for and more than what Grace expected. She celebrated by watching the movie while wearing the costume.

And then, sly as a fox, edged over to ask what else she could to do earn more princess costumes.

Just keep smiling like this kiddo.

* Wholesalehalloweencostumes.com sent us the Princess and The Frog Tiana dress in exchange for the inclusion of the links you see above. Thank you!

Capitol Fourth

2011-07-05T10:23:00.002-04:00

When we do something, we do it big time.
(Sometimes I wonder if it is a fundamental fault of ours.)

Day trips turn into overnights with us all the time.

We live close enough to Washington, DC, to take advantage of the city semi-regularly. However, we live just far enough away from it to make it a pain in the ass to get to. When my work put out an all call memo a few weeks ago asking for volunteers to walk with our float in the DC Forth of July parade, I submitted my name. I never expected to be selected.

When I was, it turned into an all out adventure.

This was our day:

9:30 am: Start the trek to Washington, DC

9:45 am: Get a flat tire

9:50 am: Fix flat tire (*totally wanted to take pictures, but I knew that was a bad idea)

9:57 am: Drive to gas station to put air in the spare tire

10:15 am: Leave gas station, but realize that there is no way get there by 11am

10:50 am: Call parade organizer and announce late arrival

What says "America" more than an

inflatable Uncle Sam?

11:20 am: Arrive at parade

11:45 am: Walk in parade

12:00 pm: Wave at family as I pass by

I love the Where's Waldo quality of the picture.
Can you find my family?

12:30 pm: Find family in crowd

Watching the parade march past.
My favorite? The gay cowboys.

1:15 pm: Load hungry, tired, pissed off children into the car

1:45 pm: Arrive at hotel

2:15 pm: Try to make tired, pissed off children take a nap

2:45 pm: Abandon the nap and go swimming instead

3:30 pm: Give the nap one more try

3:50 pm: Clare falls asleep, Grace goes with Matt to buy much needed wine

4:45 pm: Matt returns with wine and we drink ½ the bottle in 10 minutes

5:15 pm: We head to dinner

6:00 pm: We settle on 4th of July sushi and shumai

6:15 pm: Our children start fighting over chop sticks in a fairly not-child-friendly atmosphere

7:00 pm: We leave the restaurant leaving a wake of dumpling scraps and melting ice cubes

7:05 pm: It starts to drizzle

7:30 pm: We decide we’ve made it this far- if we get wet, we get wet- but we are going to watch the fireworks damn-it

9:00 pm: It never does rain more than a pleasant drizzle and over-tired meltdowns are kept to a minimum with a constant stream of ice cream, angel food cake and strawberries

9:15 pm: The fireworks start and the world comes to a standstill

The spectacular view from our hillside perch

9:35 pm: We load the girls back into the stroller

9:40 pm: They are both sound asleep

10:00 pm: We are all sound asleep

Happy Feet

2011-07-01T10:01:00.002-04:00

I have a dent in my forehead.

It's only noticeable when I raise my eyebrows, and if I'm raising my eyebrows at you there is probably too much going on to notice an imperfection in my scull. I received it as a consolidation prize for walking / falling into the corner of the dishwasher when I was 3 years old. Shortly after that incident my mom signed me up for dance classes.

I will admit those classes served me well. I am a klutz to the extreme. I tend to look down when I'm walking to avoid tripping. The 10 years of tap-jazz-ballet-pointe, has spared me from a lot of injury that could have been much, much worse.

******
Case in point:

Clare's new hobby is throwing my cookbooks on the floor.

I will admit they are very colorful, ideally located at toddler height and ripe for tossing, so I can't really blame her. On Sunday night, I didn't immediately clean up her thrown book pile. I let it sit until after dinner. Grace was playing on the floor and I was carrying Clare down the single step to our slightly sunken family room. The books lay in our path just on the other side of that step. I was looking down at them. Grace called my name, and suddenly I was no longer looking down at them.

And I stepped on a ~~banana peel~~ book. One foot in motion on the sunken, wooden floored book and one foot stationary on the tile above. While holding a writhing 20lb child.

Was my thunk loud? Yes.
Am I injured? Yes.
Did I have enough grace not to drop the baby? YES!

******
And that, combined with her incessent begging lately, is the reason why Gracie will also be starting to dance classes on Tuesday.

The class is 20 minutes of tap, followed by 20 minutes of ballet, followed by 15 minutes of creative movement where I assume they just let the kids run around in circles and do the alligator on the floor. Her shoes came yesterday. A full test run was required.

Fully outfitted in tights, leotard and ballet slippers, she jumped into her daddy's arms for an impromptu Swan Lake-esque lift.

She then asked me how she actually does ballet, and I showed my little girl how to put her arms and feet into first and second position, complete with pliés.

Ahhhhh.

OK, maybe her enrollment in these classes are as much for me as they are her.

Daddy-Daughter

2011-06-28T14:47:00.001-04:00

Everyone has things from their childhood that they can’t or won’t let go of. (Right?)

One of mine was the Daddy-Daughter Dance. I was in 4th or 5th grade and I desperately wanted to go. I remember begging my dad nonstop to take me. He wouldn’t even consider it. He didn’t dance and had no interest in going. ~~He had no interest in going with me.~~

For weeks it was all anyone talked about at school. I withdrew (even further) from the conversations and into myself those weeks to avoid being asked why I wasn’t going. What would I tell them? The day of the dance I cried in my room. He sat in his favorite chair and watched TV.

My mom loves to tell me how much Matt reminds her of my father sometimes. I vehemently disagree with that statement and it drives a wedge even further between us every time she says it.

This past Saturday, Matt took Grace to our local carnival on one of their frequent ‘dates’.

They rode rides, ate snacks and played games. Gracie almost won a ham and a goldfish. (Neither one would have lasted long in our house.) Matt’s superior college dart skills paid off and he won her princess posters. They rode and snuggled and had the kind of love filled experience Grace has come to expect from him.

And I know Matt will always be the first one in line to dance with his little girl.

Mama Knows Best

2011-06-19T08:17:00.002-04:00

On Thursday grace found her umbrella that had been missing in action for awhile.

She was thrilled, but was harbored by my warning: Close that umbrella. We do not open umbrellas in the house. Umbrellas are for rain and are not toys. I know, I'm a buzz kill.

Today, I got the best shopping cart at the grocery store. No, not the annoying, impossible to steer ones with the car. There are a bazillion of those. I grabbed one with a full size cart and a little added double bench stuck to the back. (Thus eliminating the undisclosed grabbing of fruit snacks and candy bars that I then feel obligated to purchase since those already have child sized bite marks in them.) ((Whoever realized that putting goods that every child wants, but most moms say no to at the cart-car level is a brilliant bastard.))

Anyway.....

The downside of that cart is there is only one seatbelt. Which I had to use strap in Clare. Which left Grace to her own devices. And her devices preferred to stand and face me.

I warned and bribed her. Standing was not safe. I bought 3 red licorice swirls in the bulk section at 8:30 am to occupy her. It was not enough. I was not focused. Damn. I forgot to grab broccoli slaw in the produce section. I make a sharp about face with the cart. And out went my first born.

People gasped. Gave me the evil eye.

I picked her up, and soothed her. I gave her more candy. She stopped crying and I (loudly) told her that's why I had asked her to stay on her butt.

Tonight Mama knows best once again.

There were ear shattering shrieks from above.

Matt rushed to find out what happened. 'I was playing with the umbrella and pinched my fingers Daddy!'
She came to me shortly after for soothing.

Grace, do you remember when you fell out of the cart this mooring? (nodding) I wasn’t trying to be mean. I just wanted you to be safe. So then do you remember when I told you umbrellas weren't toys? That is because they aren't toys and things like this can happen. Do you understand? I am just trying to protect you Love......

And..........

I told you so.
(I just couldn't resist.)

Pulse Points

2011-06-15T15:35:00.003-04:00

I stood there, eyes fixed and willing myself not to let them mist.

She let go of my hand within 5 minutes of stepping into the room, welcomed into the classroom and enticed by the scent of strawberries.

The educational philosophy centers on stimulation and independence. Teaching kids through engagement and creativity.

They handed her a knife.

Grace cooks with me often. I let her stand next to me by the stove and stir bubbling pots. I have never given her a knife though. I guess they knew something that I couldn't see.

I stayed as far back as I could, but watched her closely. She handled it deftly.

She found a container full of tadpoles. She knew what they were without any help. (How does she know what a tadpole looks like?) She explained to the teacher the transformation they would go though. The teacher seemed impressed and told her to feel free to explore anything she was interested in.

She played with puzzles, found fire ants digging tunnels through gel, watched as another teacher transferred the baby chickens into a shaded coop.

She washed hands when instructed to and feasted on her share of the cut strawberries, mint and a sprinkle of sugar she helped prepare.

This change will be hardest on me. Watching my child prove first hand that my baby is no longer a baby. She will thrive in this environment. Without me. Without my vertical 100 yard proximity.

Grace will soon be a Montessori girl and everything I have come to know and depend on will change. This will be good for her. Good for us.

But, ugh, how I hate change.

The Start of Summer

2011-06-06T14:32:00.016-04:00

Some people celebrate Memorial Day as the start of summer.

We dace to a slightly different beat, patterned after arm splashes, spinning wheels and pounding feet. Our summer season starts with Matt’s first triathlon. This was Pocomoke weekend.

It was Matt’s 5th year running the race, and while he claims that the field was too slim, his endurance and ambition paid off. He placed 16th overall and 2nd in his age group, resulting in his first real metal.

While I was proud of him, my joy came from watching my girls soak up the sun and sand on the Ocean City beaches.

And our mass consumption of taffy and doughnuts of course.

Away

2011-05-26T09:39:00.007-04:00

Tuesday night was the first night I've ever been away from Clare.

393 nights I've spent with my Clare in my arms and pressed to my chest. Give or take a few.

When Matt travles for buisness, Grace says he is going on vacation because there is a hotel stay involved. So while I packed my bag on Monday night, Grace asked why I was going on vacation. I know it is just a word, vacation. Something that helps her understand what is going on, why we are sleeping in beds that are not our own, but it felt like a knife to me.

Mama is not going on vacation.

In fact, I am trying to come up with any feasable reason not to go. If I hadn't promised to split the cost of the hotel room with a colleauge, I don't think I would have gone. 393 nights with my babies. The panic attacks about not being there for the 394th night made my stomach churn right into my throat.

Dropping the girls off at daycare Tuesday morning was gut wrenching. I didn't cry on Clare's 1st day of daycare, but I bawled that monring.

One

2011-04-26T12:41:00.005-04:00

Things you MUST know about Clare on her 1st Birthday:

1- The girl loves the wind on her face and in her hair. Promising spring breezes to fridgid winter gusts, it is all the same to her. Her eyes sparkle with smile and her chin always lifts to greet it.

2- She likes to ride in the shopping cart like she’s backing down a driveway. You know that position. Body half twisted, arm up on the seat, head looking backwards. She wants to see where she’s going, not where she’s been.

3- Clare hugs with her whole body. I swear, sometimes think that if I let go, she would stay fastened around my neck. Bumped heads, teething, stolen toys- all can be fixed with a strong hug.

4- She loves her sister fiercely. (As Grace does her) Already they sit close, pressing foreheads together, whisper nonsense words and giggle for the fun of the nonsense. It makes my heart so happy.

Happy Birthday to my little girl- our lives are so much richer with you in them!

To the Nine's

2011-01-27T11:29:00.003-05:00

Nine months really is a magical mark.

You hold your breath and let the moment pass when your baby has been outside of your flesh longer than she was inside.

At home, we celebrated the day with an inpromtu cake. In my head, I celebrated with lists of love.

Whenever anyone asks about Clare, I dub her the "Worlds Happiest Baby"! That IS her titile and I will fight you for it.

She laughs with her eyes, she smiles with her heart, she hugs with her whole body.

The Critique

2011-01-21T13:50:00.006-05:00

I knew this day would come eventually. Honestly, I'm a little bit surprised it took this long. Six months. Six whole months without it.

The Critique.

Clare’s teacher is famous for it. She bore and raised 8 children you know.

The Critique.

Your child is beautiful. Perfect. Full of life and personality…… But……

I really don’t take it too personally anymore. With Grace, the Critique always tore me apart. I guess that is the mindset of a new mother though. YOU have no idea what you’re doing for the most part, so you might very well be doing it wrong.

Anyway, Clare’s first real Critique came the other day. Actually, it was two Critiques. Bam – Bam. Double punch. Kind of like pulling of a band aid. Your child is wonderful …… But ……

The first was her newfound desire to play rather than sleep at nap time.

I always wondered how the teachers decided who got what kind of chair. There are 3 bouncing chairs, 1 back and forth swing and 2 side to side swings. I always thought the swings looked so much more comfortable. Clare sat in a bouncing chair. Now I know they were reserved for the high maintenance children. Clare has been moved to a side to side swing so she can’t spend nap time bouncing herself in play instead of napping.

The second was the infamous Tummy Time.

“That girl, she does not want to work her muscles. I know she is strong, but she does not want to crawl. She should crawl. She can do it. She just does not want to. You need to put her on Tummy Time at home, THEN, she will crawl. You will see.”

OK….. I can get behind that. Because I bet you if she wanted to she could crawl. She isn’t quite cruising yet, but she can hold herself upright on footstools and coffee tables with a little help balancing. But you know what? She doesn’t seem to want to yet. AND I AM OK WITH THAT. Besides, Grace was 10 months before she crawled. I have proof.

So I sat on the floor in front of the teacher and played with Clare while she chewed toys on her belly. After about 10 minutes she got mad. Started screaming. I sat her back up. Tummy Time is over.

The teacher gave me the eye and made a comment about how Mothers do not like to see their babies cry. Which leads me to point #2 about why we have limited Tummy Time at home. We typically spend our night trying to AVOID tears, not instigate more. Trust me, there are plenty of tears when we are doing our best.

This is what Clare normally looks like at home.

See. Happy. Sitting in a chair and NOT on her Tummy.

This is what she would look like if she insisted she spend more than 30 seconds on her stomach.

See. NOT happy. On her tummy. (And for the record - that is a spray painted frowney face and tears, NOT a Groucho moustache and prison tats.)

So, in closing, while I appreciate the attention to my child and your concern over her currently lack of mobility I think we will stay with the status quo for right now.

Bad Medicine

2011-01-11T20:08:00.007-05:00

This picture was supposed to be part of a completely different post.

One full of glory and self-indulgent satisfaction. Instead, it is part of a story about Bad Medicine.

******************

We were sick far more days in December than we were healthy. In fact, I'd be surprised if out of the 4 of us, there was more than 4-5 days without headaches, coughing, runny noses or antibiotics. Such is the life with two small children in daycare I suppose, but still. Blah. It was horrible.

All through the month, Clare's teacher, formerly Grace's teacher, kept lecturing me on the healing powers of lemongrass. Specifically the concoction of lemongrass, ginger, lemon and honey. She swore by it as a instantaneous cold remedy*, and who was I to argue. I was the one with the lingering colds.
* She did always slide in that 12-13 hours of sleep was required too. Super. I'll get right on that.

So upon the decent of our first January colds, she sent me up to the Latino Market minutes away from my work. I stocked up on enough lemongrass, ginger and some superfluous dried lavender flowers to keep in in business for weeks. When I got home on Friday night, I dutifully pulled out my 5 quart soup pot and stuffed it full of the reeds, roots and water. Matt complained that the house smelled like hippies, but I was undeterred. I bragged on Facebook. I was so pleased with my homeopathic therapies and was convinced of the healing effect they would have.

Sunday morning, Clare had dark rings around the bottom of her eyes. Weird. The cold must be wearing her down too, poor baby.

Sunday night, the dark rings had turning into little pink spots with matching accessories on her forehead. WEIRD. Huh, a good night's sleep will make it go away, right?

Monday morning, she looked like this:

HOLY SHIT!!!! She's having an allergic reaction to something. I combed my head to try and think of what she's eaten that's new. Nothing. Absolutely nothing........

But she is a breastfed baby.......

And I drank 2lbs of lemongrass extract on Friday night and Saturday, something she's never had before.......

And OH MY GOD I'M POISONING MY BABY!!!!
(OK, I know it's not poison, but still- she is clawing at her own flesh and her whole body is covered in a horrible rash.)

And the Doctor scratched her head and said she'd never heard of anyone being allergic to lemongrass before, but it definitely looks like an allergic reaction so lets give her some heavy doses of Benadryl and see if it goes away - and by the way - lets look in Grace's ears while she is here why yes, she seems to have another bad ear infection to boot so lets do another round of antibiotics.

But does Grace mind? Not one bit. Because it means she gets to play with the train table for a little bit longer along with getting dum dums pulled out of her ears and Elmo stickers.

24 hours later, Clare seems to have faded back down to her normal peaches-and-cream complexion, as opposed to the giant strawberry she was sporting, and smiling as though nothing had ever happened.

Resolute

2011-01-04T12:09:00.008-05:00

I hate making New Year's resolutions. Have I said that before? Yeah, I have.

I make loose resolutions with plenty of wiggle room included. This helps to keep me from failing. This year, as in the past, I don't care about loosing weight. I would be nice, but whatever.

This year, I want to me more ACTIVE.

(So, though I don't necessarily care about the weight thing, this should be a nice side effect.)

So along that line of thought, we signed up for the local Road Runners club. Well, Matt signed up- but I didn't argue. AND I whole hearted agreed to participate.

On January 1st, I ran my first mile in three years. Wait, let me clarify, I power walked up a hill and then ran most of the way down it, which in my mind is better than just running the 1 mile. Plus, I didn't hurt myself like I did last time.

And you know what? It was OK.
And you know what else? I'm going to do it again. Soon.

But you know what I won't be doing anytime soon? This. So don't even ask. It's not even on the radar.

And we will be an active family. That is resolute.

Christmas 2010

2010-12-27T14:00:00.002-05:00

Christmas came and went in a flurry.

We hunted Christmas trees.

We decorated to the nines.

We talked about the true meaning of Christmas, although I will admit that most conversations ended with declarations that we needed to make a Happy Birthday cake for Jesus (that we would eat for him of course), but were deeply influenced by the promise of Santa and the bounty of his generosity.

We anticipated and prepared.

And the patience and deference to threats of lists with the names of naughty little girls was heeded, with a mighty pay off in the end.

And in the end, the magic of the holidays was spent with wonder, love and snuggles.

Planting Seeds

2010-11-25T21:27:00.004-05:00

I know I am thankful - greatful - for all that I have most every day.

But if I have to choose one thing, my most Thankful thing, it is this:

The snuggles.

They are better than I ever imagined.

Happy Thanksgiving.

The Softest of Chew Toys

2010-11-20T20:16:00.003-05:00

Clare is a breastfed baby. 100%. I am exceedingly proud of this fact.

Grace was a fight from the start. It took weeks of coaxing and effort to get her to breastfeed. At 5 months old she starting refusing to drink again. I have no idea why I didn't just go the route of pumping and then bottle feeding her. I think I tried and just couldn't produce enough. I know I took that as some sort of misguided failure on my part, so when she wouldn't breastfeed I gave her formula. Honestly though, I think she preferred the formula. At 7 months old, she began rejecting me completely so I gave up the fight.

Clare will be 7 months old next week. A 100% breastfed baby. She will drink expressed milk from bottles, but she prefers me. She took to me instinctively after birth and has never looked back.

****

From the stories I have heard, my birth was a traumatic one. My mom started hemorrhaging and was rushed to the hospital 5 weeks before her due date. Her c-section scar isn't the traditional hip bone to hip bone, it is belly button to pelvic bone, preformed without anesthesia.

She was unable to even consider breastfeeding me. It was 1978 anyway, so who's to say she would have even if given the choice. I do not question her decision at all. Formula was what was right for her to feed to both my brother and me. I really do believe that. It was my opinion before I ever had kids too. She, on the other hand, questions my decision to breastfeed at every turn.

****

Tonight, I discovered that Clare has sprouted her first tooth.

(Have I told you what an amazing baby she is? I knew she was teething, I could feel the hard edges behind her gums. But this tooth- I'm not quite sure when exactly it popped though. Not a peep from her, just solid nights of sleep and smiles galore. Business as usual.)

I discovered it because she bit me while nursing. Hard. One little edge of one little tooth, but it did damage. She and I will have to work out a new system. I think it will involve nipple callouses and cold packs on my end, with impish smiles of apology on hers.

When I shared the joyous news of new enamel with my mom though, her response?
...So does this mean you will finally stop breastfeeding or is she going to still be nursing when she is in high school?

****

I am lucky. I have supportive friends. The daycare teachers are beyond supportive, bordering on insistent. I work in a supportive environment. While many are surprised at my ability to keep a full time job and supply enough food for an ever increasing appetite, nobody seems to blink at the notion of my mammary glads fulfilling their intended purpose.

Nobody, except my own mother.

Hi, It's me.

2010-11-16T20:54:00.000-05:00

So, I've once again been neglecting this blog.

This post? Well, I got my wish. It became permanent on my return to work after maternity leave. If you don't consider the 10 weeks that I took for maternity leave, I'll have been in that position for a year in 3 more weeks.

The downside? As a permanent position, it is a TON more work than I expected. I went from someone who checked her watch every 15 minutes, starting within an hour of arrivial, to someone who has on occasion just plain old forgotten to eat lunch all together. Hence, why there has been a lot less words floating around in this space lately.

The upside is great though. It's finally a position where I feel valuable. Where I feel needed. I spend my days coding web postings and fixing fixable problems and giving my opinoins and making sure 130 ducks are staying in their rows.

So please stay with me. I will be spurratic; spitting out words here only when I can no longer stand to keep them in my head, but I think about this site all the time. I write posts in my head or 1/3 of the way on my iphone while tucked into the back corner of a meeting, but they never seem to materialize here.

So much is happening, so fast in our lives. Grace is 3 and Clare is 6 months. They change everyday and I NEED to check in here more often, so I don't forget what was. That is the point of Make Time For Love anyway, right?

Fallen

2010-10-16T07:38:00.002-04:00

Two and a half weeks have flown by since we lost Lil’ Rick.

Matt picked up his ashes from the vet yesterday. I guess they will mingle with my good crystal until spring rolls back around and we can give him a proper burial. Returned to the earth under rose bushes dedicated in his name.

He was such a part of our routine. The first few nights I kept calling him, annoyed that he didn’t answer.
‘Come on dude, it’s time to go out. I want to go to bed!’
I’d go to grab a cookie, to shake the glass lid that housed them to rouse him from slumber upstairs, and the jar would be gone from the counter top. I’d freeze, futilely fighting the burn at the back of my throat. He’s not coming downstairs because he is no longer here.

We were grateful that Grace really didn’t ask questions about Rick’s where-a-bouts. She would mention him in passing when going through lists of family and things that she loves.
‘We’re going to go to my happy birthday party. You and Me and Daddy and Clare and Maga and Unkey Jer and Ricky!’
‘Ricky isn’t going to your party Love.’
‘Oh. OK. He’s a dog. He can't go.’
And then she would start talking about Curious George or the leaves she picked up off the ground that morning or what she ‘wants for eat’ that night.

We didn’t correct her. It was still too hard of a thing, and we figured why bring pain to her if she’s not specifically asking questions. The other day she asked. Or she said something about him that made us think she should tell her.

‘So Grace, you know how you haven’t seen Rick in awhile?’
‘Yeah. Where is he?’
‘Lil’ Rick had to go away Love.’
‘Oh? Where did he go?’
‘Well, he was really old – way older than you or me or even Maga – and he went away and isn’t going to be able to come back anymore.’
‘Where did he go? I want him to come back.’
‘He died sweetie. You know how the leaves are falling off the trees right now? It’s because the leaves are old and the tree can’t keep them attached anymore. The leaves die. The tree has to let the old ones go. Ricky was kind of like an old leaf.’
‘Oh, OK…. Ricky fell off??’
‘Kind of Grace. He was old and tired and ready to go to heaven.’
‘Oh. OK. I will miss him. Can I have another cookie?’

She’s mentioned him in the same passing ‘things I love’ way a time or two since that conversation, but hasn’t really asked more questions about him.

Nor has she played with the leaves in the morning though.

Now what?

Shooting Stars

2010-10-14T13:52:00.001-04:00

Gracie’s birthday – or the party on Sunday anyway – passed with a blur.

Literally.

We rented one of the carpet covered warehouse spaces filled with moon-bounces and assorted inflatable’s. Children flew from every corner and off every surface. Which is why, sometimes, they failed to bounce again without a brief interlude of tears.

See. Flying!

There is not a single picture that the party that is in focus.

OK - so this one is in focus- and it's climbing, not flying - but there was death defying tumbles (or belly slides) from the top rungs back to the base.

Even the birthday cake pictures are out of focus. Well, not the picture of the birthday cake itself. That is quite clear.

(Obviously)
And my Curious George efforts were very well received- only to be outdone by the birthday cupcakes that I made for school on Tuesday.

Never before has my baking received so many complements. I’m more of a savories chef due to my lack of belief in pesky things like measuring spoons / cups / and directions in general. Thank you Martha Stewart for the chocolate chip cupcakes with chocolate chip frosting recipe.

One Thousand Ninty-Five Days

2010-10-12T16:47:00.002-04:00

It’s 4:47 PM. You are officially 3 years old.

Have I ever told you how much I wanted you? How much I desperately wanted you? How much I needed to have you with every cell in my body?

You name is not meant to be religious. Grace as an action, not a state of being. I meant it as beauty and light and movement. You know what though? You are my grace, my gift from God. You are my proof that He exists.

You run through this world now with such confidence and speed. You take death-defying leaps off furniture and climb nerve-racking heights up ladders. You know the world is yours for the taking, with the wide eyes and unfettered dreams of a child to make it happen.

You are 3 years old. Still in need of my snuggles and help with juice cups, but no longer my baby.

Strong and polite. Mischievous and independent. Proud and beautiful.

Perfect in every way.

Happy Birthday my Love!

Perfection in its Own way

2010-10-04T12:28:00.002-04:00

I love the way copper petinas.

It becomes something perfect in the fact that it is now far from perfection. It is a grand visual of Matt and I: an ever-changing blur of color that doesn’t make sense in its beauty that only get better in time.

Happy 7th Anniversary my love. To a lifetime of aging together.

Big Things in Little Packages

2010-09-29T21:22:00.006-04:00

Lil' Rick was the dog I didn't really want.

I wanted a BIG dog. A Great Dane or a Bullmastiff. Something that weighed as much as a human, could do some significant damage to an intruder and had a heart and spirit as big as their body.

Instead, we got a Corgi.

During the normal course of a work day we were usually offered Corgis' several times. See, a coworkers wife showed dogs. Think the Thanksgiving Day Westminster Dog Show. The people who trot the fancy dogs around the ring. That was what she did- she trained, groomed and showed fancy pedigreed dogs as a profession. (Yeah, a little crazy, I know.) Anyway, once these fancy dogs won enough blue ribbons to be dubbed 'champions' and then went on to breed enough future champions, they were often abandonded by their true owners.

Hence, our possession of Lil' Rick. Champion of Corgi's with a google-able name, daddy to many more little champion Corgi's, and master of none of the tricks normal people expect your dog to preform whe the phrase 'show dog' is uttered.

When we finally broke down and agreed to a visit to meet the dog selected for us. I was by no means enchanted with him.

He was released from the dog pens with a fury. He ran into the room with a streak of orange fur. He jumped on furniture. He jumped on people. I backed away and sat down in a chair. He spied me and ran full speed in my direction to cover me in Corgi kisses. But he didn't stop soon enough. He launched himself into the air and only stopped due to a nose to nose collision. The tip of his snout to the bridge of my nose. Oh-my-God did it hurt.

I didn't want to take him, but Matt was taken with him. One week later we brought home our 5 year old puppy. We weren't always the best parents.

Over the last two years, Rick started having old age issues. Cateracts, bad teeth, arthritis, hearing loss. Last Christmas he started coughing. Several hundred dollars in vet visits couldn't bring a diagnosis. Allergies? The medicine didn't work. Fungal infection? The antibiotics didn't help. Cancer? What was the point of more tests to tell us something we couldn't do anything about.

Over the last few months he'd taken to coughing under our bed at 2am. We started putting him in the laundry room overnight. We always felt horrible about it, but sleep in this house is a fleeting, precious thing.

Last night was Lil' Rick's final night with us. I'm glad he spent it under our bed. Today when Matt got home from work, Rick was cold. The wag of his happy old-man body was gone.

13 years old. 91 in dog years. That's a pretty good run. I hope the last 8 were his favorite.

We'll miss you Lil' Rick.

The Cut

2010-08-15T20:52:00.006-04:00

Grace is 2 years, 10 months and 3 days old today. It is a monumental day. Her golden locks have fallen.

Gracie was essential bald until she as 1 year old. She didn't have hair long enough for pig tails until she was 2. There was never really any reason to bring out the scissors. Lately though, her hair has become a bit unruley. It looked a little bit like a overgrown mullet.

So I pulled out the bribes- Dum Dum lollipops. (that I *aquired* at a bank that doesn't hold one cent of my money. But my friends pennies pass through their door so I felt intitled)

We started slow. A lollipop for a trim of the bangs. I asked her if she wanted to cut all her hairs (as I do almost daily now) and she said no. Until that lollipop was gone. She wanted another one. How does a toddler aquire more candy? By sucumbing to parental pressure. Sure Mama, you can cut my hair if I can have more candy.

And so it was. I hesitated only for a second. I brushed her hair straight and steadied by hand.

Snip.

The deed was done. We were committed.

And I started to cry, but finished the job.

Bye-bye baby curls.

Childhood Dreams

2010-08-11T09:37:00.000-04:00

Ten

Nine

Eight

Seven

Six

Five

Four- Manage and Start

Three

Two- Solid Rocket Ignition
One

------Space Shuttle Columbia has Taken Flight

Nature vs Nurture

A few weeks ago Matt was watching The Right Stuff. I could have cared less. It apparently was one of his favorite childhood movies when HBO would show the same 3 movies over and over and over again in the 80's.

(Although I wouldn't know that from experience. My family did have cable until the mid-90's. Not that I'm bitter or anything....)

Anyway - Matt was obsessed with the movie and space flight in general. His childhood dream? To be an astronaut. (I was much more realistic. I wanted to be a ballerina.) So in true Matt fashion, his obsession was full of books and studies on NASA and space craft and rockets.

As I've told you in the past, Grace also has an obsession with all things that move. This has only blossomed over the last year and has grown to include space shuttles now too. Watching the lift-off scenes of the movie was all it too.

Daddy, she begged over and over, again, again! I want to see it again!

And so he played the scenes over and over again for her. Then he pulled up shuttle launches on the internet, which fueled questions about what was happening and oh-my-goodness why parts were falling off??

So- this has become a regular scene at our dinner table. (Thankfully there is usually wine readily available.)

Did you know that NASA has had to cancel the space flight program? There are two more launches scheduled and then the flights will be part of history for the foreseeable future. So we have plans to do what must be done. To live out the childhood dreams of two of my loves.

We MUST go see a real space shuttle take off.

There will be picnics of hamburgers and juice boxes; dances of joy and sorrow; huddling for warmth and love on a beach in Florida this February.

And I can watch the sparkle in both their eyes.

Tomato, Tomahto

2010-07-31T19:46:00.006-04:00

Growing up, our gardens was my favorite part of summer.

The smell of the roses at noon and honeysuckle at night. Veggies galore. Peppers, melons, herbs and tomatoes.

Oh, the tomatoes. I would plunk myself right in the middle of the tomato area with a salt shaker for lunch. One summer I broke out with an incredible rash, that only intensified as the days went on. Diagnosis: tomato allergy. I'm fairly certain I had eaten little else for the previous week. Even after some heavy doses of Benadryl and laying off the fruits for a few days, the rash would return every time I ate anything tomato- ketchup, pasta sauce, soup- which was a major problem in my tomato heavy diet. No worries though, by the next year I was fine and realized I needed to bring a loaf of bread to the garden with me.

As an adult, I seem to be perpetually trying to recreate that rash. Every year I grow more tomatoes than I know what to do with. And every year I seem to plant more than the year before.

This was today's haul:

And the plants are still FULL. I only picked the ripest of the bunch. I may be starting a big batch of tomato sauce tomorrow and canning. Anyone want some?

Versus

2010-07-30T06:58:00.003-04:00

Once your kid comes, people seem to move onto a slightly new topic to thrust their opinions upon you. I know it is just idle chatter, but I still find myself biting my tongue because any correction on my part always falls upon deaf ears.

It is the comparisons. The versus of my children. Physical and emotional- looks, demeanor, appetite, sleep. I know it is go to talk of second children. I find myself talking about it constantly. So here it is, once and for all..... Gracie vs Clare.

~~~Grace @ 8 weeks old ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Clare @ 8 weeks old~~~

Face- MINE. I don't care what you people say. These girls look like me. Sure, they have Matt's mouth, but the major features (face, nose and eye shapes) are all mine. The picture of Clare isn't as dead on, but they have the same shaped face with a pointy little chin, same soon to be bushy eyebrows and same nose- despite my inutero claim that Clare was sporting Matt's profile. They do however both sport Matt's mouth- which is a blessing because I have always lamented my lack of upper lip. You will definitely know they are sisters.
This is where their similarities end though.

********

Eyes- Matt and I are both hazel. His are a 50/50 green/gold combination while mine are 80/20 green/brown (they also still change intensity of the green depending on my mood).

*Gracie's eyes have been a deep chocolate brown, with little flecks of green starting to show.

* Clare has bucked both of us and has my dad's blue/grey eyes dead on. They are eerily beautiful.

********

Hair-

*Grace was born a little cue ball. She always had just enough hair to let us know she would be Matt's shade of blonde, and this summer she is sporting the beautiful bleach blonde highlights of his Nordic heritage in its full glory.

*Clare this time opted for Matt's dad's shade of brunette (blonde based) as opposed to my dark (red based) shade.

********

Sleep- Polar opposites.

*Grace still only rarely sleeps through the night. She needs one of us, preferably Matt, to stay by her side while she falls asleep.

*Clare is out by 8:45 (at the latest) and can snooze, unassisted, for 11 hr stretches easy. Although to accomplish this, she eats for 3 hrs straight before going to bed.

********

Food-

*Grace was a battle to breastfeed. The first 6 weeks for such a challenge, but I was so dedicated to the idea of giving her breast milk. I have no idea why it didn't dawn on me to just pump and bottle feed her- chalk it up to inexperience. By the 3 month mark she was starting to get formula supplements and by 7 months she refused breast milk all together.

*Clare is a champ. Hours into this world and she was drinking in the easy, carefree manor I thought the process would be the first time around. At 3 months she has still never had formula. I wonder if I will be able to make it to the 1 yr mark with her...

********

Mmmmm .... my babies. So different and so alike at the same time. I keep holding my breath in anticipation for Clare to be able to play with her big sister. I wonder if it will be as beautiful of a sight as I imagine in my head.

StoryTellers

2010-07-20T11:22:00.006-04:00

It’s funny how we, as adults, get to move in and out of the realms of childhood imagination.

Over the last few months, Grace’s ability to pretend and imagine has blossomed. We have a play routine now on our drives home. First we talk about birds, which usually involves us shouting ‘WOODPECKER!’ at each other for 10 minutes and then delves into a conversation where I am expected to name every kind of bird I can think of and she decides who gets what bird.

Blue Jay- Daddy’s bird
Chickadee- Clare’s bird
Sparrow- Ricky’s bird
Cardinal- My bird
Pigeon- Her bird
Penguin- Daddy’s bird
Flamingo- Her bird
Eagle- My bird
Hawk- Clare’s bird
Raven- Her bird
Oriole- Daddy’s bird
Robin- Her bird
Seagull- Clare’s bird
WOODPECKER! – Her bird

And then she takes it all back.
‘Mama, I don’t want to share. All the birds in the world are mine, ok?’

Next we move onto monsters.
They are pink and purple and yellow and blue and every imaginable shade of the rainbow with polka-dots and glitter sparkles. They seem to live in the trees of the wooded roadside we pass driving home. They are easily deterred from coming into the car by singing The Monster Boogie and if they do penetrate the force field of our voices, they are plucked out the air and eaten. I tend to think Grace leaves holes in her force field to allow for the monster snacks, as they apparently taste like taffy and cotton candy.

There are dozens of other games, but these are the top two lately and occupy us for the majority of our 45 minute drive home. Yesterday, I was unknowingly pulled into another imagination.

I go to the daycare to see Clare during my lunch break, sneaking in and out without notice most days. This time I was pummeled with questions from the older children in the center.

‘Gracie’s mommy! Gracie’s mommy! You’re Clare’s mommy too, right?’
Ummm…. Yeah….?
‘S says that Clare is a boy’s name! Tell him it ISN’T a boys’ name because it is Gracie’s sisters name and Gracie’s sister is a GIRL!’
Ummm…. Yeah….?
Of course it is a girls name! S, you are full of hooey!
**To which S grinned, bashfully looked down at the ground digging his Crocs into the dirt.**

I had no idea what on Earth they were talking about and why Clare was involved, but forgot all about the conversation moments later.

I love moving in and out of the realms of childhood imagination…. And sometimes, unbeknownst to at the time, become part of the story.

My Script

2010-07-09T09:29:00.008-04:00

Over a month ago, NES called me out. Not in a mean, ‘you suck’, kind of way. It was a heartfelt ‘you are my friend so lets see your response’, kind of call out. Plus, I am sure she noticed I hadn’t been posting and meme’s are easy blog fodder. And she is right in the absurd notion that I’ve privy to so many peoples personal thought through their words and have never seen their signature.

Well, 34 days later I am answering the call. Here is the exercise:

Write down the following, snap a picture (or scan the document) & post it. (Sorry, I’m skipping the tag others bit)
1. Name/Blog Name

2. Right handed, left handed or both

3. Favorite letters to write

4. Least favorite letters to write

5. Write: The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.

6. Write in caps:

CRAB

HUMOR

KALEIDOSCOPE

PAJAMAS

GAZILLION

7. Favorite song lyrics

8. Any special note or drawing

Just in case you couldn't read my handwriting, my answer to #7 was:

There's more than one answer to these questions; pointing me in crooked line; The less I seek my source for some definitive; The closer I am to fine.

Thanks for the love NES!

Two Years & 308 Posts

2010-07-08T12:18:00.003-04:00

My yahoo reminders has told me that today is my two year blogoversary.

Really? Time flies.

As I said, I know I have been negligent lately, but that just means I will have a plethora of material once I get my head back on straight, right? Some upcoming topic previews are:
* Lots of baby stuff (you can't go wrong with babies, right?)
* My dad (the stories involve emergency personnel and handcuffs!)
* My new job (hurray!!)
* The demise of my car (and how GM is the worst company on the face of the planet.)

So if you hang in there with me there will be lots of tales to tell. If there really is anyone reading this out there, grant me an anniversary wish, will you? De-lurk and leave a comment. While I love my Google Reader too, they are tricky little things and make it tough to tell if anyone is out there. (Not that I really think anyone is reading, but it is worth a shot, right?)

The Power of Purple

2010-07-07T13:44:00.006-04:00

It's always the little things. Things that I don't even seem to think twice about. Objects that I selected for one reason or another, but that really don't make a difference in my world.

The other day we were sitting down to dinner and Grace starting gasping and pointing.

G: Mama! MAMA! Look! LOOK! Who bought that? Did you buy that??

Do you see anything? Yeah, I didn't either.

This is how the conversation went:

G: The SPONGE Mama! You bought a PURPLE SPONGE!!!

Me: Ah, yeah. Yeah I did.

G: I love the purple sponge and I love you for buying me a purple sponge.

Me: Umm- well I bought the sponge to scrub dirty dishes with Grace. They came in a pack and the purple one was on top.

G: Well the dirty dishes will love being scrubbed by the purple sponge Mama. That you for buying it.

And then she finished eating her dinner and never said another word about the sponge again. Who knew the love that could be shown by the simple power of a purple sponge.

Happy 4th of July!

2010-07-04T09:31:00.000-04:00

Artwork by Grace

My Return

2010-06-30T22:06:00.002-04:00

Has it really been over a month since I've posted anything??

I've been distracted lately, to say the least.

Clare is a happy baby. A low key baby. A very hungry baby. In exchange for not crying and sleeping well, she eats non-stop. So I've been neglecting this blog.

Neglected, but not forgotten. I keep writing posts in my head. I still keep taking non-face pictures for posts. I just haven't actually been writing the posts. I have no excuse for that. Sometimes I start to tap them into my iPhone, but then big thumbs and tiny fingers and crossed eyes get in my way and I quit a few sentences in.

But I am back now. I have to be. Friday morning will usher in my return to work and the first day of being the parent of two children who need to be out the door around 6am. I will need a place to vent, to expound on my new found role.

Oh, and expect to see a lot of back dated material popping up in your reader! If I've forgotten to stories there will at least be pictures . (ahem... Easter anyone?)

Big Brother

2010-05-19T10:26:00.007-04:00

When I told my former boss Jim, the man who hired both me and Matt, that we were having a girl and her name was to be Clare Elizabeth time stood still for a moment. A man who always has something to say was silent and misty eyed.

Finally in a quiet voice he said, that is my granddaughter's name exactly and she will be born on my wife's birthday. Then after a moment, true to nature, he said with a smile, "Your spelling Clare the right way- the Irish way- right? People will forever spell her name wrong, but those people are all idiots."

Well, Jim was right.

Three weeks into her life and Clare's name has been misspelled in numerous times: cards congratulating us on the birth of our daughter, the birth announcement emails sent out to staff at both mine and Matt's work (where there was an original email with the spelling), her insurance card (where I spelled it for the phone operator at least 4 times before hanging up), and the kicker- on her Social Security card (where it was written clear as day in my own hand).

I'm starting to get a little paranoid. Normally I am quite liberal and open to the trials of bureaucracy, but I think Big Brother might be trying to re-name our child. It is one thing for her name to appear spelled Claire, but it is anther to be changed to a completely different name.

According to the the Social Security Administration, our daughter is now named CLARKE Elizabeth. WTF SSA?

Now we just need to hope that her birth certificate came out of the name process unscathed so we can make the correction though the paperwork process that is the federal government.

Or just give in and start calling her Clarke instead of Clare.

Through Her Eyes

2010-05-14T08:52:00.003-04:00

Mother's Day was a week late at daycare this year.

I was undecided as to whether I should attend with Clare (lots of germy, grabby hands in a two year old classroom), but I didn't want Grace to be disappointed that I didn't come. In the end she probably wouldn't have noticed- in a class of 12 kids only 2 other mom's came- but I guess I didn't want to be disappointed that I missed it either.

And I wasn't.

We made dragonfly clothespin magnets. (Somewhere during their journey home they lost their eyes and antenna.)

I was serenaded with You Are My Sunshine.

And discovered the paper plate portraits of me and Matt.

Matt was a little bit concerned about the thinning hair, but didn't voice the slightest worry that Grace made him a brunette instead of a blonde that matches her own hair color.

Timelines

2010-05-09T11:19:00.001-04:00

It's a little bit ironic that this is my 300th post. A big, fat round number to accompany a post that forever changed our lives and the dynamic of our family. The birth of our second daughter.

--------------------
At my 35th week OB appointment, my favorite doctor said it was too early to schedule Clare's induction, but suggested I start taking Primrose Oil vitamins to help speed up the process. Okey-doke doc.

--------------------
During the start of my 36th week, Matt came home with the Pimp-Daddy-Caddy. That weekend the three of us went out to dinner. Matt ordered margaritas and I prayed to God that my belly would de-wedge from the booth we sat in. Given my alcohol free state, I drove home. At a stoplight I was tentative on the gas. Matt chided me and told me not to underestimate the power of the Caddy. She may be 16 years old, but could shotgun from a red light like nobody's business.

--------------------
At my 37th week OB appointment, the same doctor rubbed her hands together eagerly and declared she was going to make the phone call and get my induction time slot scheduled. She came back minutes later and declared Sunday, April 25 my arrival time and I should have a baby in hand by the 26th.

She also decreed that she wasn't going to bother checking my cervix because she was sure 'I was still hard as a rock' and there was no need to put me though such an unpleasant exam unnecessarily. When I reminded her that I had been taking the Primrose Oil pills she suggested, she complemented herself on being smart enough to suggest them, but still said an exam was not needed.

--------------------
At 37 weeks and 6 days, the night before I was scheduled for the induction I was awoken from my sleep with contractions. I sat downstairs from 1 - 3:30 am counting them. They ranged from 7 minutes apart to 21 minutes apart. Finally I convinced myself to go back to sleep, that no even if they were more than just crazy Braxton Hicks, they weren't regular enough to do anything about right now anyway.

After a few more hours of sleep, I woke feeling as if nothing had happened in the wee morning hours.

--------------------
I was scheduled to be at the hospital at 6:30 pm on Sunday. Around 5 pm my stomach started to hurt. A little after 6 pm, while in the car on the way to the hospital I started having contractions. Not the 'oh my God I can't breathe kind of ones' they say are the true indicators of labor, but still definitely there. I went from nothing to 7 minutes part.

--------------------
At 6:25 pm, as we sat at one of the last stoplights standing in our way between us and the hospital, Matt decided to demonstrate the power of the Pimp-Daddy-Caddy as we made the final turn.

My water broke.

--------------------
Approximately 7 hours later, and almost exactly 24 hours from what I thought were Braxton Hicks contractions the night before, I held my daughter in my arms without the assistance of pitocin.

One Week

2010-05-03T14:35:00.000-04:00

Clare has been here for 1 week now. 7 days.

It was a week of numbers.

31 - 87 (blood sugars)
11 - 96 (blood serums)
17 - 12.3 (bilirubin)
24 (daily heel sticks)
2 (IV's thrust into her tiny hands)
60 (hours spent hovering next to a tiny isolette)
Millions (of tears shed)

I know what I am. I knew what the risks were, though I never really acknowledged they might happen to us. None of it ever touched Grace.

It is so much easier to be rational about our 4 days in NICU now that we are free and confirmed healthy. It is so much easier now to look back on those days and see that they were in fact short.

During my vigil at Clare's side, I kept telling myself not to wallow in pity. She WAS healthy. She was only in here as precaution. Look around you at the poor souls thrust into this world way too early. Clare was full term with temporary inflictions.

SHE WAS THE HEALTHY ONE.

But it was still unbelievably hard and my heart will always ache with a new type of understanding for parents with NICU babies.

Now we fill our days with different numbers. Smiles and giggles and kisses and hugs and cuddles, already numbering well past the number of tears shed.

The Arrival

2010-04-26T20:22:00.001-04:00

Clare Elizabeth

Born: April 26, 2010

Time: 2:47 am

Weight: 7 lbs 15 oz

Length: 20 inches

Public Service Announcement

2010-04-24T01:35:00.000-04:00

I’m 38 weeks pregnant today.

Baby Center is a gift to pregnant women. Whether it is your 1st kid or your 8th, there is something reassuring about knowing what your body is doing in a given week. 40 weeks of updates. 40 weeks of pictures. 40 weeks of reassurance and cutsie quips about pregnancy.

By the time you’re at this point, the quips definitely aren’t cute anymore. Being told that your kid weighs as much as a small watermelon isn’t funny. It is annoying because it means you now have 7lbs rolling around in your abdomen trying to scratch their way free from uterine bondage.

This is the picture that goes along with 38 weeks pregnant at Baby Center.

This is what the picture is missing. The IMPORTANT things that the picture is missing.

Let me explain.

1. Ribs- Do you see where those feet are? Yep, right in the ribs. Kicking and stretching and getting a work out right into your rib bones. Oh, and a little bit of lung too just for good measure.

2. Bladder- At least they show the bladder as compressed in the picture. What the untrained eye doesn’t see though is that it is the pressure pinnacle of the 7+ pounds in the womb. That means every time you stand up, you have to pee. Every time you move you have to pee. Even when there is nothing actually in your bladder, it still feels like you have to pee.

3. Colon- I have been fortunate to not have any gastro-intestinal issues with pregnancy. It does not change the fact, however; that there is still a portion of the bladder pressure distributed to the other side of the head. That when the baby has the hiccups and starts bouncing around, she is bouncing off delicate internal bits sending your colon into odd vibrating spasms. Not cool kid, not cool.

4. Spine- Finally, the spine. I keep describing my back pain as how I imagine it would feel if the baby was chewing on my spinal-cord. Sometimes I am convinced that she is. Either way, look at where the elbow is. I swear she has my pointy elbows.

As I write this, my whole belly is shaking. She is testing out the escape routes, deciding between north, south, east and west. Poking and prodding to find the path of least resistance. Right now, I think she is going with exiting through my back.

I really, really hope she changes her mind.

It's New to Us Anyway

2010-04-18T08:00:00.002-04:00

I single parented again while Matt went on a road trip. It was quick, a total of 55 hours (yes, I kept track). And I did have the option of tagging along, but 13 hour drives are not conducive to 37 week pregnant and 2.5 year old bladders.

So where did he go - and WHY? Well.... back to Chicago for an upgrade.

See, this was our/his car.

It was the very first car we bought because about 2 months after moving from Chicago to Washington, DC both of our cars died. Within 2 weeks of each other. Mine would no longer start, and his decided not to stop one day. (Thank God it ended its life in the parking lot of our apartment complex and not on the highway!)

Anyway.... we were gun-shy about the idea of buying another used car and all the potential problems that goes with thousands of miles already attached to a car. So we found this little number at the Saturn dealership.

The Saturn SL Spring Special. (Note - this is NOT our car - but I am encouraged that these folks think they can get $5,000.00 for the car!) I think we paid around $8,000.00 for the car brand new. It was no perks- stick shift (which I never did figure our how to drive), crank windows, CD player only because it came standard with the car- type of vehicle. But we could afford it and it was dependable.

Then we had Grace, and her car seat took up 2/3 of the backseat. We bumped her head every time we took her in or out of the car. It was small. Too small for two children to comfortably be strapped into. Add to that, that my SUV has over 125,000 miles on it and is making funny noises again.

We started talking upgrades. We started talking about what we wanted to replace our cars with. We started talking about finances and price points. And the conversations about new cars stopped.

Until Matt was on the phone with his dad a few weeks ago and was informed - sadly - he had just put a For Sale sign on his Caddy. *sniff* Oh wait, you just did WHAT? Hmmm....

Hence, our upgrade.

Sure, it's not what we would have picked out of a car lot. But it is a 1994, solid as a rock, dependable as the day is long, only sporting 30,000 miles luxury vehicle that has been kept immaculate through its succession of owners. Now it has us. Poor car.

And for all of you who's first question was, 'What color is it?', with the hopes of Pimp-Daddy ice blue or mint green, my memory had failed me. It is not the bland taupe I had remembered. I the shade it looks brown-ish, but in the sun- OH! IN THE SUN!!- it is a mocha / purple color!

Rock on!!

And, it comes from the land before CD players in cars, so we have our very own throw-back tape player!

Ummm .... does anyone have any tapes?

Artistic Liberties

2010-04-13T10:32:00.005-04:00

Yesterday, Gracie wanted to go outside for a walk.

Matt obliged.

She wanted to race him, which constitutes running between our driveway and the neighbors.

Matt obliged.

She got tired, and wanted Matt to carry her while they raced.

Matt obliged.

(And Grace somehow kept ‘winning’ the races.)

Matt got tired of running while carrying a 30lb child and Gracie wanted to draw on the driveway in chalk.

Matt obliged.

Grace wanted to be drawn on the ground.

Matt obliged.

She then wanted me to draw Matt, while she worked on the detail work.

Matt obliged.

And was very happy with the results.

Making A Difference, One Cube at a Time

2010-03-30T15:31:00.008-04:00

I don't have many hits to this blog. I am OK with that. I am amazed by the fact that ANYONE reads this dribble about our lives and Gracie's shoes, and am blown away that readers from NES's blog have wandered over to read mine.

Sometimes readers come from unlikely sources though... like Matt's 20-something coworkers. Yeah Jasson, I'm talking about you. He was apparently enthralled by this post. Maybe it is because I didn't write anything else for over a week, so he had plenty of time to stare at the sad clown. Maybe he gets some sort of perverse pleasure from the forlorn.

Either way, he made a request for the clown and it now has a new home in a non-descript beige government cubicle.

And I'm glad to be of service to the select few who spend their time reading these pages, and I like to think that we are making a difference. Let me know if anyone else needs some 2 year old art to adorn their walls.

Matt's Race Report: Tune Up Tri

2010-03-29T11:11:00.010-04:00

Per tradition, here is Matt's race report on Beginner Triathlete. Yea Matt!!

Race: Tune Up Tri
Race Type: Triathlon - Sprint
Age Group: Male 35 - 39
Time: 0:27:16
Overall Place: 6 / 252
Age Group Place: 1 / 17
Comment: Not exactly an Ironman, but...

Race Report:
Ok, disclaimer first that this was a super sprint, and heavily marketed to beginners, but still, there were some pretty fast folks here, and it was cool to get my first tri-award of any kind.

I did this race two years ago with some friends, it's a fun chance to go out and race as hard as you can without holding back. They do the race backwards due to the weather, so it's run, bike, swim. I stayed down at my cousin's place the night before, and brought our two year old to give my (8 months pregnant) wife a break. I caught a huge break in that my wave was the first off, on such a short course it's easy to get trapped behind or around folks.

Run:

1.4 miles, Time: 8:37

It felt like I ran very consistently. I think I was seventh or eighth in my wave for the whole run. There were a couple of uneven sections with mulch/mud, but nothing too bad. All the turns helped with seeing the folks behind me. I remember looking at my Garmin coming into T1, it measured the course at 1.3 miles. Even at 1.3, I'll take sub-7 miles any day!

T1: :38

Made the right call switching from cleats to toe cages, fastest T1 in the whole event. ;)

Bike:

4 miles, Time: 11:37

I passed one or two people in T1, so I think I was in fifth or sixth for my wave heading out on the bike. I tried to get sped up as fast as I could, since I knew the first 180 was coming up almost immediately. By the second mile I had passed all but the guy who would end up finishing first in the wave (but in all fairness, several of the people I passed were on hybrids and the like). Given the number of turns, I was really happy with being able to average just over 20 MPH. It was pretty funny gunning as fast as you could for a few minutes, and then whoa-ing up to do the hairpins.

T2: 1:08
Almost blew it here. Coming up to the dismount line, a volunteer was shouting to slow down, get ready to dismount, etc. I was braking fine, but two things conspired to almost wipe me out: as I came to a stop the volunteer reached out and grabbed my bike while at the same time my left foot got caught in the toe cage. I did a really fun front wheelie with the back tire coming almost all the way around. Almost ate a catch fence, but I got back under control. Whew!

I had considered going sockless because the race was so short, but it ended up being no problem getting my shoes and socks off, and then headed into the pool.

Swim:

250 yard snake swim, Time: 5:18

I could tell right off the bat that I wouldn't be catching the one guy in front of me, but I did see the guy behind me enter the pool area just as I was getting in. The first couple lengths felt fine, but I was really struggling at the end. The guy behind me got pretty close, but couldn't quite catch me. Hopped out and jogged to the final timing mat.

Snake swims are kind of tricky, since you're ducking under ropes, pushing off, etc. But it was awesome having the lanes to myself. This was only my third swim since like October, so obviously some more prep would have helped.

I knew finishing 2nd in my wave guaranteed I was going to win something, since waves were divided by AG's. I was really excited, since this was going to be my first award of any kind. Some of the younger folks in the next wave ended up smoking the field, plus I found out the guy ahead in my wave was the same AG.

Not sure what happened, but they handed out ONE penalty for the entire race, and it was the guy who beat me, so I got 1st in AG! AND my daughter was there to get my award with me. Sweet.

One of These Things

2010-03-17T06:12:00.001-04:00

You know the song:

One of these things is not like the others;

One of these things just doesn't belong...

That is totally what my first thought was after I got over the willies of seeing a new wall display of clowns crafted by Gracie's daycare class.

Look at the picture. They are all basically the same except for one. All but one have smiles on their faces. One clown is a sad clown.

Guess who's daughter made the sad clown? Yep. Right here.

Her teacher said Gracie was very upset that she didn't get the mouth right, that hers was different. I tend to think it is her way of telling me that she doesn't like clowns either, without having to put me through the trauma of seeing one in person.

Hello Spring

2010-03-16T13:24:00.006-04:00

Less than a month ago we were buried in snow.

Heck, until last week there were still sad little dirty piles of the snow hanging around.

Today though, we have spring blossoms.

Hello warm weather. I've missed you.
Your pollen though? Not so much.

Please See Cashier

2010-03-08T13:01:00.005-05:00

A few months ago I bought a new lighter at the grocery store. One of those big, long stemmed ones that keeps you from burning finger tips when lighting candles. Apparently my municipality puts lighters in the same category as cold medicine and spray paint. It’s part of the playground of miscreants.

I got carded.

Well, kind of.

The teenaged punk manning the mother-station of the self check kiosks just waved at me and said not to worry about the “Please See Cashier” notice flashing on my screen. I then overheard him tell his cohort punk that he just puts in random birthdays from 1978 when that comes up. Because anyone born 1978 is pretty old.

*Wait a minute. I was born in 1978.*

My head almost exploded. Then I fought back tears. And I know I will never be able to forget the heart crushing reality of the first time someone called me old. My mom gets pissy about being called ‘mam. I’ve never had much of an issue with this, because I can write it off as regionalisms and good manners, not a slam on perceived age. This kid though, he flat out said, “31 is pretty old.” Bastard.

While I was convalescing on the couch this past Saturday, I spent an unprecedented amount of time watching TV. I flipped though all the channels and watched more than my fair share of Hallmark movies. Then I remembered my beloved HBO In-Demand. Front and center was 17 Again. Score, it is something Matt would never watch.

This morning, while sorting through all the Facebook posts I missed over the weekend, I saw my 16 year old cousin Kat posted a quote from the movie. “You can plunder my dungeon anytime!” She and her high-school herd had also been taking advantage of Zac Efron’s free presence on HBO this weekend. So I commented.

And you know what? She too unintentionally called me old, by calling Efron old. She said, ‘Yeah, he’s a lot older than he looks. He’s like in his mid-twenties.’

And my heart once again stopped beating for a minute. First of all, I totally thought the kid was jail bait. Second, 22 IS NOT mid-twenties. Third, if 22 is old, then what is 32??

I know I am having this theoretical conversation with a 16 year old. I get that, but WTF.

The more I think about it though, the more I have to realize that maybe she is right. I like to pretend that I am still 20 in my head. Living just a toe over on the wild side. Not having to answer to anyone. Flirting my way into college bars with a barely passable ID. Parties that I didn’t always remember the end of. Sleeping until 5pm and then waking to do it all over again.

Now, I go to bed at 9:30pm. I wake before the sun finds it decent to be up. I dress conservatively and wipe butts and smile at the other daycare moms. A wild night is having an hour and a half dinner without interruption and an extended bedtime of 11pm. Which I then pay for the next day.

Am I old?

I cried when I turned 25. I tried to ignore my 30th birthday. Is the lighter punk onto something that I am completely missing? I don’t have wrinkles. I’m a young mother, not the Grandma. I still get carded at the liquor store… but is that because my signature is worn off the back of my debit card?

I guess that is the answer though. I am old enough. I am old enough to have my own life, family and money which has allowed me the ability to pay cash for my purchases via my debit card. Something I didn’t even come close to having at 20, much less 16. And I don’t want go back there. I love my life and the last twelve years that have turned me into a random old age to punch into a cash register when buying controlled substances.

The spiteful part of me just has to remember: Karma is a bitch and in 2025 it will be you standing in a random line being called old by some other teenaged punk making minim wage kid.

Moments

2010-03-07T20:09:00.004-05:00

Friday I had a plan. It was a five-days-in-the-making rant about how I'm either a horrible mother or Gracie is a horrible two year old or that we are somehow equal in our terribleness and not fit to call each other by our titles: mother and daughter.

It had been a rough week filled with tears (on both ends) and temper tantrums (on both ends). My whole hearted attempts to follow Matt's sage advice failed. To just slow down to her pace and if things take longer, then so be it. I was trying so hard, except nothing was changing except the fact that we were now adding over an hour onto our days. Which meant we ate a lot of frozen pizza for dinner last week.

But instead of writing a much more in depth account of the happenings of the week Friday morning, I mothered: I cleaned up puke and I changed more liquid diapers than should be allowed.

It is funny what a grounding and centering thing caring for a truly sick child is. I would take her pain and discomfort upon myself 100 times over to spare her the slightest pain, but it is in those pretense free moments at 3am that your remember your calling. And that she does indeed need you, wrapped in your arms in a search for comfort.

Then 24 hours later after doses of Tylenol, kiddie Pepto-Bismo and dozens of freeze pops with only 1/4 eaten before melting, she is fine. Happy. Giddy over the prospect of riding with daddy on the big choo choo train from Baltimore to DC for their 36 hour date.

And I am left to reflect on her new found health as I am curled into a ball, clutching my own stomach for a new 24 hour period and wondering how I am going to keep down food that I know her little sister needs me to eat.

Such is the life of a parent. Such is the life of a mother. And every moment is worth it.

Pink Enough?

2010-03-04T10:03:00.000-05:00

Gracie's shoe chronicle continues. This time it's a little different though.

Her McKenna 's are still around, but getting short in the toe, while these new hot pink Sabrina's seem to flop at the back of her heel. But now she has choices in the morning, and her world has become all about having choices. Unfortunately, sometime the choice is to wear one old shoe and one new shoe. I've been trying to relax about a lot of things lately, but two completely different shoes just aren't going to fly.

I'm just glad she doesn't realize there are gold glitter shoes from Halloween and sandals for the summer hidden in her closet right now....

Lost But Found

2010-02-25T10:05:00.006-05:00

Little Rick is getting old.

This July he will be 13. That is 91 in people years. I hope I live to be that old.

But like humans, old age is taking its toll on him. He does little more than eat, sleep, shed and poop now-a-days. I swear he can’t hear us 90% of the time we call his name. He’s can’t see more than 5 feet in front of him, giving the bunnies rule over our yard and crumbs that he was once in charge of cleaning up rule over our floor. He’s had some sort of cold since Christmas, that seems to be immune to antibiotics, and has taken to coughing like it is his last breath at 2am under our bed. His teeth are starting to turn green, his breath has been black for ages and he’s developed some sort of benign growth between two of his toes. This last list will hopefully be corrected soon for the low, low price of $300+ for doggie sedation, dental work and extraction of miscellaneous parts.

In fact, the high priced visit to the vet was supposed to take place yesterday. Instead we spent the day explaining to animal loving people how we lost our dog.

Over the last few months, particularly since the 3am coughing started, we’ve been joking about how maybe Lil’ Rick’s time has run out. We keep throwing money at the Vet and they can’t seem to fix him. He’s never been a talker, so there is no whining or barking to let us know if he is miserable, just more and more sleep. He’s an old man though, so I figure if he wants to sleep 18 hours a day it is his right.

His low key attitude is part of the problem though. We are worn down ourselves. I am just shy of 7 ½ months pregnant, Gracie spends most of her day visiting the terribles of being two and Matt has never been a sound sleeper. Tuesday morning he woke shortly after 3am and could not fall back to sleep, so instead he worked on a white paper due at work. I woke early myself and went into work an hour early, leaving Matt to do daycare drop off on his way into meetings.

*You see, we changed the schedule. The ritual of mornings.*

During his morning outdoor time, Ricky took his time and Gracie decided to have a meltdown, diverting Matt’s attention from the dog to his daughter. Ricky DOES NOT BARK. He just sits outside the back door and stares at you until you let him in. Matt put on coats, gathered lunches and turned off the lights. Lil’ Rick DID NOT BARK. He just sat there looking in the window.

And Matt left.

Rick got tired of waiting and decided to take a walk on the busy, curvy road near our house, with the added bonus of leaving his collar behind. The good Samaritan that almost hit him scooped him up and took him to the vet in town that we don’t use. *we know this now*

Upon returning home, we realized that we were sans dog. We drove the neighborhood and any major road he might have gotten to, looking for flashes of orange Corgi. We put up dozens of ‘Lost Dog’ signs. We called OUR vet, the local animal shelters and the non-emergency police. Nobody had him.

Yesterday morning, the vet that had him called the animal shelter who immediately called us. Our dog is safe and was warm overnight. Go get him when you can.

Happy Birthday to You.

So now, we have our smelly, blind, deaf, old-man-river-of-a-dog back. I can now go back to waiting for him to die of natural causes, not our inept ability to keep track of creatures that don’t scream at us.

Oh, and here is his picture in case you ever find such smelly, blind, deaf, old-man-river Corgi roaming around your neighborhood. It is probably ours.

And no, we have no plans on getting another animal before Gracie is in college.

Three-Six

2010-02-24T11:42:00.001-05:00

Birthdays are another marker by which we measure.

~~Life, love, accomplishments ~~

During the 12 years I’ve been a part of yours, you continue to amaze me with your unfazed determination to pull every ounce of joy possible out of yours.

Happy 36th Birthday Matt. 36 years doesn’t seem nearly enough time for all that you are.

Wonder of Ritual

2010-02-22T19:13:00.007-05:00

Today I went through a ritual of prenatal care. The best ritual that demands pants to be dropped to the pubic bone and warm jelly spread all over your belly. The ritual where we get to see our little girl.

The last time we saw her face, it was shrouded with slight concern. She's small, they said, 12th percentile. We don't consider it abnormal until you go below 10, but just be aware, she's small.

What does that mean?

If this was my first child I would have panicked. Time has proven to us again and again though, that medical opinion is just that in these matters. Opinion and guessing. They are using a machine to see through layers of fat and muscle and assorted insides. It was that same opinion that declared Gracie to have a huge head that may necessitate a c-section. Not that anyone would ever request to see my belly, but there is no scar.

Today's appointment showed her right on track at 2.13 lbs and in the low 20th percentile. Perfect.

And guess what? She has her daddy's nose.

Grace has Matt's coloring and my face. Will this little one have my coloring and Matt's face?

Sweet Nothings

2010-02-18T19:47:00.006-05:00

To all the parents in Gracie's daycare class:

I AM SO SORRY.

I like to pretend I am nothing like my mother, but I know sometimes I fall directly instep with her tendencies. Like the one to go overboard.

When I think about it though, it really isn't MY fault. It is the daycare director's. And the 6 feet of snow we got. The combination of those two caused the daycare Valentine's Day party to be put off for a week. That means sales. Deep, deep going out of business discounts on heart shaped candy. And because of the snow, I hadn't actually purchased anything for full price in advance.

So this is what I walked out of Walgreen's with and will deliver tomorrow to school.....

Wait, you can't really get how BIG they are from this photo. How about this one?

Yeah, much more to scale. I knew they were very large heart shaped suckers when I purchased them. I didn't quite realize that they were the size of her face.

Or *ahem* 400 calories.

But I figure that after an hour and a few drops on the carpet / kitchen floor / on dog hair, they will be in the garbage anyway. So it's really only like 20 calories, right? Because there is no way any 2 year old could eat that.

Anyway, again I apologize. You have every right to hate me now.

Tomorrow, Tomorrow

2010-02-14T20:11:00.000-05:00

After all the snow and gloom, the sun has finally come out.

It was shocking to see the brilliant gleam bouncing against the white of the snow and through our windows. I'd almost forgotten what it looked like, and why this is my favorite possession in the house.

The chandelier was a birthday gift from Matt years ago. I had coveted it for months and bought it for me on the sly. It was a point of contention when we sold our townhouse and moved to our current single family. The buyers thought it was a fixture that would stay with the house. I thought I would rather stay in the house then leave my beloved piece of wrought iron behind.

I won. (Obviously) Over the years, Matt's dad has taken up the tradition of gifting me the new annual Swarovski crystal Christmas ornament.

Last year I decided they were too beautiful to only put on a tree for a little over a month. Now they permanently reside on my chandelier, filling our dining room with a million rainbows on sunny afternoons.

Ahh... the calm after all the storms. And we are greeted with rainbows.

Welcome

2010-02-13T19:33:00.002-05:00

Friendships are funny. I’ve never been very good at them.

I’ve never really had more than a few at one time and something always seems to smash them apart. Especially girl-friends.

To those I call my friend I am fiercely loyal. I cower when personally challenged, but only a fool would dare to say a word against someone I love. To that end, their experiences become mine. Their joy and tribulation become part of my soul and life story too. Their love is my love. Someone I put soundly in this category spent the night in the hospital bringing new life into this world.

I sit here feeling a little life stir stir in my own belly, still needing her attachment to me, and I weep tears of joy for my friend and my unborn child’s new cohort. This morning, my heart beat anxiously to meet the little man whose anticipated presence in this world has been part of my daily life for the last 8 months. Holding him in my arms was like holding my own child.

Welcome to the world baby NES. You rushed into it with more love and family then you could ever want for, for you are forever part of my family and my heart.

Blizzarding in the 2010

2010-02-10T19:20:00.005-05:00

OK, so this last post? I take it back. It is not all the same.

Well, maybe the difference between a dusting and a few inches isn't a big deal, but as anyone who as any kind of interest in weather or the East coast knows right now: We are in the middle of a major blizzard. OK, we are hopefully at the tail end, but it still is getting to be a little bit old.

Thursday afternoon to Saturday night we got 32 inches of snow. Now, yesterday afternoon to this very moment we are getting another 20+ inches of snow. I'm not one for math, but that is a ridiculous amount of snow. The roads are impassible- right now the plows have just given up and are sitting around waiting for the snow to stop. Baltimore has banned all non-emergency traffic from the roads. Trees and power lines and roofs are collapsing. I have not been to work since Thursday and already know there is none tomorrow.

~~But~~

We are safe. We are warm. We have plenty of food. We have lots of firewood to burn. We have a neighbor with a snow blower. And we are together. So here are the pictures so far. Tomorrow they will look very much the same, but with another double digit worth of inches on the ground. Notice the back yard will you... right now that fence is completely buried in the snow.

A Dusting? 5 Inches? It's All the Same.

2010-02-01T08:21:00.004-05:00

One of the things you quickly learn when you move to a mid-Atlantic state is that the weathermen have NO IDEA what they are talking about.

Ok – I will cut them a little bit of slack because the mountains and ocean and crazy south to north currents tend to play a little bit of havoc, but it is still a good general rule to watch the weather and then expect the exact opposite of what they say.

Saturday was a great example of this. The prediction was for Virginia to get slammed with snow. The Baltimore area would maybe see a light dusting, if anything at all.

Does this look like a light dusting to you?

The roads were horribly slick, because the city officials apparently DO listen to the weathermen and were not at all prepared with salt trucks, not to mention plows.

But, Gracie did get her first real chance to test out her new boots along with a head to toe lavender snow ensemble. She was hesitant at first, declaring the snow as 'yucky' and wanting it moved so she could walk, but she quickly discovered the joy in tromping in snow up to your knees.

Warm Heart

2010-01-29T10:52:00.007-05:00

This past Christmas my Aunt Jean sent Gracie a gift in the mail.

I was overwhelmed by the kind gesture, but groaned at the dubious on the inside.

She sent a movie sized box of Raisinete’s and a gift card. The candy worked out well for me because Gracie lost interest in them after they got stuck in her teeth. Mmmm... well I like chocolate covered fruit. But gift cards are a pain in the ass to someplace where you can’t use the remaining $2.46 towards diapers.

So say hello to Gracie's Build-A-Bear gift card. Matt and I broke and took her to the mall last weekend.

And you know what? It was great. She loved it. LOVED IT. She painstakingly examined every. Single. Animal. And settled on the frog.

~She warmed a little plush heart to put in her creature between her palms and gently placed it in its chest.
~She thanked and hugged after the stuffing process was over.
~She took great pride in giving her newborn a ‘bath’ in the compressed air tub.
~She squealed in delight over the house box it was packaged into.
~She has slept with it every night since it became hers.

So what does all this mean?

That apparently I know nothing about how my child will react in certain situations. I presumed chaos would ensue instead of delight. I was correct; however, about the remaining balance on the card. She wanted her frog sans clothing, so now we have $9.21 left of the card.

I guess it won’t be so bad to go back and pay the difference for a Build-A-Bear cohort sometime in the future though. Thank you Aunt Jean!

Nesting

2010-01-19T08:19:00.002-05:00

The world is funny. Friends are funny. Wavelengths and our connection over things that are un-connect-ably random are funny.

My partner in crime wrote this post yesterday. I saw it as I was putting the finishing touches on this one. Despite the polar opposition of the 'yes or no' nesting questions, the wavelength is there. No worries NES, I think my actions yesterday is enough for the both of us.

*********

This weekend I found: 2 pairs of underwear, 6 socks (none matching), rain boots that have been missing for 4 months, 3 gloves, my pruning sheers, ½ roll of paper towels, glue and enough dust bunnies to start a farm. Not that there would be any buyers.

Nesting is a funny thing. Especially when you don’t realize what is happening until it is over. I think I could embrace the irrational urge to clean spaces that have gone neglected for years much better if I understood at the time why I was doing it.

It started with our laundry room.

When I was pregnant with Gracie, they powers that be still suggested you drink bottled water. (Lord only knows what is floating around in tap water!) We bought into the recommendations, and therefore bought a giant water bottle dispenser. It has been sitting in our laundry room unused for 1.5 years, with a half fully bottle still on top, an empty one at its side and an unopened full one across the way. It was time for it to go.

What I didn’t take into consideration was the amount of crap I would find piled up behind it. That led to 2 full bags of garbage, organizing and labeling boxes on the top shelves, washing the rug 3 times, sweeping the random garage dirt that keeps getting tracked in AND scrubbing both the washer and dryer. I must say, I am pretty impressed with how it looks now.

Did you notice the ‘random garage dirt’ portion? That turned into phase two. Besides the random garage miscellany that tends to build up, a nice portion of our desk construction took place in the garage this summer – and never was cleaned up. Hence: random chunks of treated wood, sawdust galore, a wheelbarrow full of tools thrown along side other pieces of summer that never really found it way home.

It wasn’t until my back started spasming with the last few broom sweeps in the garage that I realized what I was doing. The warm spring-like weather combined with my 6 month pregnant belly combined to form the perfect little burst of nesting. I would kill for before and after pictures, but I guess I will just settle for my feet not getting dirty.

Today though, I am spent. I wish ‘But I cleaned 2 years with of clutter this weekend!’ was a valid reason for napping during meetings come the work week.

RIP

2010-01-16T18:32:00.004-05:00

It is over. He ended today. Rest in Peace.

I hope Grandma smacks him across the face and then is able to forgive him.

If anyone can, it is her.

No Grey, Just Black and White

2010-01-14T09:29:00.003-05:00

The saga continues…

He is dying. I’m still OK with it. My mom, on the other hand, is falling apart.

On an intellectual level, I understand. The death of a parent must be hard. My mom has a tendency to remember things the way she wishes they happened, so the last 14 years has been filled with wonderful times.

On an emotional level, I just don’t get it. He didn’t just abandon us, he abandoned YOU. His child. He choose a life that didn’t involve you unless you came to him, and then during those visits he still preferred the company of whatever biddy was at his side more than 48 hours with his daughter.

He is old. You got the phone call last week that he wasn’t doing well. You’re an accomplished nurse, you know how these things and the fragile human body work. When you get old, you shut down. When you are dying, sometimes things improve right before they go down hill again. Why are you shocked that a man who has smoked for 75 years is coughing up globs of blood after being told he has blood clots in his lungs?

So a funeral is imminent. Last night’s declaration was hours, maybe a week. You took a late night flight to sit vigil next to him.

Apparently, he has made funeral arrangements in Florida. He has pre-paid for everything and intends to be laid to rest next to the monster. This is his choice, though I doubt he has it spelled out in a will. You are not going to let him choose though, are you? Once he has lost his voice, you will impose your will once last time and have him buried in the cold Chicago air with Grandma.

You are wrong if you do that.

So my choice in the coming days: Do I attend? Do I attend the funeral for a man who died 14 years ago? Do I willingly walk into a room full of tears and mourners when I feel none of these things? Will I be able to hold my tongue if challenged on this lack of sorrow?

I do not know. On any of it.

Will I regret not seeing him again? No. Will I regret the amount of grief my absence will cause my mom? Yes. Will I bend to her wishes on this one last time? I don’t know.

Choices

2010-01-12T07:48:00.003-05:00

My days have been moving at the speed of light. My nights have turned to molasses.

Gracie is sick. Again.

She is breathing shallow and sounds like Darth Vader. Yesterday we fought this with an abundance of hot chocolate and she seemed better. Last night, she slept in 45 minute increments and sounded like she had a marble lodged into her airway. I slept, but only on the brink with an eye half open and both ears on alert. Normally I am not one to worry, but the rasping…

Today we are back to the speed of light again. I have a 9am meeting, where I am the meeting, followed by a full day of pokes and prods and a belly full of goo at John’s Hopkins to check on V2. I cannot miss it. Matt has some similar meeting at 10:30am. He cannot miss it.

So we sent our child to school. A little less raspy, but sporting a low grade fever. I feel horrible about it and am calling to get an afternoon sick appointment with Dr. H today.

She, on the other hand, seems absolutely fine with the arrangement. You see, she knows the game and finagled a bribe of 2 gummy bear vitamins, an M&M, part of my bagel and 4 mini pancakes all in exchange for taking a does of Tylenol.

Come to think of it, I think her bargaining attitude puts her well enough to attend school today.

Snow Days

2010-01-08T08:11:00.003-05:00

It snowed again last night. Nice, fluffy duster kind of snow that melts instantly when salt is added. Despite this fact, the local schools are still on two hour delay - but I guess I still have a few more years before I have to get worked up about that.

Due to this scene though, Gracie wanted to wear her brand new snow boots. Her polar bear boots that just came in the mail on Monday. Every day this week she goes home and wears them until her little feet start to sweat. Then they are shelved for 24 hours and repeat.

Today though, the legitimately got to wear them outside the house, through the snow and into school. Despite our conversations about how boots are 'outside shoes' and her emphatic promise to remove them once we got to school, as far as I know they are still on her feet. So much for the promises of 2 year olds.

They are pretty darn cute though.

Miscellany

2010-01-07T08:36:00.003-05:00

I’m here. I’ve alive. Barely. Things have been, busy.

Opportunity is a funny thing.

Remember this rant? At least part of it null. I moved into a new job this week. And it turns out it was MY fault that it took so long.

Oh well, c'est la vie…. I still stand by the rest of that post though.

On day 4 of this new position though, I keep wondering if I’ve made the right decision. Matt is going to smack me for writing this, especially with all the work he has done to help me get here and stay here, but this job is…. Hard. I know, I know- every new job is hard. At least any job that is worth having. I was just so used to easy.

And it feels like my belly has grown an inch a day this week. I know she can feel my stress and at 5 ½ months my belly has turned into a hard ball of movement. Suddenly, I have gone from looking chubbier than usual to looking pregnant. When I sit, my boobs are almost resting on my belly already. I have to pee every time I move. Every. Freaking. Time.

And I am so tired.

I remember my pregnancy with Gracie as blissful once I got past the 1st trimester sickness stage and before I got to the 3rd trimester oh-my-god-my-belly-is-an-overripe-watermelon- waiting-to-burst stage. This time, not so much. Before I could concentrate on me; sleep 14 hours if I so choose; lay on the couch only to leave for more chocolate. Now I am dealing with the irrational daily tantrums of a 2 year old and her new obsession with Sesame Street.

Which brings me to my third rant, because Sesame Street is making diaper changing the bain of my existence because the freaking Pampers have Sesame Street characters on them. But does Gracie want Elmo who graces 2/3 of the package? Noooooo…. she wants Ernie. Ernie who is on one 1 out of every 10. Ernie who’s name she didn’t even know until I explained that he was the one who sings the Rubber Ducky song. And she wants to look at every diaper in the package of 88 before selecting the one she deems worthy for her bottom.

The synopsis of all this?

I have a new job. I am exhausted. I hate Sesame Street. And my blogging may be sporadic over the next few weeks. Please forgive me.
And if your child refuses to wear their size 5 Ernie's let me know and maybe we can work out an exchange.

Excuse Me Please, One More Drink....

2009-12-30T08:39:00.005-05:00

My Grandpa is dying.

I think.

I’m not really sure. Either he’ll be dead soon or he will be as fine as some who is 87 years old and getting senile can be.

Honestly though, I really don’t care either way. I don’t talk about him much. I really don’t think about him much. This is why………

My Grandma died September 1995. I was 17 years old. She was my world; I know that is naive and perfection through the imperfect eyes of a child, but in my eyes she could do no wrong.

My brother and I spent almost everyday with her. Grandpa would drop her off at our house at 6am on his way to work and pick her up around 5pm on his way home. We spent at least one weekend a month at their house, often more. We went on many, many vacations with them. Even as a licensed teenager, I still choose to drive to their house and stay hours on end.

Grandma was the family matriarch. She held everything and everyone together. She arbitrated family fights, she gave the last word on right, wrong and priorities. I always saw my Grandpa as an accessory to her; the one who carried out the commands. Sure, I loved him and have plenty of good memories of him, but they all end after her death.

*******
I was informed of her death moments after he discovered her on the couch via the phone. I don’t blame him for this, I just still wish it had happened differently. He called our house looking for my mom, I answered the phone instead.

Shan, he cried, she’s dead. Grandma is dead. I don’t know what to do. What should I do? Grandma is cold and dead and I don’t know what to do....

Yeah I was 17, but had never really lost anyone close to me. How was I supposed to give him guidance? Really, I don’t blame him though. She was his whole world too and now she wasn’t there to tell him what to do….

*******
A few months after Grandma’s death, my mom booked him a trip to Florida to visit his sister. He never came back. His first week down there he met a lady. Less than 6 months after the death of the woman he was married to for over 35 years and had 7 children with, and without telling anyone what was happening, he married her in a civil ceremony.

He organized the sale of his/their home via the phone. His children and grandchildren found out about this, and the marriage, via the For Sale sign in the front yard and another phone call telling us we had one week to go through the house and take anything we wanted before cleaners came though to get it ready.

He never came back. He left all the family photos hanging on the walls and bookshelves. He left the pictures of me and Jerry in their frames. He declined offers from my mom to mail them to him, claiming it would make is new wife uncomfortable.

*******
I take that back, he came home for a weekend about 2 years later in 1997. My mom decided she wanted to take me and Jerry to the Mall of America for a spur of the moment weekend trip. She bought me everything a teenaged heart desired and took us to an Indian casino where I won something like $400 dollars playing a slot machine.

On the way to the airport she claimed to have a voicemail from an Uncle saying he was having a party that night and we should come. My mom strong armed us into attending playing the goodwill card from the weekend. If Jerry and I had known he would be there we wouldn’t have gone. Not only was he there, but he brought his wife too.

When we walked through the door, he smiled and said hello like nothing had changed and that he wanted to introduce us to our grandmother.

I ran out of the room in tears, while his wife proceeded to tell my brother how selfish we were to hurt him this way and that our grandfather is much happier with her than he ever was before.

I think he went back to Chicago a few times after that, but I never attended. The wife died sometime around 2001. After her death he claimed that she was a drunk and emotionally abusive. Good.

*******
Matt and I married in 2003. Under pressure from my mom, we invited him. I did hug him and stood next to him for 5 minutes to snap a few pictures. I can’t remember what words were spoken, but I do recall thinking about how old he looked now as opposed to the man in my memories. The man from my childhood was my Grandpa, this is just some look-a-like in much wrinklier skin.

Those pictures are the only ones from that day without a smile.

*******
Over the years my mom brings up that I should call him at least once a season. My reply is always the same. What is there to say? Nothing. My Grandpa died when Grandma did. I do not know the man living in Florida and I have nothing to say to him.

As a compromise, I usually send updated photos of Grace when I get them. That takes little effort on my part to address one more envelope. According to relatives, he has a little shrine on his piano of all the photos I’ve sent him of Grace, ones my mom has supplied of us, and the unsmiling picture from my wedding day. I still have nothing else to say.

******
Yesterday, as I browsed through the online clearance section of a store, I stopped short and thought of him. There in front of me was a pair of Santa Claus and Rainbow suspenders. Rainbow suspenders were always his signature piece. At $3.00 each, I thought about purchasing them and sending them anonymously. I didn’t.

When I got home yesterday, Matt said my mom left a message on the machine saying my Grandpa was in the hospital. Apparently he has several blood clots in his lungs. Testing today should determine if they can do anything, but it doesn’t look good. She once again pushed me to call him.

My answer is again, unchanged. I am sorry for the pain this is causing her. I am even sorry for the pain and confusion that he must be going though, but my Grandpa is gone.

My Grandpa is dying.

I think.

I really don’t care either way. I don’t talk about him much. I really don’t think about him much. And now you know why.

Dinosaur! Raawwrrrr!

2009-12-27T10:25:00.004-05:00

Four day weekends are great.

Unless you don’t leave the house for the first two days and your two year old starts tearing things apart like a tornado, throwing random tantrums and refusing to nap.

Then, after two days you realize that there are still two more to go and someone is going to die.

OR

You take the opportunity to do the activities that you normally can’t cram into a weekend. (Matt is good like that. I was voting for death, figuring that a replacement was on the way anyhow…)

So Saturday afternoon we packed up and headed down to the Natural History Smithsonian.

Gracie spent the afternoon exclaiming over the giant stuffed elephant in the pass-through between exhibit halls….

She has cultivated a new love of dinosaurs- which in person was luke-warm (you know the sharp, menacing teeth and all), but was ignited again via a giant dinosaur sugar cookie and book with matching stuffed triceratops toy purchased at the gift shop.

She was fascinated by the Gem & Mineral room, exclaiming loudly over the ‘pretties’ and ‘fancies’ and ‘sparklies’ AND she left the Hope Diamond showcase with an amazed declaration of “Daddy, I see a diamond and it was BIG!”

It was particularly challenging for Matt to coax her to sleep that night though. He said it was annoying, but too cute to really be upset. She would close her eyes for a few minutes then pop her head back up and say, ‘Dinosaur! Raawwrrrr!’ or ‘I see elephant!’ or ‘I no like spiders!’ or ‘Cookie. It good!’ and then passed back out from the exhaustion of the day.

It is just one more example to us that she is in fact a little sponge. What we think might not be making a big impact at the time, turns out to an experience to remember.

Christmas 2009

2009-12-25T21:19:00.001-05:00

This year, Christmas was a quiet event.

Sort of.

We prefaced the 25th with two prior weekends of Christmas exchanges while my mom and then Matt's and my brother visited. Despite having already opened a lot of presents before Christmas day arrived, things were still a little chaotic...

Making cookies for Santa....

Discovering that Santa not only brings presents, but food too....

Riding her much anticipated tricycle...

Testing out the kitchen gear received in her new kitchen...

The Christmas wrapping paper carnage...

Merry Christmas everyone!

The Verdict Is...

2009-12-22T07:48:00.005-05:00

Yesterday was the day. The 20 week ultrasound came and went like a flash. Never has 45 minutes gone by so quickly.

The parts are all in place. The spine is a beautiful curve. The face is a perfect profile. Shots of legs and arms and hands were had. And then the ultrasound declared the shape we had been waiting for, the glimpse of gender.

We should have recognized it right away. We've seen those three lines before. Our version number two (V2) is another perfect, beautiful girl.

The Dots are Here! The Dots are Here!

2009-12-20T12:00:00.004-05:00

So last weekend I finished putting the dots up on Gracie's wall. I like them and she had a great time dictating which colors went where.

Here are the crappy pictures snapped with my cell...

Similar to my great artists rendering from over a month ago, huh?

Waiting is the Hardest Part

2009-12-18T14:03:00.004-05:00

I feel like the baby floating around inside me is getting jipped.

Grace got so much attention.

I understand the difference now between your first and second child, but all I had to do with her is wait and feel and obsess. While I could have done without the weeks of morning sickness I had with Gracie. I relished the time she was in my belly. I doted on the aches and stretches. I marveled in the changes.

Now, I feel like I am just trying to survive. Trying to get home and work and child all to play together nicely.

This week is a turning point though. V2 is making itself known, both literally and figuratively.

This time last week I felt nothing. By Tuesday I was getting inexplicable motion sickness, like I could feel the baby swimming. Thursday my belly started hopping with random kids and jolts. Today I can feel position and movements and the difference between head and foot.

Monday I am 20 weeks along. Officially half way there. Monday, we trudge back to Johns Hopkins for an in-depth ultrasound, the best one there is; the one that proposes to tell parents blue or pink.

After this week of changes, I know V2 is ready to be known. Ready to have a gender, a pronoun attached to the generic second child V2 term. Ready to show the world that it is strong and viable and anxious to take the world by storm.

Ready to put my fears to rest with pronouncements of its existence besides my slowly expanding waistline - and - recent preference of eating rice pudding and green olives mixed together in the same bowl.

I know you are here baby. I am glad you are demanding my attention.

Alternative Lyrics

2009-12-15T20:00:00.002-05:00

Old McDonald as sung by Gracie on the way home today:

Old McDonald had a moo.
E-I-E-I-O
It's a moo moo there.
It's a moo moo there.
E-I-E-I-O. Moo.
On the farm there is a moo.
It's a moo moo there.

And .... ummm ... a PIG!

E-I-E-I-O
It's a moo moo, no oink oink there.
An oink oink there.

Old McDonald had an oink.
E-I-E-I-O

Yea!

We're Still Here

2009-12-11T12:59:00.001-05:00

Ok, I know I’ve been blog-less for over a week again now. I’m making up for it though. Just back track all the way to..... oh..... say the day after Thanksgiving, and go ahead and keep up with all the crap we’ve been doing.

Jingle Bells

2009-12-10T13:00:00.003-05:00

Every year, my work has a plethora of holiday parties. Last year there was a lot of crying. This year went much better.

Don’t get me wrong, there were in fact tears, but they didn’t last long. When Gracie came into the lobby packed with strangers like a can of sardines, she was concerned but quiet. Until she saw me. Then she wanted to know why on earth she was still holding onto the baby rope instead of me.

The parties are deafening. Voices boom throughout the 3 story, glass walled lobby. The holiday music played on a piano in the lobby adds to the chaos. The guards’ desk in the middle makes for a formable obstacle for circulation. It is never a comfortable place to be. Now add 40 kids, ages 5 to 5 months to the mix. It sometimes makes me want to cry too. I think that is why they offer mimosas.

Luckily, Matt took a few hours to come down to the party too. He often feels deprived of these parent moments, and he remembered there was booze.

Because he was there though, he was able to hold Grace while I took pictures. He was able to sweet talk Grace into sitting on his lap near Santa. He was able to work that into Grace sitting on his leg next to Santa in order to get one of the toys he was handing out to the kiddies. Then, under that jubilation, he was able to coax her into posing for a few pictures near a tree.

And then, cookie and cat toy in hand, Grace happily retreated back to the safety of the daycare with her friends, forgetting to shed any tears. Matt retreated to the safety of his car and returned to work, shedding a pound or two in ‘holding a heavy child in a hot room’ sweat. I retuned to my desk for 5 minutes of quiet, until my next party started and the chaos began all over again. Even without the children.

Dreams

2009-12-07T13:01:00.002-05:00

I like plans. I can’t help it. I’ll say it again. I like plans.

NOTHING in Williamsburg went to plan.

We headed toward Virginia Saturday morning. As all true planners do, we had been following the weather and knew there was a chance of snow. Chance. They said chance.

When we got into our car at 8am, it had just barely begun to flurry. By the time we reached the DC beltway, it was snowing. In Northern Virginia we could barely see the roads. The farther south we went, the snow turned into rain. Past Richmond, we were safely in the rain.

The rain did not stop though. At 40 degrees, it is not cold enough to snow, but it is sure cold enough to keep sane people from bringing their 2 year old out into those temperatures with pelting raindrops.

So the weather foiled our Saturday night plans. We were going to go to Busch Gardens to see their Christmas Wonderland. We had told Gracie all about it. There will be Christmas lights all over! and hot chocolate! and carolers singing! and a choo choo train! and *guess what?* penguins!

And then it rained cold pelting drops.

So penguins were forgone and the hotel pool was adopted instead. Except she didn’t forget our magical stories of trains and penguins. She kept asking about them. All throughout our Sunday morning trip to Jamestown with its Indian Village corn grinding, Settlers Village armor wearing and cafeteria ketchup eating, she asked about the penguins.

And it became clear what must be done. Matt’s dream of seeing the Williamsburg Illumination would have to be put on hold in lieu of 2 year old dreams of choo choo’s and penguins.

You know what though, it was worth it

Team Spirit

2009-12-03T09:46:00.003-05:00

This past weekend Gracie wore her Bears jersey for the first time in ages. She was so proud to match her daddy and was overjoyed with our rendering of the Chicago Bears fight song, despite their loss in the end.

That morning during our weekly trip to the grocery store, the Sunday football jerseys were abound. I don’t think she quite understood that they stood for allegiance to different cities and teams, but she did know they weren’t like her navy and orange jersey and spent a good chunk of her time giving other shoppers the hairy eye.

Every time we saw a different jersey she would slap her belly and declare, Mama. I wear ‘Cago Beers. Yes love, yes you are. At home, the trend continued. Every half an hour heard a same declaration of, Mama, I wear ‘Cago Beers. When Gracie went to bed that night, I confiscated the jersey with all her other dirty clothes to run through the washer. It was air dried and put away for another day.

It seems another day is already upon us. Yesterday morning, out of the blue, she demanded to wear ‘Cago Beers to school. I am told by many sources that she once again spend the day slapping her belly and telling everyone who would listen (and some that could care less) that she is wearing her ‘Cago Beers. I warned the teachers at pick up that I had a feeling they would be seeing a lot of the jersey.

Despite this warning, I myself was unprepared for this morning. My child no longer wants variety in her wardrobe. She no longer wants dresses and feminine ruffles. She only want the Bears jersey, which by the way, was still unwashed this morning, covered with a days worth of food smears and snot, and therefore un-wearable.

*Enter the meltdown*

I know, I should have just put in on her, but it had ketchup smeared on the front. I know I should have just put it on her, but she didn’t want to put on a long sleeve shirt underneath to battle the December weather. I know, I should have just put it on her, but I’d she already had a super soft light blue fleece jumper dress laid out for today’s wardrobe damnit and if I have to wrestle her like an alligator to force clothes on the body she is wearing what I want her to!

So tonight, and every night in the foreseeable future, the jersey is going in the washing machine. Someone needs to explain to this child that I don’t do mid-week laundry though. And if you’re looking for a Christmas present for Gracie, more jerseys might come in handy, 3T please.

Party, Minus the Aminals

2009-12-01T07:56:00.006-05:00

When we moved into our home 3 years ago, I was hell bent on putting down roots.

Immediately.

Coming from a townhouse environment where the woman we shared a wall with wouldn’t even look up at me when I walked within feet of her, I wanted to know all our neighbors. I wanted to be friends. I wanted to love them and them us. (Three years later I am confident that the plan worked.)

A little over 30 days after we moved in we threw a party. That is the great thing about December, you can get away with things like that. We scrambled to clean and paint and organize. We spent hundreds of dollars on food and drink. We had fancy invitations printed. We went door-to-door and introduced ourselves to neighbors, personally handing out the invtes. We had the audacity to declare this an annual event.

This year should have been the 4th Annual. Notice the word should? Apparently a few of our friends have the 1st Saturday in December permanently marked on their calendar as our party day.

I went so far as to create the invitations, I just never hit the purchase button. This post wasn’t so long ago. It still stands in full effect. I am tired. Matt is tired. I just couldn’t comprehend spending the day cleaning and cooking and fretting and then cleaning all over again.

So no ‘Annual’ this year. I am sad, but relieved. Instead we decided to take this weekend for ourselves and head down to Colonial Williamsburg for the Grand Illumination. We are counting on fresh air and time away from our everyday to reset everyone’s clock.

But my big question is, next year are we still allowed to call our Christmas party ‘Annual’? And then do we skip right over 4 like it took place, so do we have to reuse this number because it is the 4th party in 5 years now?

Pilgrims

2009-11-28T13:21:00.004-05:00

The tradition stands. Although we did push it back a little this year. Instead of the day after Thanksgiving tree pilgrimage, we did the day after the day after tree pilgrimage.

Here is our story:

Girl finds tree and directs its destruction:

Girl has second thoughts on tree and thinks on it for a minute:

Girl watches in glee as the sentence placed upon the tree and it is removed from the earth for her amusement and appreciation:

Thanks

2009-11-26T21:40:00.001-05:00

I am thankful for family that welcomes us with open arms and unconcerned eyes cast towards the spots of bright red cranberry sauce mashed into their new beige carpet;

I am thankful for our healthy bodies and minds that let us live each day as we choose;

I am thankful for the opportunities that come our way through coincidence and perseverance;

I am thankful for the love and life we share with each other.

Clink

2009-11-24T08:03:00.010-05:00

In yesterday's post, I whined about how tired I was. To exemplify this Matt pointed out a bright spot to our weekend, a good thing that I so quickly forgot about in the comments.

When they first opened, Iron Bridge Wine Company was one of our favorite restaurants. Now, they are constantly crowded and thus overpriced, but they still remain one of our favorite wine shops. And boy do they know how to do a wine tasting.

Walking through the door you are greeting with boisterous salutations, instructions about discount deals, a tasting glass, and platters of crudité. Oh, and there is usually a raffle or two too.

It's an idea place to bring a cranky two year old ;), but whatever; she likes the atmosphere. And snacks. You just need to pay special attention to where her sticky little hands are going.

During the hub-a-baloo of 9am drinking, cheese eating and wine selections, Matt forgot all about the raffle drawing. I got a phone call minutes after he left the tasting from the same owner that was hugging customers as they walked through the door.

For moment I felt like I had been there.

Tell Matt to come back, he shouted over the phone in a game show voice, he's won two bee-you-tee-ful wine glasses!

And you know what? They are beautiful. They fall into the same category and good kitchen knives and out shine my collection of Waterford by a mile.

Burgundy Grand Cru Wine Glass

You should hear the sound these glasses make when they clink together! And the two of them together can hold an entire bottle of wine! Thank you Iron Bridge for the bright spot in our weekend.

Terribles

2009-11-23T08:19:00.002-05:00

It has been over 10 days since I last posted. For this I apologize. There have been many stories and moments worthy of note. I start writing the post in my head with little sticky notes on my memory and then .... nothing.

Nothing.

I am tired. I am now 16 weeks pregnant and not getting the 12 hours of sleep a day my body is demanding. So there is nothing. I instead have been choosing to live in the moments and forget them as soon as possible. Sure, they would make great vignettes of our lives and funny to the outsider and even to us in the future, but right now the stories are: terrible.

We have hit the terribles. I always assumed that stories of the dreaded terrible two's were exaggerations or examples of why Matt and I were in fact good parents, because the terribles weren't happening to us.

Sure, that is a little arrogant; especially given that Gracie is only 2 years and 1 month old now. But she's always been relatively mellow. Below the curve in emotional melt downs and above the curve in rational thought.

But now: SHE IS TWO. TWO DAMMIT. AND WE AREN'T GOING TO TAKE THAT AWAY FROM HER!
(At least that is what I imagine she is screaming in her head during the temper tantrums.)

Oh, and the temper tantrums!
~They are because she wants to get dressed, but how dare you take off my pajamas!
~They are because she took off her own pajamas, but how dare you put clothes on me!
~They are because she pooped, but how dare you change my diaper!
~They are because she is hungry, but how dare you put food in front of me!
~They are because she is exhausted from all the tantrums, but how dare you expect me to take a nap!

What is the point of this post again? Oh yeah, I'm tired. Matt is tired. There were way more tears this weekend than smiles. And I will try to get back to capturing the tears for future enjoyment.

Ho-panes, Hot-cop-ers and Other Assorted Transportation

2009-11-12T15:10:00.006-05:00

We are going back to Chicago this weekend. First flight out on Saturday, first flight back on Monday morning. Easy breezy. Each side of the family gets 24 hours and then we are back to Maryland.

The trips are stressful. They take planning and scheduling and diplomacy to a degree where we are usually tired before we even step foot into the airport. As much as Matt and I love our families, trips back are just one more reminder that Chicago isn’t home anymore and that we are 600 miles away from the comforts of our infrastructure.

I may get caught up in the details of the trip, but Gracie, her focus and excitement is on something else completely.

Ho-panes.

Despite her proclivity towards jewels, Gracie is developing some tomboy-ish tendencies too.

The dump truck and fire engine is a thing of wonder. Yes, the two have little in common, but still, every dump truck gets a squeal of delight despite the smells oozing from it; and she seems to think every fire truck was created just for her enjoyment and is mourned with tears and exclamations of 'MY FIRE TRUCK!' when they hurry past.

Even better than these two though? Ho-panes and Hot-cop-ers.

(That would read airplanes and helicopters to those who are not 100% versed in Gracie speak.)

We live close enough to BWI Airport that planes are a regular occurrence. Early mornings, with the mass take-offs are particularly delightful to Gracie. I grew up a mild distance from Midway Airport, so the noise of low flying jets rarely attracts my attention. Gracie on the other hand, must spend a good portion of her day with her ho-pane radar up.

And this 48 hour trip to see family, sure she runs through the list of who she will see during those two days:

Mama, where Unkey Jer at? He’s at work. In Chicago.
Mama, we see Unkey Jer when we take ho-pane to Cago? Yes, love, we will see him.

Mama, where Grandpa at? He’s watching TV. In Chicago.
Mama, we see Grandpa when we take ho-pane to Cago? Yes, love, we will see him.

Mama, where PaPa at? He’s at his cabin in Wisconsin.
Mama, we see PaPa when we take ho-pane to Cago? Yes, love, we will see him.

Mama, where Michael at? (The 19 yr old neighbor boy) He’s making sandwiches. (He works at a Panera)
Mama, we no see Michael when we take ho-pane to Cago. Yes, love, Michael has to stay here and make more sandwiches.

So just like her parents, Gracie’s true thrill will come with the end caps of this trip and her real life encounter with her very own ho-pane.

And you can bet that I won’t be discouraging her from laying claim to the aircraft if that is what gets us through 2.5 hours in each direction without tears or temper-tantrums. She will be fine, me on the other hand, I cannot guarantee there will be no tears of exhaustion on my part.