Well, I seem to have acquired a pair of mice.
See, Waxor and I have a mouse problem in our house. I mean, the place was uninhabited for over a year before we moved in, it's surrounded by some fairly lush vegetation, and it's old, so having a mouse problem really was forseeable. We love the fact that our house's "situation" makes our property the most popular one in the area for birds, we don't mind the groundhog that lives in our side shrubbery, and we've done a decent job of beating back most of the insects that thought they belonged in here. But the mice... the mice are persistent. And they leave little footprints in the butter.
So we set traps. We were gonna catch them alive and release them into a field, but we discovered two important things. (1) is that house mice and field mice are totally different breeds, and if you let a house mouse go in a field you might as well have killed the poor thing to begin with, because you're only condemning it to a life of starvation anyway. (2) is that it is actually illegal in MA to transport a rodent that you caught in your house or on your property OFF your property alive. Apparently all exterminators in MA carry teeny tiny gas chambers in the back of their vans. How gruesome is that? Anyway, having been given those two important facts we decided that we could be adults and just set traps for them and try to kill them as humanely as possible.
All last summer we caught mice, and when winter came their numbers tapered off, although I wasn't convinced that they weren't just hibernating. Sure enough, once the weather started to warm again we found more little footprints, and set our traps back out. We've only caught one or two so far, so it seems like maybe we wiped most of them out last year. Either that or the rest are still asleep.
So with that little introduction... the other night I was getting ready for bed, and I hear Waxor on the stairs.
"Jessica... Jessica, come here."
I go out and behold a truly remarkable sight - Waxor is standing on the landing of our stairs, facing off against a itsy bitsy teeny tiny mouse.
"Go get something for me to catch it."
So, I go to attempt to get something, but before I get back Waxor has captured the little bugger in our frog vase.
"What do we do with it?"
Both of us stare at one another. We realize that the smart thing to do would be to kill it. We've been killing mice for a while now, and we know we can't just let it go. On the other hand...
"I don't think I can kill it in cold blood."
"Yeah, me either."
So we put it in a large plastic box, give it some cheerios, put in an egg crate it can hide under, and plan on figuring out what to do in the morning. It is at this point that I make a serious mistake.
"Let's call him Tibbers."
Never, ever, ever, ever name an animal if you don't want to keep it. That's all I'm saying.
So, the next day the kids and I go get an aquarium and soft wood chips and a water bottle and set Tibbers up in his cage. But wait, you say, I thought you said "pair" of mice.
Oh I did.
That night I am going upstairs to get ready for bed. Same time, same place, and low and behold, there is ANOTHER MOUSE. Having worked so well as a mouse catcher before I once again utilize our handy frog vase to catch this one, and then I take it over and put it in the cage with Tibbers.
We're calling mouse #2 Nibbler.
So now we have two mice. They like each other, so they aren't both boys. We're hoping they're both girls. Otherwise, we will shortly have MORE than two mice, and I don't know what we'll do with them all. They really are adorable, though. I know, I know, some of your really hate rodents. Fine and dandy, but these guys are cute.
Speaking of cute... yesterday Charlotte was playing with one of Elliot's rain boots. She had her pacifier in her mouth, and the boot in both hands, and it seemed like she was trying to stick her hands down the boot, but that requires a bit more coordination than you might originally anticipate if you are sitting on the floor and shorter than the boot, and therefore cannot just stick your hand straight down in. Anyway, she was working at if for a while, and I couldn't figure out why the boot was holding her attention so well, when all of a sudden she succeeded and pulled two MORE pacifiers out of the boot! It was like a baby magic trick, and she was soooooo proud of herself.
Recently I sent a short email to just a few people which I began and ended with the announcement that my husband is a douche. Now, this was a joke, as he had done something monumentally silly, but it drew my attention to the fact that I am frequently derogatory of him in jest, and I wish to make sort of a public apology. The truth is that Waxor is a wonderfully patient and loving person. It cannot be easy to live with someone like me, "someone like me" being an individual whose hormones drive her moods to rival the inconstancy of the moon (no, not incontinency, inconstancy. Go read Shakespeare, you goob.) It isn't even easy living with me when you ARE me, and let's face it, I am pretty understanding of myself when I'm being an ass. So, to sum up, my husband is NOT a douche, he is, in fact, a lovely man, and I appreciate his vast capacity to deal with my BS.
On another topic, Charlotte is currently painting my toes with the cream cheese off her matzah.
I've been in a state of internal upheaval these past few months. For those of you that don't know, I had post partum thyroiditis, which is a fancy way of saying that my thyroid went through a hyperactive stage and then a suppressed stage after I had Charlotte. The hyperactive stage was great, I felt awesome; but the suppressed stage kinda sucked. I had low energy and felt like the world was ending. The thyroiditis is cleared up now, but my hormones have been in some kinda hideous wacky flux - I went to my midwives and they were like "yeah, if you start bleeding cups an hour then go to the hospital, otherwise, it'll clear up." The physical symptoms of that aren't that bad to deal with, but the mood swings - yikes. Anyway, like I said, internal upheaval. This has all coincided with my least favorite part of the year, aka, spring that is still really winter, cause it's so damn cold, and with Elliot deciding perhaps it's time he got into the "mommy I love you so much that I must be with you every second of every day and oh by the way if you don't do exactly what I want when I want it I will scream at you for hours on end" game. It's not a fun game. It's more like a game that makes you want to run into the road and get hit by a car.
So a few days ago I was ruminating on PPD (that's post partum depression, for those of you who don't already know that) because Kay was down here last week and observed that I was sort of hiding from my children, and mentioned that she thought I might have it. PPD, that is. So I was thinking about that. One of the things they always tell you to look for is the urge to hurt yourself or your children. I was watching Elliot working his way towards a full blown tantrum and thought "Show me a mother of a three year old who hasn't wanted to slap the shit out of the little fucker at least once, and I'll show you a friggin saint." It's true, no? So how do you TELL if you've got PPD or are just a normal person with a limit to your patience? Maybe it's all in the level of intent. As long as you're just thinking about it randomly, sort of in a "wouldn't it be nice if I could" kind of way you're fine? As for the hurting yourself - I don't think about hurting myself, that would HURT. I do daydream about winding up in the hospital for something temporarily serious, though, so that I can have a few days to myself. I keep trying to come up with something that would require hospitalization but wouldn't require me to have a lengthy convalescence at home. I mean, yeah, a broken leg might put me in the hospital for day or so, but then I'd be home with the kids AND a broken leg. No, I need something serious but immediately reversible. I'm thinking appendicitis. Quick surgery, a few days of peace, and then home again with a new scar and a well rested psyche.
What does that say about a person that they think emergency surgery sounds restful?
On the upside, the weather here is improving. This might sound like a minor thing, but it isn't. It means the kids spend time outside everyday - making them both happier and more content, not to mention allowing them to sleep better at night. I get to open my windows, which makes me feel less trapped in the house, even on days when I don't go anywhere. And I get to wear my sundresses. I love my sundresses. A day in a sundress is always just a little better than a day in pants, even if the exact same things occur. Sundresses MAKE it better. If I just had a friggen bonnet I could be cheerful all the time.
Yesterday we spent a couple hours outside. Elliot repeatedly buried and then excavated his green rubber duck. Charlotte discovered a specialized mix of peat moss and fertilizer and moisture holding pellets, formulated as prime seed starting mix, and left outside in our last rainfall. So... dirt. And then she ate it. I let her. She was so happy. And dirty. Then she clapped her little hands and held them out in the imperious manner she has which indicates she is ready to be held. I laughed at her naivete and carried her at arms length to the tub, where I immersed her completely in warm water until most of the dirt parted ways with her body. She loved it.
I'm'a go ahead and send this now. Surely I've forgotten something I was going to say, but then, that gives you something to await with baited breath,doesn't it?
Thursday, May 12, 2011
April 13th, 2011
So the other day, Elliot accosts me in the bathroom.
"Mommy, what are you doing?"
"Shaving my bits." (Oh yeah, you're all like TMI, TMI! But really, it's not that bad, and it's integral to the story. Just suck it up.)
"What does bits do, Mommy?"
"Well, when you're an adult they grow hair."
"They grow hair?"
"Yup."
"Are you shaving your penis, Mommy?"
"No, honey, Mommy doesn't have a penis. Boys bits are penises. What I have is called a Vagina."
"A Jina?"
"Close enough."
"But what does bits do Mommy?"
"Well, they grow hair. And also, when you're an adult, you can use them to have sex, and make a baby."
"What does Jinas do, Mommy?
"Well, like I said, they grow hair, and they have sex, and then babies come out of them when they're born. You and Charlotte both came out of my Vagina."
(at this point Elliot looks skeptically at this particular portion of my anatomy)
"But, how does the baby get in there, Mommy?"
"Well, when your an adult and you're ready to have a baby, a man puts his penis in a woman's vagina, and thewoman has part of the baby, and the man has part of the baby, and the parts go together and a baby grows out of them, and when the baby is done baking, it comes out the woman's vagina."
"The parts go together?"
"Yup. They're very tiny. Like when we plant seeds in Mommy's garden and the plants grow from the seeds. Theseeds are very tiny and they grow big plants, and the parts of the baby inside Mommy and Daddy are very small, and they grow babies. Sometimes."
"Bits grow hair?"
"Yup."
Colossal sigh and shrug
"What next?"
Later he tells his Yaya the following information: Babies grow like seeds in gardens. The parts go together and then they bake and come out Jinas. And when you're into adult, bits grow hair.
:)
Since I've related a conversation with Elliot, it seems only fair to do the same for Charlotte.
"Hi Miss Cha Chizzle."
"Bleeeerrrrrrraah."
"Really?
"
"Okay, hold your horses, I need coffee first."
"ANGAH angah ANGAH!"
"I don't actually think your head will explode in the time it takes me to pour my coffee."
"
"Or, I could be wrong."
Okay, so, seriously, I'm only sending this email out because someone mentioned to be that it had been ages since I sent any pictures of Charlotte. And I have a ton and will post them to the internets soon, but, in themeantime, here are pictures of both my charming children. :)
The stories are just an added bonus.
April 12th, 2011
Note to blog readers: for some reason I can't make it stop highlighting the word "the." Sorry
Of course, it isn't really like that.
Nursing is an interactive event. Sure, you might get a few days of soothing bliss right after your baby comes. Those are the same few days that you get in which you think (foolish you) "Gee, my baby just sleeps all night!" It's before your baby really wakes up, see. They haven't realized yet that they've joined the world. Once that realization hits they wake the HIZZY up, and along with that comes your introduction (or, sometimes, REintroduction) to the sport of competitive nursing.
First of all, babies do not, I repeat, do NOT come with a GPS locator that tells them where your nipple is. Recently Charlotte's preferred method of finding my nipple is to ignore it completely, and instead attempt to dive headfirst into my armpit. I don't know who told her there was breast milk to be found there, but whoever it was should be found and shot. Anyway, where ever YOUR baby thinks your nipple is, be it shoulder, armpit, or naval, you will find yourself wrestling with your baby to get them back to breast level. Once you've got them correctly located you will, of course, have to let go of them in order to grab your boob and steer it into their gaping maw. And, once you let go of them, they're going to dive right back into your armpit. Or naval. Whatever.
Let's say you actually get them latched on. Hooray! They're gonna let go. That's right, as soon as they get thebeloved nipple they have been so arduously spelunking for they are going to spit it out. Why? Well, because you haven't actually had let down yet (aside for all the non-nursers out there - let down is when all the water in your body suddenly rushes into your boobs, rendering the stored milk fats therein drinkable, and rendering you, thenurser, totally thirsty. Babies can't get much out until let down occurs) so they think you've given them the wrong nipple.
"Not THIS one, Mom!" They say in their tiny baby minds "THIS one doesn't have any milk in it. If you would just give me that one in your ARMPIT I could get somewhere!"
So you stick your nipple back in, because, after all, it is the baby sucking on said nipple that causes let down to occur (unless you're in public with no breast shields, then EVERYTHING causes let down to occur, thus soakingthe front of your shirt.) But your baby is disgusted with you.
"MOOOOOOOOOOOOM. I SAID that there's not MILK in this one. Knock it off!"
You, being an idiot, start to reason with your baby, who cannot speak English, only tiny baby Gurgles.
"Sweetie, I know you're hungry, if you'll just stay on there a minute the milk will come out."
"Bleghcrassssssssspth."
Which means "You can't fool me lady. Stick me back in that armpit."
Sigh.
If you're unlucky let down will take so long that your offspring will begin shrieking in rage at you. Then, when all of a sudden your boob starts squirting out milk, the poor thing will drown. It sounds roughly like this.
"AAAAHHHHHHH!"
"Baby, just latch on."
"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"
"Sweetie, I promise the milk is coming."
"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
"Let me just stick this right back in there for you."
"
Perhaps what you should take away from this is that nursing is rarely calm, advertisements lie, and babies are dumb.
****
My back has been giving me trouble recently. Those of you who have known me as an adult are probably thinking that this isn't really news, but my recent back issues are more than my typical gripe. I seem to have overstretched or under flexed or wickey wonkied my lower back somehow with all the lugging about of small children that I've been doing. It's getting worse and worse, and now it's to the point where I can't stand up without taking 15 seconds and forcing my back to go fully upright. It's like my back is about 80 years old. ANyway, Wednesday I have an appointment with a chiropractor, who I hope will tell me something like "The only way to fix this is for you to go to Greece for a month" but is far more likely to tell me something like "I'll realign you, and then you really need to spend less time lugging kids around." Keep you fingers crossed for the greece thing, though.
Fast forward like, a month. Hey, I've been busy. Turns out it WASN'T Greece and it WAS more serious - I really messed myself up sneezing in the wrong position, and I've been to the Chiropractor about 15 times in the past four weeks trying to get everything straightened back out again.
************
Sometimes I look at Charlotte sleeping in my arms, and I think how comfortable it must be to be a baby and have a mommy. As we grow older mommies are still good - after all, we love them and they love us - but no longer can they fix every ill in the world. Eventually we become sufficient unto ourselves, and our mommies are sad but proud that we don't even truly need them anymore. But as a baby - how awesome to have a mommy. Mommy fixes everything. Mommy makes all the hurts better. Mommy comforts, consoles, and brings joy.
Of course, Mommy also straps you into the car seat and leaves you there to suffer, but that is beside the point.
***************
ZOMG!!!! I started this email in October of last year. Now it's January. I knew I would be busy of the holidays, but this is a little re-donk-ulous, isn't it?
I'm feeling a little guilty about my lack of emailage. Not because of you guys - after all, most of you never write me, so I only think it's fair when I don't write you back. :) No, I feel guilty because of the perponderance of email I sent out detailing Elliot's little advances, and I haven't been good about doing the same for Charlotte. I keep imagining conversations with my daughter when she's in her teens, in which I hand each of them a stack of print-outs, and Elliot's is several inches thick and Charlotte's is four sheets of paper, and she looks at me and says "What the HELL!?" and I say "Sweetie, you gotta understand, two is a lot harder than one. Less alone time on thecomputer." and she looks at me in disgust and slams the door to her room and turns the stereo up to manslaughter and I go have a glass of wine.
Of course, if she doesn't do it about the emails she's bound to do it about something else, so there's not much point in worrying, is there?
******************************
Alright, this is getting ridiculous. It's now April I haven't sent one of these out in, like, 8 months. So, real quick, before I get distracted again, here are the familial updates:
Charlotte is a crawling, standing, cruising, shrieking velociraptor of wonder these days. She very happy, very energetic, very on course developmentally, and very, very loud. Takes after her mommy like that. She's adorable, and she has some of her own made up signs that morph depending on what is most important to her atthe moment, but I understand her so that's okay. She gets into everything, and I fear for the day she figures out how to climb stairs. She adores her big brother - he is the light in her universe and the joy in her daily life. She chooses to express this adoration by pestering him no end, wrecking all his train tracks, and shrieking at the top of her lungs if he refuses to grant her the attention she so obviously deserves. :)
Elliot is a little delicate these days. He loves his "baby sister, Miss Charlotte" but he fiercely resents the fact that Miss Charlotte gets carried and he has to walk like a big boy. He mostly didn't want to be carried, or held for long periods of time, or snuggled with during the day, before Charlotte was born. Now it seems like every time I sit down I have one baby and one toddler attempting to turn me into the world's crankiest bean bag. I feel compassion for him, but somehow that doesn't keep me from wanting to tear my hair out every time I hear "Mommy, pick me up, put Miss Charlotte down and Pick ME UP!"
Aside from his realization that he is not the center of the Universe, and his ensuing crisis of faith in Mommy's love, Elliot is doing well. He's bright and creative and really super cute. Also a pain the butt, but that kinda goes with being a three year old. Good days are the days when he is less of a pain then he is adorable, but I will tell you frankly, not all days are good days.
Waxor and I are both doing really well, within certain strictures. I've had some health problems, mostly related to being post partum. We're both having some tired issues, mostly due to having children. Aside from those two very significant things we're great, though. We're mostly handling the crazy 3 year old issues well, as well as theshrieking velociraptor. We've got games to play and friends to hang with and places to go often enough that we don't go stir crazy, but not so often that we never get to be home. All in all life is just fine.
I hope everything is fine with all of you, and I seriously would type more, but Elliot is throwing a fit about going outside and Charlotte is pointing to her mouth and Waxor just took off upstairs (like a coward. :)) Gotta go. Hopefully it won't be 8 months before I send another one.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Per request
Waxor inspired me this morning, so I'm sharing. Just imagine my Kermit voice:
"Why are there so many quests about Murlocs?
It's like they're a master race
I'm really not kidding, you can search every quest zone
They're fucking all over the place
I've killed them too many times to start counting
And still there are millions more
Someday we'll find it, the Murloc Connection
Just what are the bastards for?"
"The chorus of gurggles, first heralds the danger
And then they will swarm like flies
Kill them, then loot them, and then comes confusion
Why don't they all have two eyes?
Each little fucker has twelve goddamn clams
And I've got to open each one.
The Murloc Connection means they're everywhere
But killing 'em ain't no fun"
"Ladeeladeedadadum We know that they're all homiciiiiiiiidaaaaaaaal"
"Who says that Murlocs get bigger and stronger
As I make my way through zones?
Someday we'll see one, a Murloc End Raid Boss
Whose gurggles will make you moan
Colossal and evil with eyes that shoot lasers
Enslaving our pets to his will
The Murloc Connection, is just Mega-Murky
A fucking impossible kill."
"He's gonna swallow the world, da da da da da deee da duuuuummmmmmm."
"Why are there so many quests about Murlocs?
It's like they're a master race
I'm really not kidding, you can search every quest zone
They're fucking all over the place
I've killed them too many times to start counting
And still there are millions more
Someday we'll find it, the Murloc Connection
Just what are the bastards for?"
"The chorus of gurggles, first heralds the danger
And then they will swarm like flies
Kill them, then loot them, and then comes confusion
Why don't they all have two eyes?
Each little fucker has twelve goddamn clams
And I've got to open each one.
The Murloc Connection means they're everywhere
But killing 'em ain't no fun"
"Ladeeladeedadadum We know that they're all homiciiiiiiiidaaaaaaaal"
"Who says that Murlocs get bigger and stronger
As I make my way through zones?
Someday we'll see one, a Murloc End Raid Boss
Whose gurggles will make you moan
Colossal and evil with eyes that shoot lasers
Enslaving our pets to his will
The Murloc Connection, is just Mega-Murky
A fucking impossible kill."
"He's gonna swallow the world, da da da da da deee da duuuuummmmmmm."
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
October 5th, 2010
So, I have royally messed up my back. I imagine it has something to do with the constant arch I have going on - it's the arch that allows me to carry Charlotte and use my other hand for something else. I won't need the arch anymore once she's got full control of her upper body, but right now I spend most of my days bent slightly backwards. Anyway, it hurts my back. And tonight, with both Children in bed, and hours to go before I have to nurse anyone, I have decided to treat my back with a very stiff drink.
But I'm not really used to drinking anymore.
So I'm a little toasted.
Everyone ready for some real randomness?
I'm alone in the house. Or, I'm as alone as I ever get. Elliot is asleep, hands wrapped tightly around his little wooden Thomas the Train. Charlotte is asleep, pacifier firmly inserted, dreaming her tiny little girl dreams. And Waxor is actually out of the house - Been and Daniel are arriving tonight and he's off to the airport to pick them up.
Which makes me... alone.
I can't actually remember the last time I was alone. Either the kids are awake and asking for my attention (Grrrrrrrblghblghbrrrr. Oh really Miss Girl? Is that what you think? No, Mama, NO! Don't talk to Charlotte. But Elliot, she wants to talk to me. NO! You come play with ME. What shall we play? Let's play Thomas. Okay, is Thomas going to Chuff along the tracks? Yes, he does! GrbbbbbbbgHAAAAAAAAL!) or the kids are asleep and I'm trying to spend a little bit of time with my husband before I have to go to bed so I can drag my carcass out of the bed again in the morning. But right now I am alone. Blessedly alone. Peacefully, wonderfully alone. SO what am I gonna do? Well hell, clearly I'm gonna write email.
I miss all of you . Some of you I miss as my family (this includes both my ACTUAL family and people who are LIKE family). Some of you I miss as my friends (because, while I am making friends around here, the sad truth is many of my friends are spread out all over the damn place.) But, whatever catagory you fall in, rest assured, I miss you. I am writing this, of course, in the hopes that I can get you to write me back. See, while you may be getting a regular (if infrequent) update about MY life via this email/blog I do, I NEVER HEAR FROM MOST OF YOU SILLY PEOPLE! So, friendly reminder, write me back and tell me what's going on in your life.
Oooooh... tangent - Many of you have gone through the past years listening to me when I am down in the dumps. Many of you have heard me, while in said dumps, bitching about my husband. I would just like to announce that, having made it to a state in my life where I actually get a full nights sleep many nights, and where I try to let go of my more childish impulses, I am aware that I am married to a very fine man. This is worth mentioning for two reasons; (1) being that it's always nice to hear nice things said about you to other people, and Waxor gets this email, too. So if he reads it (which, actually sometimes he doesn't, but that's kind of okay, because he does live with me and know most of this crap already) he will get the chance to hear me telling pretty much everyone I know that he is really a spectacular human being. And (2) if any of you (and I'm not talking about those of you who are way more full of life experience than me, I'm talking about my peers and people younger than me) are going through or someday will go through a rough patch in your relationships, it's worth noting that there's a fair to middling chance that you will come out the other side and remember why you really loved that person in the first place.
There you go.
I did mention that I had been drinking, right? Drunk email - so much better than drunk dialing. You can reach a larger number of people with your blatherings.
So, Waxor and I have been trying to bribe our child to use the potty. That's right, bribe. I feel no shame in this. The boy knows how to pee and poop in the potty, he just sees no benefit to it. So, we've purchase (ebay is such a wonderful thing) some wooden trains for him, and they are hung up on the wall and if he has a whole day with no accidents he gets to have one of the trains. He managed to do this once, and then the next day he got about half way through the day and then...
Picture Elliot, standing in the middle of his wooden train tracks (a gift from Tracey, Devon, and Brandon). He looks up at me with a mournful countenance and says:
"Ohhhh... You don't get a train today."
And then pees . all . over . himself.
I was torn between hilarity and the hideous feeling that I will NEVER be done changing his diapers.
Oh, so, remember my back? Another reason it might be hurt is because we have redone out Dining room floor. I was so tired of the hideous, stinky, disgusting carpet in there I ripped it out and we put down a hardwood plywood floor, complete with stencil done by yours truly. It's lovely, and if any of you want to come visit then you can see it for yourselves.
Somehow I feel like I had more to say, but I can't think of anything... what's up with that?
Well, I've mentioned Waxor, and Elliot, Charlotte would be next.
Charlotte is really a joy. I think Elliot was actually an easier baby, but at the time that he was 4 months old I didn't have a toddler to provide contrast for me. She's sweet, she laughs all day long, she burbles and makes faces and SLEEPS LIKE A CHAMPION. She's average height, but her weight is starting to drop towards the bottom of the graph - not a huge surprise, given her father and her brother. She still looks big to me, compared to Elliot, but she's really not very pudgy anymore. She is, however, already in 6 month clothing. It's funny, cause Elliot was still in 3 month clothing at 6 months, and Charlotte isn't even 6 months yet and already in the 6 month size... it's her height, not her weight, but she still seems enormous to me compared to Elliot.
There, those are all the updates I can think of, and so I shall send this.
TATA!
But I'm not really used to drinking anymore.
So I'm a little toasted.
Everyone ready for some real randomness?
I'm alone in the house. Or, I'm as alone as I ever get. Elliot is asleep, hands wrapped tightly around his little wooden Thomas the Train. Charlotte is asleep, pacifier firmly inserted, dreaming her tiny little girl dreams. And Waxor is actually out of the house - Been and Daniel are arriving tonight and he's off to the airport to pick them up.
Which makes me... alone.
I can't actually remember the last time I was alone. Either the kids are awake and asking for my attention (Grrrrrrrblghblghbrrrr. Oh really Miss Girl? Is that what you think? No, Mama, NO! Don't talk to Charlotte. But Elliot, she wants to talk to me. NO! You come play with ME. What shall we play? Let's play Thomas. Okay, is Thomas going to Chuff along the tracks? Yes, he does! GrbbbbbbbgHAAAAAAAAL!) or the kids are asleep and I'm trying to spend a little bit of time with my husband before I have to go to bed so I can drag my carcass out of the bed again in the morning. But right now I am alone. Blessedly alone. Peacefully, wonderfully alone. SO what am I gonna do? Well hell, clearly I'm gonna write email.
I miss all of you . Some of you I miss as my family (this includes both my ACTUAL family and people who are LIKE family). Some of you I miss as my friends (because, while I am making friends around here, the sad truth is many of my friends are spread out all over the damn place.) But, whatever catagory you fall in, rest assured, I miss you. I am writing this, of course, in the hopes that I can get you to write me back. See, while you may be getting a regular (if infrequent) update about MY life via this email/blog I do, I NEVER HEAR FROM MOST OF YOU SILLY PEOPLE! So, friendly reminder, write me back and tell me what's going on in your life.
Oooooh... tangent - Many of you have gone through the past years listening to me when I am down in the dumps. Many of you have heard me, while in said dumps, bitching about my husband. I would just like to announce that, having made it to a state in my life where I actually get a full nights sleep many nights, and where I try to let go of my more childish impulses, I am aware that I am married to a very fine man. This is worth mentioning for two reasons; (1) being that it's always nice to hear nice things said about you to other people, and Waxor gets this email, too. So if he reads it (which, actually sometimes he doesn't, but that's kind of okay, because he does live with me and know most of this crap already) he will get the chance to hear me telling pretty much everyone I know that he is really a spectacular human being. And (2) if any of you (and I'm not talking about those of you who are way more full of life experience than me, I'm talking about my peers and people younger than me) are going through or someday will go through a rough patch in your relationships, it's worth noting that there's a fair to middling chance that you will come out the other side and remember why you really loved that person in the first place.
There you go.
I did mention that I had been drinking, right? Drunk email - so much better than drunk dialing. You can reach a larger number of people with your blatherings.
So, Waxor and I have been trying to bribe our child to use the potty. That's right, bribe. I feel no shame in this. The boy knows how to pee and poop in the potty, he just sees no benefit to it. So, we've purchase (ebay is such a wonderful thing) some wooden trains for him, and they are hung up on the wall and if he has a whole day with no accidents he gets to have one of the trains. He managed to do this once, and then the next day he got about half way through the day and then...
Picture Elliot, standing in the middle of his wooden train tracks (a gift from Tracey, Devon, and Brandon). He looks up at me with a mournful countenance and says:
"Ohhhh... You don't get a train today."
And then pees . all . over . himself.
I was torn between hilarity and the hideous feeling that I will NEVER be done changing his diapers.
Oh, so, remember my back? Another reason it might be hurt is because we have redone out Dining room floor. I was so tired of the hideous, stinky, disgusting carpet in there I ripped it out and we put down a hardwood plywood floor, complete with stencil done by yours truly. It's lovely, and if any of you want to come visit then you can see it for yourselves.
Somehow I feel like I had more to say, but I can't think of anything... what's up with that?
Well, I've mentioned Waxor, and Elliot, Charlotte would be next.
Charlotte is really a joy. I think Elliot was actually an easier baby, but at the time that he was 4 months old I didn't have a toddler to provide contrast for me. She's sweet, she laughs all day long, she burbles and makes faces and SLEEPS LIKE A CHAMPION. She's average height, but her weight is starting to drop towards the bottom of the graph - not a huge surprise, given her father and her brother. She still looks big to me, compared to Elliot, but she's really not very pudgy anymore. She is, however, already in 6 month clothing. It's funny, cause Elliot was still in 3 month clothing at 6 months, and Charlotte isn't even 6 months yet and already in the 6 month size... it's her height, not her weight, but she still seems enormous to me compared to Elliot.
There, those are all the updates I can think of, and so I shall send this.
TATA!
September 1, 2010
Oh. My. God.
I have spawned mini-me.
I didn't think I had. I thought neither of my children were going to particularly resemble me in temperament. Elliot is stubborn, but in other ways not like me at all. Charlotte was such a good sleeper and a happy cheerful baby for the first three months of her life I thought she didn't have a cranky bone in her body.
Oh sweet zombie jesus was I wrong.
I have given birth to a baby with my temper.
Clearly this could have serious repercussions.
You might ask "How do you know" after all, she's only three months old, it's not like she's really communicating yet. And I would say, in reply "Oh, she's communicating."
Three days ago Charlotte became unhappy with her carseat. Now, she's been unhappy with her carseat before, but in general has been easily pacified with her (aptly named) pacifier or, at the very least, has calmed down immediately upon removal. This day, however, was different. She was unhappy in her carseat, and when I got her out of the car she was still screaming. And when I carried her up stairs and shushed and soothed her she was still screaming. And when I changed her diaper, made sure she was dry, offered her her pacifier, gave her my boob, and rocked her and held her she was STILL SCREAMING. She screamed and screamed and screamed. And then she stopped. Now, let's be clear, my daughter does actually cry. Tears form and stream down her face when she is sad about something. This was no tear screaming. In other words...
She was pissed.
And she was going to let me know it.
I didn't think too much about it. I mean, it could have been anything upsetting her, and I wasn't going to assume anything about my child's character based on ONE incident, but it's happened four or five times since then. She still sleeps well. She still smiles and gurgles and is, in general, a supremely happy little girl. But if she thinks you are depriving her of one of her rightful comforts, be it being held, being fed, or being allowed to sleep; she screams her tiny frickken head off.
Today she got pissed because she was hungry, and actually forgo satifying that hunger in order to express her extreme displeasure to me. I just kept shoving my nipple in her mouth (I knew what was wrong, after all, it had been all of 3.5 hours since she filled her little piggy tummy) while she shrieked her outrage, until the milk leakage distracted her enough that she gave up and latched on. Then, having explained to me in no uncertain terms how outraged she was, she ate and was completely sunny once again. All smiles.
My mother has been, thus far, disappointed just a wee bit that my kids have not put me through any of the difficulties that she experienced with me. In that light, I have good news for her - just wait. It's coming.
Hi everyone!
A lot of my time these days is being taken up with cleaning. By "my time" I am, of course, referring to time that is NOT spent on the children - holding, feeding, entertaining, teaching, swabbing, bathing, diapering... it's sort of an endless list. So, in the grand scheme of things, the time that is "my time" isn't a whole lot of time at all. However, be that as it may, most of it is being taken up with cleaning. I have two types of cleaning in my life, daily and major. Daily cleaning is the cleaning I do in order to convince other people that I am not a total slob. This is just an illusion, of course, but if you live a lie long enough does it become the truth? (Incidentally, now would be an amusing time to mention that once, as a child, before one of our awesome parties when my mother was FORCING me to help clean up the living room I announced in very grumpy tones that, when I was an adult, I was NEVER going to clean up for company. Either they like me as I was or they could just not come over. At the time I didn't really understand the concept of letting the presence of others shame you into doing something that you wished you did more, anyway. At any rate, all the adult who knew me as a little girl may now feel free to laugh at me. You always have, anyway.) I spend more time doing daily cleaning than major cleaning - between two kids and two dogs the house just always seems like it's a wreck. There's toys to pick up, dog hair to sweep, dishes to wash, laundry to do, and everywhere, I mean EVERYWHERE are dirty spit up cloths. Which is better than there being baby barf all over the place, but still, you sort of feel compelled to remove the coddled milk soaked rags before anyone NOT immediately related to you sees them. The more satisfying of the two cleaning routines, however, is the deep cleaning. See, the daily cleaning isn't really a chore that gets done so much as a state of flux that you pass through with great effort and very little long term results. The deep cleaning, on the other hand, well, that's like peeling off a huge, HUGE scab. Painfully and kinda icky, but totally satisfying.
Currently my deep cleaning project involves getting rid of all of our junk. Waxor and I have boxes of junk that have sat, essentially untouched, for the entire eight years we've been together. A few have been untouched for longer than that, being from my college days. I am *gasp* going through them all and getting rid of things I don't need. I went through my old picture box and got rid of all the out of focus, badly shot, odd pictures of people who I no longer even recognize. Waxor and I have donated about half of our book collection to the Salvation Army. I have gotten rid of all the old clothes that I will never, ever wear again (except for that one pair of pants that has the signatures of most of my friends over a period of three years. Those I kept.) I have gotten rid of most of the kids clothes that they have outgrown. I am cleaning house, baby! Eventually I hope to be able to move into our basement and see neat stacks of things that are actually worth storing, and whole bunch of empty space.
Of course, in the meantime I have piles of CRAP all over the house, making that first category of cleaning, the daily kind, a real pain in the ass
Sigh.
Elliot and I are currently engaged in potty wars. He doesn't like being dirty, but he hates being changed, and he refuses, with vehemence and ire, to actually go on the toilet. Oh, and he hates running around naked, too. I need a book for potty training for not so dummies. I mean, Elliot is a smart kid. He knows exactly what it is I want, and how to do it. He just doesn't want to do so. I can put him on the potty at the exact time of day that he always goes, and leave him there for an hour, and he'll hold it until he gets off. Sigh. This weekend we're going to Western Mass, and I'm planning on shamelessly using peer pressure to encourage him to use the potty. "Alex uses the potty, don't you want to use the potty?"
Of course, I know what he'll say, "No, I'm just fine using a diaper now."
The baby timer has popped and now I must be done.
I have spawned mini-me.
I didn't think I had. I thought neither of my children were going to particularly resemble me in temperament. Elliot is stubborn, but in other ways not like me at all. Charlotte was such a good sleeper and a happy cheerful baby for the first three months of her life I thought she didn't have a cranky bone in her body.
Oh sweet zombie jesus was I wrong.
I have given birth to a baby with my temper.
Clearly this could have serious repercussions.
You might ask "How do you know" after all, she's only three months old, it's not like she's really communicating yet. And I would say, in reply "Oh, she's communicating."
Three days ago Charlotte became unhappy with her carseat. Now, she's been unhappy with her carseat before, but in general has been easily pacified with her (aptly named) pacifier or, at the very least, has calmed down immediately upon removal. This day, however, was different. She was unhappy in her carseat, and when I got her out of the car she was still screaming. And when I carried her up stairs and shushed and soothed her she was still screaming. And when I changed her diaper, made sure she was dry, offered her her pacifier, gave her my boob, and rocked her and held her she was STILL SCREAMING. She screamed and screamed and screamed. And then she stopped. Now, let's be clear, my daughter does actually cry. Tears form and stream down her face when she is sad about something. This was no tear screaming. In other words...
She was pissed.
And she was going to let me know it.
I didn't think too much about it. I mean, it could have been anything upsetting her, and I wasn't going to assume anything about my child's character based on ONE incident, but it's happened four or five times since then. She still sleeps well. She still smiles and gurgles and is, in general, a supremely happy little girl. But if she thinks you are depriving her of one of her rightful comforts, be it being held, being fed, or being allowed to sleep; she screams her tiny frickken head off.
Today she got pissed because she was hungry, and actually forgo satifying that hunger in order to express her extreme displeasure to me. I just kept shoving my nipple in her mouth (I knew what was wrong, after all, it had been all of 3.5 hours since she filled her little piggy tummy) while she shrieked her outrage, until the milk leakage distracted her enough that she gave up and latched on. Then, having explained to me in no uncertain terms how outraged she was, she ate and was completely sunny once again. All smiles.
My mother has been, thus far, disappointed just a wee bit that my kids have not put me through any of the difficulties that she experienced with me. In that light, I have good news for her - just wait. It's coming.
Hi everyone!
A lot of my time these days is being taken up with cleaning. By "my time" I am, of course, referring to time that is NOT spent on the children - holding, feeding, entertaining, teaching, swabbing, bathing, diapering... it's sort of an endless list. So, in the grand scheme of things, the time that is "my time" isn't a whole lot of time at all. However, be that as it may, most of it is being taken up with cleaning. I have two types of cleaning in my life, daily and major. Daily cleaning is the cleaning I do in order to convince other people that I am not a total slob. This is just an illusion, of course, but if you live a lie long enough does it become the truth? (Incidentally, now would be an amusing time to mention that once, as a child, before one of our awesome parties when my mother was FORCING me to help clean up the living room I announced in very grumpy tones that, when I was an adult, I was NEVER going to clean up for company. Either they like me as I was or they could just not come over. At the time I didn't really understand the concept of letting the presence of others shame you into doing something that you wished you did more, anyway. At any rate, all the adult who knew me as a little girl may now feel free to laugh at me. You always have, anyway.) I spend more time doing daily cleaning than major cleaning - between two kids and two dogs the house just always seems like it's a wreck. There's toys to pick up, dog hair to sweep, dishes to wash, laundry to do, and everywhere, I mean EVERYWHERE are dirty spit up cloths. Which is better than there being baby barf all over the place, but still, you sort of feel compelled to remove the coddled milk soaked rags before anyone NOT immediately related to you sees them. The more satisfying of the two cleaning routines, however, is the deep cleaning. See, the daily cleaning isn't really a chore that gets done so much as a state of flux that you pass through with great effort and very little long term results. The deep cleaning, on the other hand, well, that's like peeling off a huge, HUGE scab. Painfully and kinda icky, but totally satisfying.
Currently my deep cleaning project involves getting rid of all of our junk. Waxor and I have boxes of junk that have sat, essentially untouched, for the entire eight years we've been together. A few have been untouched for longer than that, being from my college days. I am *gasp* going through them all and getting rid of things I don't need. I went through my old picture box and got rid of all the out of focus, badly shot, odd pictures of people who I no longer even recognize. Waxor and I have donated about half of our book collection to the Salvation Army. I have gotten rid of all the old clothes that I will never, ever wear again (except for that one pair of pants that has the signatures of most of my friends over a period of three years. Those I kept.) I have gotten rid of most of the kids clothes that they have outgrown. I am cleaning house, baby! Eventually I hope to be able to move into our basement and see neat stacks of things that are actually worth storing, and whole bunch of empty space.
Of course, in the meantime I have piles of CRAP all over the house, making that first category of cleaning, the daily kind, a real pain in the ass
Sigh.
Elliot and I are currently engaged in potty wars. He doesn't like being dirty, but he hates being changed, and he refuses, with vehemence and ire, to actually go on the toilet. Oh, and he hates running around naked, too. I need a book for potty training for not so dummies. I mean, Elliot is a smart kid. He knows exactly what it is I want, and how to do it. He just doesn't want to do so. I can put him on the potty at the exact time of day that he always goes, and leave him there for an hour, and he'll hold it until he gets off. Sigh. This weekend we're going to Western Mass, and I'm planning on shamelessly using peer pressure to encourage him to use the potty. "Alex uses the potty, don't you want to use the potty?"
Of course, I know what he'll say, "No, I'm just fine using a diaper now."
The baby timer has popped and now I must be done.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Feburary 18th, 2010
Hi peeps!
I used to love snow. In Statesville snow meant a day off of school, because it happened so rarely and the whole city had maybe one plow. Later, after I moved to the Northeast, snow wasn't such a rare occurance, but I still loved it. It was pretty, and comforting, and made the whole world white and soft instead of brown and muddy.
But then I bought a house with a really long, steep driveway.
I don't love snow anymore. I mean, I do, I still get that nice feeling when I look out the bank of windows that lines the front of my house, and I see the giant flakes drifting down to coat the bare tree branches. It's still lovely.
But somewhere, deep in my mind, is the knowledge that once the snow starts to pile up I'm going to have to schlep myself outside and start shoveling.
Sigh.
I actually started this email about a month ago. So, some of what you're reading here is old, and some is new. None of it is borrowed, but, depending on my mood, some of it may actually be a bit blue. We'll see. Anyway, chances are good that, from this point forward, you all will be getting fewer of these emails from me. (I know, some of you are exhaling huge sighs of relief. Well, thbpt to you. Dishonor. Dishonor on you, dishonor on your cow, dishonor on your whole family. [It's fine, I know none of you got that, because no one in the world loved Mulan like _I_ loved Mulan. It's fine. I still love you.]) The truth is I have lots of things to get done before our new baby arrives, and as some of those "things" involve actually sitting at the computer and typing, my typing time for emails has become limited. For those of you NOT making with the relief, don't worry. I'll still try to email you all the crazy details of my life, they are just more likely to come quarterly instead of monthly.
Of course, if you wish to encourage me to write you more an excellent way to do this would be to WRITE ME BACK. Just saying.
On Dante's advice I checked Square Foot Gardening out of the library. She was right, it's an excellent book, and a good idea; it's all about planting in square feet, instead of in rows. I'm starting to plan my garden. I'm really excited about it and can't wait for the ground to thaw. I am mostly going to plant useful things, like tomatoes (oh how I love tomatoes) as well as things that are easy to grow (because, as much as I love asparagus I understand it's a pain) but I'm also going to plant some flowers and such. Oh, and strawberries! I hope they don't fail (or rather, that I don't kill them DEAD) but we shall see. Even if they take some extra labor they will TOTALLY be worth it if I can feed Elliot's strawberry addiction all summer long. :)
I'm also planning on getting some berry bushes. This seed company I found sells 2 year old bushes in three packs, where you get one early bearing, one mid season bearing, and one late bearing plant per pack. I am totally excited about this, as well. If all my berries do well (or even okay) then I will have more then paid for my whole garden with the stuff I don't need to buy at the store. And, the best part is, the sq. ft gardening method only involves planting the seeds you actually need, so I should have produce at little extra cost for the next four to five years. YAY!
Alright, I know everyone wants to know and I know that at least some of you are still in the dark... It's a girl. That's right. Against all odds, Waxor and I have managed to bake a girl. If you figure that, out of both our families, there is only one girl among SEVEN CHILDREN, we are totally awesome to have made another one. I think everyone is pretty excited about it. Don't get me wrong, everyone loves Elliot with an almost religious devotion, boy that he is. But it's great to be having a girl. Everyone keep your fingers crossed that she doesn't hermaphrodize on us. :)
I've been feeling totally out of the loop lately, because I don't really use facebook. I know, this makes me a bit of an oddity in my demographic, and I probably would use it if I still spent a lot of my days at a desk. Between taking care of Elliot, Waxor, the house, and my own self I just don't spend that much time at the computer anymore. So, yesterday I got up and, after having some really strange dreams about people I haven't seen in a long time, I logged into facebook. Imagine my surprise! I've got friends going into the hospital for surgery, friends throwing parties, friends starting relationships, friends embarking on new adventures; and I didn't know about ANY of it. So now I am all sad and filled with grumbles. As far as I'm concerned, posting to facebook is a lot like walking out your front door and making an announcement. People who are close by and listening at right that moment will hear it, and anyone too far away or otherwise distracted won't. I don't mean to sound like I'm scolding you facebookers, I'm really not. I guess I'm just irritated with the convention in general. Well, no, I'll be honest, mostly I just miss feeling like I know what's going on. Plus, I miss you people!
Well, Elliot has come and demanded my assistance with a puzzle, so I guess I'm out of time for now. I hope most of you have less snow on your lawn then I do, and for those of you with just as much (or more) I hope it melts soon.
I used to love snow. In Statesville snow meant a day off of school, because it happened so rarely and the whole city had maybe one plow. Later, after I moved to the Northeast, snow wasn't such a rare occurance, but I still loved it. It was pretty, and comforting, and made the whole world white and soft instead of brown and muddy.
But then I bought a house with a really long, steep driveway.
I don't love snow anymore. I mean, I do, I still get that nice feeling when I look out the bank of windows that lines the front of my house, and I see the giant flakes drifting down to coat the bare tree branches. It's still lovely.
But somewhere, deep in my mind, is the knowledge that once the snow starts to pile up I'm going to have to schlep myself outside and start shoveling.
Sigh.
I actually started this email about a month ago. So, some of what you're reading here is old, and some is new. None of it is borrowed, but, depending on my mood, some of it may actually be a bit blue. We'll see. Anyway, chances are good that, from this point forward, you all will be getting fewer of these emails from me. (I know, some of you are exhaling huge sighs of relief. Well, thbpt to you. Dishonor. Dishonor on you, dishonor on your cow, dishonor on your whole family. [It's fine, I know none of you got that, because no one in the world loved Mulan like _I_ loved Mulan. It's fine. I still love you.]) The truth is I have lots of things to get done before our new baby arrives, and as some of those "things" involve actually sitting at the computer and typing, my typing time for emails has become limited. For those of you NOT making with the relief, don't worry. I'll still try to email you all the crazy details of my life, they are just more likely to come quarterly instead of monthly.
Of course, if you wish to encourage me to write you more an excellent way to do this would be to WRITE ME BACK. Just saying.
On Dante's advice I checked Square Foot Gardening out of the library. She was right, it's an excellent book, and a good idea; it's all about planting in square feet, instead of in rows. I'm starting to plan my garden. I'm really excited about it and can't wait for the ground to thaw. I am mostly going to plant useful things, like tomatoes (oh how I love tomatoes) as well as things that are easy to grow (because, as much as I love asparagus I understand it's a pain) but I'm also going to plant some flowers and such. Oh, and strawberries! I hope they don't fail (or rather, that I don't kill them DEAD) but we shall see. Even if they take some extra labor they will TOTALLY be worth it if I can feed Elliot's strawberry addiction all summer long. :)
I'm also planning on getting some berry bushes. This seed company I found sells 2 year old bushes in three packs, where you get one early bearing, one mid season bearing, and one late bearing plant per pack. I am totally excited about this, as well. If all my berries do well (or even okay) then I will have more then paid for my whole garden with the stuff I don't need to buy at the store. And, the best part is, the sq. ft gardening method only involves planting the seeds you actually need, so I should have produce at little extra cost for the next four to five years. YAY!
Alright, I know everyone wants to know and I know that at least some of you are still in the dark... It's a girl. That's right. Against all odds, Waxor and I have managed to bake a girl. If you figure that, out of both our families, there is only one girl among SEVEN CHILDREN, we are totally awesome to have made another one. I think everyone is pretty excited about it. Don't get me wrong, everyone loves Elliot with an almost religious devotion, boy that he is. But it's great to be having a girl. Everyone keep your fingers crossed that she doesn't hermaphrodize on us. :)
I've been feeling totally out of the loop lately, because I don't really use facebook. I know, this makes me a bit of an oddity in my demographic, and I probably would use it if I still spent a lot of my days at a desk. Between taking care of Elliot, Waxor, the house, and my own self I just don't spend that much time at the computer anymore. So, yesterday I got up and, after having some really strange dreams about people I haven't seen in a long time, I logged into facebook. Imagine my surprise! I've got friends going into the hospital for surgery, friends throwing parties, friends starting relationships, friends embarking on new adventures; and I didn't know about ANY of it. So now I am all sad and filled with grumbles. As far as I'm concerned, posting to facebook is a lot like walking out your front door and making an announcement. People who are close by and listening at right that moment will hear it, and anyone too far away or otherwise distracted won't. I don't mean to sound like I'm scolding you facebookers, I'm really not. I guess I'm just irritated with the convention in general. Well, no, I'll be honest, mostly I just miss feeling like I know what's going on. Plus, I miss you people!
Well, Elliot has come and demanded my assistance with a puzzle, so I guess I'm out of time for now. I hope most of you have less snow on your lawn then I do, and for those of you with just as much (or more) I hope it melts soon.
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