Now You're in the World

Christmas Junkie

2011-12-02T10:10:00.000-08:00

It in now officially December which means I can come out of the Christmas closet. See, while the rest of the country has been complaining about how the stores are ALREADY playing Christmas music, I have been humming along, my excitement for the holiday planted firmly in my chest. And, as the trees and garlands were hauled out of storage, dusted off, and put on display, my excitement began to grow. Now that it is socially acceptable to admit it, I am loving the hell out of being bombarded by Christmas.

I will admit that October is a bit early to begin the festivities. I don't like to think about a holiday nearly two months away while I'm still trying to get into the spirit of another. But, I will say that I have been listening to Christmas music since before Thanksgiving. As far as I'm concerned, Thanksgiving is just an extension of Christmas, anyway. It's nice that people tend to express the things they are grateful for during that time, but otherwise, it's just a day where we eat a big meal, and maybe some crazies plan their shopping strategy for the next day (or later that day, apparently. For shame, retail stores of America.) Be honest, you haven't thought about a pilgrim breaking bread with a Native American since you were in school. Thanksgiving is actually a bit of a bullshit holiday, but since there is pie and family involved, I'll take it.

Christmas has always been my favorite. I know it isn't cool to say that. It's cool to love Halloween, and believe me, I've tried. I mean, I like Halloween, but I've just never been very good at it. I never know what costume to wear, I never have anywhere to go, and as much as I try to drum up excitement for it, I usually find myself grudgingly dragged from the house when I'd be just as content to watch scary movies and hand out candy. It's better now that I have a kid. There's no pressure to have a wild night I hardly remember with some zombies and stumble home in my slutty devil costume at 4 A.M. I just put my kid in a cute costume, take her trick-or-treating, and snap lots of pictures. Then watch in horror as she becomes obsessed with candy. No big.

But, Christmas! Christmas has a whole "feeling" attached to it, and that starts about a month before. And in order to maintain the feeling, there is a list of Christmas traditions that need to be completed. There are Christmas movies to watch, cookies to bake, lights to see, eggnog to drink, and of course a tree to pick out and decorate. As kids, my sister and I were sticklers for the Christmas rules. My mom says our mantra was "But, it's tradition!" The tree was only to be decorated with the television off, with eggnog in hand, and with the Time Life Christmas collection on the turntable. We had favorite ornaments, and we took turns hanging them up, alternating each year. We nagged my dad to hang up the lights as soon as we knew we could get away with it. And, we made sure we were chauffeured around town to see all the Christmas lights, preferably with some hot chocolate in our demanding little hands.

Christmas circa 1994

It was the best. Of course, we also wanted certain things for gifts. We wrote wish lists to Santa and had innumerable toy commercials for inspiration. We were excited Christmas eve to open our presents in the morning. But, the season was so much more to us than that, and it has continued to be ever since. Before I wax poetic about how completely magical Christmas is with my own kid, let me just say that I have never stopped doing my favorite Christmas activities in the many years between my childhood and my parenthood. I have never gone one year without a Christmas tree, I bake cookies with my grandma every year, and I have always gone on long drives looking for Christmas lights, only now I have a Starbucks holiday drink in my hand.

And now that I have a kid? The holiday just became exponentially more exciting. When she was a baby, she didn't add too much to the experience. I had her picture taken with Santa (Thankfully, she isn't and has never been afraid of him,) and we bought her one, small gift. The rest of our family, however, doubled her wardrobe and toy collection that year. Last year was better, She sort of understood the concept a bit, she enjoyed looking at lights, and she REALLY enjoyed opening presents.

Charlotte's first Christmas

I can already tell that this year is going to RULE. She "gets" Santa now. She asked me if she could go see Santa while we were in the mall one day, and I asked the adolescent elves if she could just say "Hi" since we weren't exactly picture ready. They had no sooner approved our request and Charlotte was running over to Santa and climbing into his lap. He asked her a few questions, one of them being what she wanted for Christmas. And, it was hilariously awkward because she didn't know how to answer that question. She might see something in a toy aisle and ask me for it, but unless she is looking right at it, she doesn't know that she wants it. So, she looked at him, her smile fading, and started muttering "Um, um..." when Santa jumped in with, "Maybe a baby doll?" He couldn't have known that she has no time for baby dolls, and that this might not be the best time to bring up babies, since Charlotte tells me almost daily that she doesn't want the baby in my tummy to come out. But, she must have been so relieved to be out of the hot seat because she cheerfully agreed that a baby doll would be most good. But, after we left, she looked up at me and said, "Mommy, I want a princess doll."

After a trip to the Disney store where she discovered the princess doll she would like is a "big Rapunzel doll. The soft one." we headed back to Santa for pictures a few days later. This time she was prepared. He asked, she answered. But, it turns out she is a little fuzzy on the Christmas timeline here, because as we walked away the poor child looked genuinely confused as she shrugged her little shoulders, threw up her hands, and asked "Where's my Rapunzel doll?" She seemed satisfied with having to wait until Christmas, but then again, I don't think she realizes how many more Rapunzel-free days are in her future. I may have jumped the gun a little this time. Charlotte with Santa circa now

So, it's been fun. Charlotte knows most of the words to "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer," and we sing that together multiple times a day. She loves Christmas lights, so last night I took the first of what will become many detours on our way home to hunt for lights. She likes the white lights, but when she sees even the simplest strand of multicolored lights, she gasps, "Look, Mom! COLORS!" At a particularly ornate house, she wistfully sighed, "I wish I had a house like that." And it was so freaking cute, that I have now resolved to empty our bank account buying gaudy, light-up Christmas decorations for the lawn so that next year she will indeed have a house like that.

The one thing that I want to work on with our Christmas experience this year and all the years forward is to instill the spirit of generosity in her. I told her yesterday that we were going to buy a toy to give to a kid whose family can't afford to buy him or her any presents, and wouldn't that be nice? "No," was her response. Oh, I'm not worried about it. She's two and therefore necessarily self-centered and incapable of thinking of such broad topics. But, that won't stop me from talking about it with her and getting her involved this year and onward. Eventually, it will sink in, and I hope that giving to the less fortunate will be something she is excited to do each Christmas and throughout the rest of the year. Of course, to ensure that this happens, I have to start walking the walk. Admittedly, I am usually too busy stressing over Christmas presents and trying to cram in all of my Christmas activities to bother with any kind of altruism. But, I guess that's how kids have the ability to make you a better person. When you imagine the kind of person you want them to be, and you realize that YOU are not the kind of person you want them to be, you have to make some changes. So, starting this year, my family and I will participate in a food drive and a toy drive. And, in our future, I envision adding some volunteer work to that, as well.

So, there you have it. I'm a giant nerd who loves Christmas. And, now if you will excuse me, there is some eggnog I need to pour into my coffee. Happy Holidays!

Because Cheetos Aren't Dinner

2011-11-21T21:28:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow I will be sixteen weeks pregnant, and so far I haven't fully emerged from some of the more unpleasant first trimester symptoms. I still get nauseous in the evenings, and I still need naps most days due to the fatigue. These symptoms are annoying enough, but what is most distressing to me is that they have caused me to completely lose my cooking mojo.

I made a lasagna a few weeks ago, and some pork chops about a week later. And, that's pretty much it for the last three months. I've either been too tired to even fathom chopping and mixing, sauteing and baking, or I've been so nauseous, I can't face the smell of the food I need to prepare. Additionally, I have that stereotypical pregnant woman's relationship to junk food. Maybe it's all in my head, but more often than not, I have to choke down my vegetables in order to earn a spicy chicken sandwich or a metric ton of pork.

This is all a far cry from where I was a year ago. I spent my Saturdays poring over cookbooks, looking up recipes on the internet, hunting down unfamiliar ingredients at Whole Foods, and trying a new recipe at least once a week. Admittedly, my enthusiasm had tapered off a bit by this past summer, right before I got pregnant, but I was chugging along, continuing to provide nutritious meals for my family and still taking pleasure in trying out the occasional new recipe.

I am making a lot of excuses, but truth be told, I could be cooking a lot more than I do. I'm still adjusting to living with my in-laws and trying to figure out how to shop and cook in a two-family home, but I can't blame that learning curve forever. My energy level is not great, but it is a vast improvement over how I was feeling a month ago. And, my nausea and food aversions, while not gone, have abated enough that I can be around most food without gagging.

So, what's my problem? This might sound silly, or even crazy, but it's like I've completely forgotten how to cook. I used to be able to make up a dish based on the sundry ingredients I had lying around the house. Or, I had an idea of what I wanted to make, so I found a recipe. Or, I had the motivation to scour recipes until I found one I wanted to try. But, now? I got nuthin'. I wander around the grocery store aimlessly, buy some yogurt for Charlotte, then go home with nothing that will help me make a meal. I have damaged or misplaced the part of my brain that tells me what the hell to do with rosemary or a shallot.

Here's where you come in. A year ago, maybe? I told you all what ingredients I had in my kitchen and asked for recipes. It was a roaring success. For me, that is. You got nothing out of it, I expect. But, if you would be so kind as to give me some of your favorite recipes, or even just dishes (I can hunt down a recipe)you will be saving my family a lot of money in meals eaten out and sparing my husband from taking a can of soup to work with him for his dinner. I'd like to start out sort of easy, since I've regressed so much, and recipes for things that feed a whole family, like casseroles and stews would be great for our current situation. I also love anything I can throw in a crock pot in the morning and forget about for a few hours.

So, ready? Set? Go!

I promise to return the favor if necessary, just as soon as I get my kitchen legs back.

Second Trimester Limbo

2011-11-14T22:02:00.001-08:00

Last Wednesday marked the first day of my second trimester. I knew I should be happy. And, I was. But, the arrival of that day didn't bring the relief I thought it might. Sure, the odds of a miscarriage are significantly lower than they were even a few weeks ago, but I just can't shake the feeling that something either has, or is about to go, terribly wrong.

My last doctor's appointment was exactly a week ago. I waited for that appointment for what seemed like a lifetime. I was in desperate need of some reassurance that the baby was still there, waving and wiggling like the time before. The appointment came and went, and I felt great. For like a day. But, the anxiety came creeping back, and soon enough I was ordering a Doppler to listen to the baby's heartbeat at home. We also used one when I was pregnant with Charlotte, and especially in those few weeks between the disappearance of morning sickness and the beginning of feeling flutters and kicks, it was very reassuring. It is scheduled to arrive Wednesday, and the wait is killing me.

The funny thing is, I still feel like crap. I still get horribly nauseous in the evenings and sometimes during the day. I am still fatigued as hell, and I still live in fear of anything even brushing up against my breasts, causing me to wince in pain. All the symptoms that I tolerated because they let my paranoid brain know I was still pregnant, are still here. But, they just aren't doing it for me anymore. I need more.

It's exhausting, all this stress and worry. I sometimes sit very still, willing myself to be able to feel some fluttering from within. I check the progress of the Doppler using my tracking number about twenty times a day, even though I signed up for alerts to be sent to my phone. Incidentally, it went NOWHERE all day yesterday, and I am very displeased. I count down the days until my next appointment. I analyze my symptoms and check on Twitter if anyone thinks I am hurting my baby by sleeping on my stomach, even though I already asked my doctor, and she assured me I was fine until twenty weeks. I obsess.

I hope this will get better when I'm further along, but I know myself, and I know that I will probably find something to worry about until the baby is here. And then I'll worry about different stuff.

In the meantime, I will do my best to get through this second trimester limbo.

The Princess Prerogative

2011-11-08T22:03:00.000-08:00

Last week was Halloween,and this year my mom was able to resume her tradition of making Charlotte's costume. Last year my mom got married the month of Halloween, and we all begged her to not try and sew a costume whilst planning a wedding and commuting to her teaching jobs at three different colleges. She grudgingly acquiesced, and instead bought a little fairy princess dress for Charlotte.

As a kid, I knew summer was coming to an end when my mom took my sister and me to the fabric store to pour over Halloween costume pattern books so we could choose a costume. It was exciting seeing our costumes come together, and they were always expertly crafted. My mom is an incredible seamstress. She even made my wedding dress! During my early school years I went through the Disney repertoire, choosing such costumes as Tinkerbell, Cinderella, and Aurora. Later I branched out into other arenas, but I remember my princess and fairy costumes fondly.

See, I LOVE Disney. I love Disneyland, Disney movies, and Disney...well, anything! It is something that connects me to my childhood in a huge way. And, when I found out I was having a little girl, I couldn't wait to share the Disney princess experience with her. I know that this makes me the opposite of progressive and enlightened in the eyes of many, but I really don't care. I have wonderful memories of playing "The Little Mermaid" with my sister any time we were in a pool. I loved my Ariel pencil box and my Belle nightgown. I played dress-up for hours. I imagined fairy tale weddings. And, I swear to god, one day my sister and I put on dresses and fancy hairbands and went outside to sing to some birds, convinced that they would come perch on our shoulders if we just looked beautiful and sang prettily enough. My sister may deny this, but I assure you, it happened.

But you know what? We also drove a tractor at my grandparents' house. We played war games in the desert next to our house with the neighbor boys. We went on archaeological digs in our backyard. We may have played with Barbies (not something I'm dying for Charlotte to find out about, but that's just my personal preference) but we were never limited by them. We were raised to do well in school because we would need our education to make our way in this world. We were taught to respect ourselves. I'm proud of the women my sister and I turned out to be. And, I see no reason why I can't share a part of my childhood with my daughter, a part that we both happen to enjoy together, without fear of pigeonholing her or taking away her power as an individual.

I can teach my daughter that it's okay to twirl around in her nightgown and ask "Do I look so pwetty?" as long as she knows that that won't be enough or all that is expected of her. I do tell Charlotte that she is pretty. I tell her she's beautiful. But, whenever she asks me why I love her or why I wanted her to be my daughter (the "Why?" stage can bite me, by the way) I tell her it's because she is smart and funny and nice. And, we encourage all her interests. Truth be told, she is way more interested in bunnies and cats than she is in princesses. She loves to wear her dragon costume and growl at everyone who passes by. She loves to help her daddy fix stuff around the house. Sure, it'd be great if she saw Mommy fixing stuff around the house, too, but that is unfortunately not my strong suit.

Happily, some of the modern princesses offer a more balanced and stronger role model for little girls. Tiana from "The Princess and the Frog" is fiercely independent, clever, and hardworking. Rapunzel from "Tangled" is admittedly, naive, but also brave and struggling to find her independence. That doesn't mean I will shield Charlotte from the older princesses, like Snow White, who is just AWFUL. Seriously, that chick is useless. But, we can enjoy those movies with a little supplemental education. Long story short, I don't expect Charlotte to spend too much time waiting around for her prince to come, baking pies and sweeping floors to kill time until he rides up on his horse.

So, when my mom offered to make Charlotte's costume this year, we gave her a few choices (though I don't remember what they were,) and in the end she chose her favorite princess, Belle. I kind of love that Belle is her favorite. I guess as a Lit major, I have to appreciate a book lover in a princess. We had a few bumps in the road, such as when she informed us that she would rather be Aurora or that she would like to just wear her dragon costume for Halloween. But, I explained to her that because her grandmother was working really hard on her dress, there was just no alternative. In the end, she loved it. She twirled and practiced her curtsy, and I was in heaven. She also rocked her light-up Belle shoes until her feet started to hurt, and then we changed her into her tennis shoes, which was maybe even more adorable.

Mid twirl

Mid curtsy

Who knows what she will choose next year? Maybe another princess, maybe not. We will, of course, follow her lead and let her choose whatever she wants. But, in case she goes an entirely different direction, I'm just glad I got my princess fix this year. It was definitely everything I hoped for.

A Bit of Random

2011-10-27T13:26:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting down with the time and (enough) energy to blog, but I'm sort of blocked for topics. So, as is usually the case when this happens, you get some random thoughts. Too bad this never happens on a Tuesday so I can participate in the Random Tuesday meme.

I took my niece to the movies for her birthday last week, and we saw a trailer for Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. I was delighted to see how many of my favorite actors are featured in the film. And, by "favorite actors" I mean "actors on whom I have enormous crushes." I mean, come on. What cliché of a woman doesn't have a crush on Colin Firth?

Not featured in this picture is the dreamy Irish Ciarán Hinds, whom I fell in love with when I saw the adorable "Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day." Seriously, if you haven't seen it, do yourself a favor. Lee Pace of "Pushing Daisies" fame ain't too bad on the eyes, either.

Oh, what the hell? Here's Mr. Hinds in all his glory. He's hot, right? He played Rochester, y'all. What's not to love?

So, here I am, sitting in the theater, getting all worked up about this movie and all the great actors in it. Gary Oldman! Ralph Fiennes! I keep seeing one after the other, and I'm already making a mental note to see this movie. when suddenly it dawns on me: these guys are all REALLY old. Okay, I need to be careful. They're only in their fifties. But, you know, so are my parents. So, it's a little weird. I also think they were aged for the film, or at least made to look more haggard than they normally do. In any case, god help me, it's still working for me. But, then again, this is very typical of me. I married someone six years my senior, I always tried to hang out with my mom and her friends instead of the other kids, and I developed a HUGE obsession with Emma Thompson at the tender age of eleven. What? You were preoccupied with middle-aged British actresses when you were in middle school, weren't you? I thought so.

Changing gears now: I have mentioned that I graduated to maternity clothes a little early this pregnancy. I've heard this is normal for a second pregnancy, so even though it bums me out that I'm ALREADY wearing the pants I will have to wear for the next six months, I wasn't too upset about it. That was until this morning when I happened to see a picture of me about six months pregnant with Charlotte. I was PU-FFY. My face looked like it had been gently inflated with helium. And that was with over three months to spare! So now I'm worried that if I'm bigger than I was at this point, I'm just going to keep getting bigger and bigger until I start getting the "You must be due any day now!" when I'm only five months along, or worse, the "Are you sure there's only one in there?" I'm a little concerned about this because given my already fragile emotional state, I might have to hurt someone if any of these scenarios arise.

I was on the phone with my mom expressing my concern that I'm going to be a cow by the time this pregnancy is over, when Charlotte, overhearing me, asked, "You're going to be a cow for Halloween, Mommy?" I'm pretty sure she's going to be genuinely disappointed when I don't show up as a Guernsey on Monday night.

What else? Oh, I got my eyebrows waxed the other day, and it got me thinking about how I was sitting in a different chair having a different woman try to make casual conversation with me in limited English as she rips tiny hairs out of my face, just a mere few hours before my water broke during my pregnancy with Charlotte. The woman motioned to my enormous belly and asked when I was due. "Today!" I brightly replied. You should have seen the look of sheer horror that swept over her face. It was like she thought that not only was I currently in labor, but I also made a horrible mistake and expected HER to deliver my baby in the waxing chair. Hilarious.

Okay, that's all for now. Maybe next time I'll tell you about how Charlotte tried to convince me that saying "no" to her would make me sick. But, then again, maybe I'll be too busy having an anxiety attack about how my child gets exponentially smarter than me every day. It's pretty terrifying.

Panic in my Uterus

2011-10-20T20:40:00.000-07:00

Fair warning: I'm going to be a pain in the ASS for the rest of this pregnancy. I'm something of a hypochondriac, an avid worrier, and I've had three miscarriages. So, every little twitch, pain, or hour spent without pregnancy symptoms results in absolute panic on my part.

Last Wednesday afternoon I was convinced that I had a bladder infection and some foreboding abdominal pain. I spent three hours in urgent care only to be told by the doctor that there was no infection. As for the pain? Well, he didn't know. A simple trip to the lab could have confirmed the lack of infection, but I just HAD to see a doctor about this very minor pain. Since the medical branch in my new area doesn't have an OB on call for urgent care, it was pointless. But, I couldn't not go. What if something was horribly wrong?

I came home tired, frustrated, and also slightly pleased that I was able to finish my book during my long stay in the waiting room. I told myself that since there was no infection and the pain had stopped, I would tough it out until my appointment with my doctor on Monday.

But Thursday, after running around with Charlotte all morning I came home and started feeling the pain again. And, this time it was worse. I panicked. Texted Chris. And then I did what I always do: I complain to L until she offers to Google for me. She is an expert Googler, and this way I don't have to be exposed to all the horrible possibilities Google has to offer. L filters them out for me. Her diagnosis? Round ligament pain. But, we both agreed I should call the doctor just to ease my mind. I did, and miraculously, they were able to fit me in that afternoon! I rushed down there to see my doctor. Her diagnosis?

Round ligament pain.

I felt so stupid. But, then I got to see my little baby on the ultrasound. And the first thing we saw when my doctor focused in on him/her was this:
It took five days to get this stupid picture up, and it STILL isn't rotated the right direction. I blame my crappy PC and lack of access to our Mac.

The baby waved! I mean, look, I'm not an idiot. I know the baby wasn't trying to be all, "What's up, Mom?" but you should have seen it. A tiny arm raised up and then waved back and forth. It was just one of those funny coincidences, but it made my whole day. I drove home grinning.
Here he/she is just hanging out.

I should have known better. I should have remembered that these little aches and pains are normal and just sat tight until my next appointment. But, I may never be able to do that. It's so hard not to portend doom every time something feels different or even a little strange. Sometimes it feels like everything going well until I actually have this baby in my arms is just an impossible dream.

But then my baby waved at me. And kicked and squirmed and showed off its stellar heart rate. And I think that maybe this kid is going to be tough like its sister and go the distance.

Just for fun, here's Charlotte eating a cupcake. Fun for whom, you ask? Me! Especially since I didn't have to clean her up after this took place.

Big Sister to Be

2011-10-17T21:10:00.000-07:00

If I believed in fate, I would be certain that Chris and I were tempting it by deciding to tell Charlotte about the "baby in my belly." We were going to wait until after the twelve-week mark, but after I wrote my blog and came out of the pregnancy closet, as it were, I decided we might as well tell her before someone else mentions it to her.

I'm not necessarily wary of telling children about such news. I do believe in being honest and direct. And, if something were to go wrong, theoretically I see no problem with explaining things to her as clearly as I could. She's young enough that I don't think it would register much on her radar, anyway. But, now that she knows and occasionally asks me if the baby is still there and if she can see it, I just know it would defeat me to have to answer those kinds of questions after yet another loss. So, it was a gamble. And, it could have been a mistake. But, for right now I am glad that she is finally a part of it.

What I find hilarious, however, is how mind-blowing we thought this news would be to her. We had decided one day last week that this would be the day we tell Charlotte. I imagined maybe taking her out for ice cream to break the news, you know, soften the blow in case she wasn't thrilled. And, we did have reason to believe this would be the case. Shortly after we learned I was pregnant, Charlotte, intuitive little creature that she is, asked me if I had a baby in my tummy. I wasn't ready, so I told her no. But, curious, I ventured, "Would you like that? If I had a baby in my tummy?" She responded in the negative. I asked her what she would do if I DID have a baby in my tummy. "I will yell at the baby. Yelling, yelling. No, baby! You can't play with my toys!" Whoa. She seemed to know more about siblings than I realized.

And so we prepared for some emotion, and maybe some yelling. Between meals, naps, and whatever the hell else we do, the day was starting to get away from us. The ice cream plan was no longer possible. Chris was leaving for work within the hour, and we were running out of time. Charlotte was running around the backyard in her dragon costume, growling and hiding in her "cave" (a large box that has yet to be broken down.)We approached her, making sure not to call her by her given name, but instead referring to her as "Dragon." Because to do otherwise would have been a grave mistake, and we were already on thin ice by making the announcement that a baby was about to come play with her toys.

So, we both knelt down, and Chris said, "Dragon. We need to tell you something. Mommy has a baby in her tummy. A real baby!" in the most enthusiastic voice he could muster. We both eagerly watched her face, waiting for some sign of recognition. And, to our surprise, she got this look on her face that we couldn't quite decipher. Was it horror? Wonder? Shock? Her eyes got big, then she sort of furrowed her brow. We held our breath. The moment seemed to last an eternity. Then, suddenly, we had our answer: "Yeah. Come on, Daddy! Let's go in our cave!" The moment was over, and the reaction never came. We laughed at ourselves for expecting anything else. She's TWO for god's sake.

In the past few days, however, I have been trying to bring it up at seemingly opportune times, and I've actually had some encouraging exchanges with her about the baby. The other day she told me she likes babies (she doesn't, but I appreciated the gesture.) I told her she could help me with the baby, and she agreed. She prefers that the baby is a boy. She wants a little "broder." She was fascinated when I told her that one day she would be able to feel the baby kick when she put her hand on my tummy, and she especially loved hearing about how we could feel HER kick when SHE was in my belly.

I'm happy that she is understanding this a little and that we can involve her in the process more now that she's a little older than she was when we first started trying. Silver lining, I guess. I know that it will be hard on her when the theoretical becomes her reality, but I have too many worries about getting to that point to even bother right now. For now I am just proud of my little dragon for accepting the news with grace and her usual dose of humor. I think she's going to make a wonderful big sister.

And, We're Back

2011-10-10T12:50:00.000-07:00

Wow. It's been a month since my last post. I think that's probably a new record for me, but then again, it's me, so maybe not.

Since I last left you, Chris and I packed up our two-bedroom townhouse and moved into his parents' house. It was...not fun. Each time we move, I swear that it will be the last time we procrastinate to the point of "Just throw it in a trash bag, and we'll sort it out later," but we never do. And, of course, it was also challenging to move from a two-bedroom townhouse to two rooms, period. We had to pack what we needed separately from what we would be storing. So, it was challenging. Moving is challenging. Moving with a toddler is challenging. Moving while pregnant is challenging.

Like how I just slipped that in there?

In case you missed it, I'm pregnant. I've known I was pregnant for over a month now. Needless to say I was not much of an asset when it came to our move. If I wasn't napping, I was trying not to throw up. Or I was trying to figure out what to eat for my third dinner, because even as I have been nauseous beyond belief, I have also been starving every couple hours. I think in the end, I probably contributed about 30% to the move, which left my poor husband and our families to pick up the slack. And, because I am am very, very lucky, everyone has been really understanding.

Especially if you know my history, you might be wondering how far along I am. Most everyone I have told in person has looked momentarily delighted, then a look of realization sweeps over their face, and they cautiously venture, "How far along are you?" It was harder to answer when I was five or six weeks along, and it is only slightly easier now to tell you that I am just shy of ten weeks pregnant. I am currently further along than I was during any of my miscarriages, so big thumbs up there. But, it would be great to be twelve or fourteen or any of the numbers that are meant to offer you SOME reassurance. Still, we went to our first ultrasound last week, and everything looked really good. I'm still feeling sick and tired, which is hellish, but reassuring.

I know that with every passing week Chris and I feel more at ease, but we're both sort of expecting the worst at any given moment. Or, rather, he is expecting the worst, and I just try to prepare for it. Because I can't say I expect things to go wrong. In fact, I feel almost strangely confident that they won't. I've mostly been really at peace with this pregnancy. Occasionally I am gripped with fear when I let myself wonder how I will deal with another loss, but it's rare. I suppose this Zen-like demeanor is my defense mechanism, and I have to say it has been helpful.

I'm sitting here in Starbucks wearing maternity clothes, which is comically unnecessary, but also stupidly comfortable, of which I am highly in favor. I suppose the maternity shirt is a bit much, but I needed something long enough to cover the tell-tale maternity band, since I don't look pregnant and don't exactly want to advertise my premature proclivity for elastic waistbands. I would like to believe that it's true about showing sooner with subsequent pregnancies, but I have to say I am rather convinced it's the third dinners that are to blame. This is also why you will not be seeing any adorable "belly pictures" from me for a loooooooong time. Not until the girth more closely matches the level of pregnancy, at least.

And now that we've gotten that out of the way, what you might really be dying to know is how we are coping with our new living arrangements. Or maybe you don't care, but I'm going to tell you anyway. I can't speak for my in-laws, but the rest of us are adjusting well. Chris is tired from the extra time on his commute, but otherwise, he has no complaints. Charlotte is in heaven. She literally RUNS all over their large house, which is a vast improvement on running in circles around our tiny couch. She goes in the backyard every day, as many times as she can. And I'm already noticing her getting more comfortable, not just with her grandparents, but with adults in general. My theory is that it is less of a shock to her now to have people other than her parents around. She was pretty isolated before, and I feel like this is already proving to be good for her. Plus, she's sleeping well, is generally happy, and doesn't appear to be struggling with the change at all. In fact, when we left our apartment for the last time, we told her to say goodbye to it. She cheerfully said "Bye!" and then in a different voice she said (as the apartment) "Bye! I hope you don't want me anymore!"

As for me, I am adjusting well, though perhaps the least so of the three of us. I blame my anxiety above all. It's easier for my husband because they are HIS parents, so he's used to pissing them off. I, on the other hand, run around like a crazy person trying to make sure I have cleaned up any trace of my presence there. I am insecure about how I am ALWAYS there because I don't feel well enough to get out of the house much. I try to do little things whenever I see an opportunity, like emptying the dishwasher or finishing laundry that my mother-in-law started, but left the house before finishing. That last one has happened once, and probably won't happen again because Stephanie is like a MASTER housekeeper. She has a full-time job, and still manages to keep her house cleaner than I ever did, even when I was unemployed AND childless. But, it's important for me to note that my anxiety is just that: anxiety. It comes from me. My in-laws have never made me feel anything less than welcome and nothing like a burden, even if that isn't actually how they feel.

It's been a week. Hardly enough time for any major disasters to occur, but it's also hard to imagine any such disaster when you are in the hands of such generous people with whom you get along so well. Does it sound like I'm sucking up? If it does, well, they DO read my blog, you know. And I might be needing some free babysitting soon. Oh! Which reminds me! The babysitting! We've been back in our hometown a week, and have already seen a movie, courtesy of my mom's babysitting and gone out to dinner last night when my mother-in-law spontaneously offered (We were out the door so fast...) This alone makes the transition worth it.

And, with that, I leave you with a picture of my new haircut. It's a crappy cell phone picture which many of you already saw on Twitter. And my hair is flat in it because of the rain, but it's the only one I have. There aren't many picture opportunities when you are lounging around the house all day invading your father-in-law's space after he gets home from a long day of work. Though I suppose I'd have someone to snap the picture...

No, I Didn't Die

2011-09-06T13:56:00.000-07:00

Remember last time we moved? Remember how I sort of fell off the planet for a month? Well, that's pretty much what's been going down lately. It's been a whirlwind of circumstance changes these last few weeks. What started out as us frantically looking for an apartment to rent before our lease ended has turned into us leisurely packing without so much as glancing at an apartment listing.

Chris and his parents have worked out a deal where they buy a house and rent it to us. This is a great deal for us because we don't have to worry about having our rent raised after every lease expiration and because we will be able to live in a nicer place than we could afford otherwise. The only part that is undetermined is whether we will be getting a condo in our current location: about 45 minutes to work for Chris and 45 minutes the other direction to our families, or if we will be returning to our hometown, as it were, in order to have a house with a yard and all that jazz. But, we have some time to work out the pros and cons because in order for this deal to be financially beneficial to my in-laws we have to wait until after the new year to buy. Which means...

We're moving in with my in-laws for a few months!

Needless to say this is going to be a big adjustment for all of us. We are extremely grateful that they are willing to turn their home upside down to accommodate us, especially right as they are in the middle of doing us such a big favor. And, I am personally grateful that I get along great with my husband's parents. I love them and have felt like a part of the family for over a decade now. So, don't expect to relive "Everybody Loves Raymond" through my blog.

However.

It isn't easy to live with anyone, and I feel for them and the loss of their privacy as much as I feel for us. Especially since a precocious toddler will be invading their home. I think she's a great kid, but, you know, she's TWO. So, she lets out an ear-piercing cry when she doesn't get her way. She also likes to do things a certain way, and doesn't like to be corrected. And she's fiercely connected to both me and Chris, but especially me, these days, and that can be a bummer for friends and relatives that were hoping to get a little bonding time with Charlotte, only to be shunned for the opportunity to bury her head in my shoulder. She's at an amazingly fun and sweet age, but it is also an incredibly difficult one, and I feel nervous about bringing such an intense personality into a house with new rules and expectations.

That's the hard part. Chris and I are very comfortable with how we are raising Charlotte, and we have butted heads with both our families at times when it comes to differing philosophies and practices. There are obviously certain things we will not bend on no matter where we are living, such as not spanking and respecting Charlotte's personal space (i.e. She doesn't have to hug or kiss anyone she doesn't want to) but there will probably be different "house rules" and we will have to respect those rules. I mean, despite what some people may think, we really aren't raising a hooligan who gets to do as she pleases. We expect her to be polite, to ask nicely, to clean up after herself (with our help,) to take turns, and so on. But, we also encourage her to express herself, and unfortunately as a two-year-old "expressing herself" translates to "throwing herself on the floor and screaming." It's okay for her to get angry. To say she she's sad about not being allowed to watch a movie or have candy. She can cry, and I will rub her back (unless she's spurned my advancing hand) and tell her I understand she's unhappy, but these are the reasons for my decision. We find it to be very effective, and her tantrums have decreased over time. But, as it's happening, it's..loud. And, I'm worried about disturbing the peace in a house whose owners work hard everyday and deserve some peace and quiet. But, it isn't forever, and with Charlotte being my in-laws' fourth granddaughter, they aren't exactly strangers to the whims of a toddler.

And, I'm hoping that something really great will come out of all this. See, Chris's brother and his wife have three daughters that I absolutely adore. And, Chris and I are very close to all of them. I met Mikala when she was four, and over the years I have been her teacher (admittedly not the best year of our relationship,) taken her out for ice creams and dinners and coffees, and just basically spent a lot of quality time with her. And Athena and Victoria, the younger two, I've known their entire lives. They have stayed many nights at our house, and Chris and I have spent hours playing with them and taking them on little day trips. Chris, especially, has a special place in their hearts for being the one that gets down in the dirt with them, looking at bugs and doing whatever else it is they do while the rest of us grown-ups catch up over a glass of wine. And the girls have an incredibly strong bond with their grandparents as well. They spend many weekends staying at Grandma's house, baking, shopping, and playing games. They are at ease with their grandparents.

But, Charlotte? She has lived 45 minutes from both our families since she was 15 months old. We still go up there most weekends to visit with Chris's family, and I try to get up there once a week, if I can, to have coffee with my mom and grandma. So, it isn't like Charlotte sees her extended family as strangers. But, the fact is that she spends 99% of her time with me and/or Chris. And when a week or more has gone by without seeing someone, to a two-year-old, you aren't exactly starting from scratch, but it takes some coaxing to get to a happy/familiar place. And, even then, the slightest little thing goes wrong, and the two-year-old is running for the nearest parent to soothe her wounded pride or disappointed heart. And that can be a bitter pill to swallow when you're only trying to bond with your loved one. It can even make you a little resentful. I know, because I've been there with other kids in the past.

So, I'm hoping that since we will be spending so much time with our families, that Charlotte will have a chance to strengthen the bond with the people who love her.

Okay, if you have made it this far, you are very patient. I realize this isn't interesting, really. But, these thoughts have been swimming around in my head for days, and I needed to get them out. Since no one pays me to write this blog, I can do whatever I damn well please. But, as a reward (and I use that term loosely) for sticking it out, here are a few anecdotes and a video of the princess herself:

-Charlotte is obsessed with Disney soundtracks right now. We listen to Beauty and the Beast, various princess tracks, and most recently the Tangled soundtrack whenever we are in the car. And, ever since we started this, it has become very clear that Charlotte's favorite track on any soundtrack, is the villain's song. Every time. I have to admit that they are usually the coolest songs, but this seems a bit odd for a tiny kid. Meaning, I LOVE it.
Just a few of Charlotte's heroes.

-She also has a streak of the ol' goth in her. She asks for "sad songs" and "sad moobies." She is constantly asking me and Chris, "What makes you sad, Mommy/Daddy?" And the other day this happened: Charlotte: "I dreamed about ladybugs!" Me: "How nice! What were they doing? Flying? Crawling?" Charlotte: "They were dead." Yikes. Oh, and when she had her face painted at a Greek food festival last Saturday, she wanted a sad face painted on her cheek. I agreed, but at the last minute she changed it to a happy face. Which, thank god, because she was miserable enough that night without a physical manifestation of it on her face.

-She finally initiated a tea party with her tea set! I was thrilled, until I realized only bunnies were invited to this tea party. Then we read a book about a little bunny who wants to go camping with his older brother and sister, but can't. So, Charlotte reached into the book, pretended to pull the bunny out with her hands, and told him he could go camping with HER. So, apparently she can share and show empathy, but only when it comes to bunnies.

Here is a video of Charlotte dancing on the Third Street Promenade recently. Rather, frenetically, I might add.

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Yeah, she's got sweet moves.

So, there you have it. I haven't forgotten how to use the computer. I'm just getting ready for some big changes. Hopefully the internet will be waiting for me when I'm settled in.

A Typical Day

2011-08-23T21:00:00.000-07:00

A year ago Ginger over at Ramble Ramble, wrote this post about her typical day. At the time, she invited us all to play along and share a typical day in our lives. And, I felt like I couldn't do it because our days varied so much from one to another. I knew if I had to get Charlotte off to daycare so I could work that things would run on more of a schedule. I also told myself that maybe when she was older it would be easier to get her on a routine.

Well, Ginger has invited us, a year later, to share a typical day in our lives once again. And, while I do not have the routine I thought I would have by now, I suppose I will give it a go anyway:

Between 6 and 7:30 I generally wake up to use the bathroom. Now that we are trying to have a baby again I need to turn on my Clearblue Easy Fertility Monitor at this time. During certain days of the month I turn it on and it tells me what day of my cycle I'm on, then it turns off. Other days I have to insert a test stick into it so it can measure how "fertile" I am that day. It's a pain in the ass. I fumble with the test stick, a Dixie cup, snapping the stick into its place and then waiting the five minutes for the monitor to read it, all while trying to not let myself wake up too much so I can go back to sleep for a bit.

"But, wait!" you say. "You have a two-year-old, and you can go back to sleep after getting up at 7 A.M. to pee in a cup?" Well, yes. Lately Charlotte has been waking up around 9 or 9:30. She goes to bed at 8, so this is a pretty sweet deal. And I know you're jealous, but shut the hell up, and let me enjoy this! It will only last a week or so, and then I'll be back to lying down with her in my bed waiting for her to fall asleep so that I can have the pleasure of her staring down at me at some godawful hour the next morning saying, "Mommy? You wanna go downstairs with me? Yes? Let's go!"

Lately when I do hear her calling for me, I've just fallen back asleep from the whole monitor debacle so I'm a little groggy. I walk into her room to see her standing in her crib holding all of her stuffed animal "fwiends," and she is ready to PLAY. She will immediately hand off one of her bunnies and begin giving me directions on how to hold him, what he should say, if he should be crying (He usually should be.) I'll try to play along for a few minutes before suggesting we go downstairs. She'll agree, and if she's even a little bit tired she will request a "moobie" which is nice because it gives me time to wake up. If she's rested, she'll run straight to a box of toys I was hiding in her closet because I didn't like them or I thought she had outgrown them, and will sit down and get to work. She will ask me to join her, but I will need to change her diaper first. Then I will suggest breakfast.

God, this is not interesting at all. Look, here's the deal. Everything that needs to be done around here is just one more thing that gets in the way of Charlotte's ability to "pway." If she had it her way we would make the bunnies hop and bounce and say "Beeeeeee" (Did you know that bunnies say "Beeeeee?") from the second we woke up until, well, forever. Because who needs sleep, right? She would like for me and Chris to sit on the floor with her all day playing with her princesses or Spiderman, reading her books, and taking the occasional break to run in circles around the couch. Every diaper change, every teeth-brushing, every outfit change, meal, and especially every outing outside the house is just really cramping her style, okay? So, let's just play all day until Mommy's mind is complete mush.

Oh, and the latest development is her asking for me to tell her stories round the clock. It started with a sweet morning on the couch. I sat against the arm of the couch; she sat in my lap leaned against me, her wild curls tickling my nose, and she asked me to tell her a story. A "Pumby Bumby" story, to be precise. Pumby Bumby is the new "Pumpsy," a nonsense word that has somehow been anthropomorphized into a character whose adventures I sometimes chronicle on the couch or during a long car ride. This particular morning, Pumby Bumby had some pretty wild shenanigans, involving playing basketball with bears, napping on clouds, and fighting dragons. Charlotte enjoyed the story so much, apparently, she has decided that me telling her stories should be happening all day. Most times she requests a princess story, so I can just tell her the story of Ariel or Jasmine without having to use my imagination. But, boy does that get tedious. Of course, most of the time, I do it. Because if there's a person who could say no to that little grinning face saying "Mommy,can you tell me a story?" well, I probably wouldn't want to meet that person.

So, we spend the morning doing all of the above, intermittently pausing to do one of the many aforementioned distasteful tasks, all of which result in my trying really hard to keep my temper as Charlotte STALLS HER ASS OFF. Seriously, if she ever did anything the first time I asked, I could die happy. Instead it's a bunch of "Charlotte please come lie down so I can change your diaper. Please come now. Charlotte! Do you want me to come get you? Well, then come here." And god forbid I do have to grab her to get her to do my bidding. Then it's ten minutes of consoling her. Honestly, I don't know how I get anything done.

Oh, that's right! I DON'T.

At some point during the day I will remember that I was supposed to call my grandma. Or, I will walk into the bathroom and see the smudges all over the mirror from when Chris let Charlotte play on the bathroom counter, and she smeared water all over the place. Or, I'll get a little bing on my phone reminding me to pay a bill. And, all of those realizations will go out of my head a second later as I'm pouring yet another cup of milk for Charlotte or trying to soak up some time with my husband while the kid naps or maybe just plays by herself for a minute.

And, there will also be the time of day where I will make the decision to leave the house to write, or stay home and clean, or go to the fitness center for a half-hour on the treadmill, or just catch up on Glee with Chris. And if I choose not to go write, I will feel guilty all day. And then I will vow to write after Charlotte is in bed for the night and Chris is at work, but most times my brain will be too tired, and I will just watch a rerun of Roseanne and go to bed. I will feel guilty about that, too. And, though I will never stop trying to make writing a part of my daily routine, I will try to be kind to myself when it doesn't happen and remind myself that this is the time I carved out in my life to be home with my daughter.

It's dizzying and exhausting and all-consuming right now. But it won't always be like this. And, I will miss the sweetness of her voice as she asks me again and again to play with her or tell her a story. I will miss the way her laugh sounds right now, even though I am sure I will never stop loving her laugh. This is our time. Before school and friends and teachers and boys. I will miss these days of no order and routine.

Though, someday maybe "our" time will involve getting together for margaritas, and that would be pretty nice, too. I probably won't even have to tell her a princess story.

Bloggers, Booze, and Bravery: My BlogHer11 Highlights

2011-08-10T05:00:00.000-07:00

I got home from BlogHer on Sunday, and I had an incredible time. I would love to tell you that I met a ton of new people, but that is much harder than I thought it would be. However, I did get to know a handful of people really well, and that is a lot better in my book. I walked away feeling like I had new friends. I might not have found a lot of new people to read my blog, but there's always next year!

View from the hotel room

I found a couple of the sessions helpful (and a couple were good just for gawking and/or mockery,) but I probably learned the most just by talking to my roommates, Ginger and Brooke, and a few other people I had the pleasure of chatting with. I have many, many, MANY ideas on how to improve this space, but I will spare you the chatter and work on actually making those changes.

Instead, here are some highlights of my BlogHer experience:

I was in a flash mob (Here's the video. I'm in the back. You can't see me, but I swear I'm there!) I have always wanted to do this, but never actually thought I would get the chance. So, when Ginger signed up with a group of San Diego bloggers trying to put one of these together and asked me if I'd like to join, I immediately said "YES!" It wasn't until I started watching the videos to learn the dance that I started second-guessing my decision. First of all, Theresa, who choreographed and filmed herself doing the dance, is such an amazing dancer, I just couldn't fathom being able to do what she was doing. I was seriously getting cold feet, but Ginger convinced me to stick with it, and I am SO glad I did. I might have messed up a few of the steps, and I might have almost knocked Ginger to the ground by spinning directly into her, but I don't think anyone noticed, and it was a bunch of fun.

I read one of my blog posts in front of a roomful of people. The "Listen To Your Mother" show was holding an open mic night where you could throw your name into a drawing for a chance to read the post of your choice. Heart pounding, I threw my name into the humor section and listened to some wonderful readings, some hilarious, some moving, some both, while simultaneously hoping my name would be called and that it wouldn't. Finally, the suspense ended as my name was called, and I ambled up to the stage to read this post. Luckily, I wasn't the only person reading a post about postpartum sex, so it wasn't as inappropriate as I initially expected. It was a rush to have more people than have probably ever read my blog listening to my words, and it was an even bigger thrill when they laughed at all the right places. Definitely my favorite moment of the weekend.

Photo by Ginger

I met a blogger I really like and respect. I saw Anna of ABDPBT.com at The People's Party Thursday night, and I approached her to tell her how much I like her work. I expected that to be the end of it, so it was a very pleasant surprise when she recognized me from Twitter (or at least pretended to, but either way it was cool) and then chatted with me and Brooke for over an hour. She is hilarious and despite her unfortunate "hater" street cred, is really just a breath of fresh air from all the blind acceptance of all things related to the "blogging community." I'm glad I got a chance to meet her.

All in all, it was worth the cost of admission. The dancing and drinking helped with the missing my child, and the swag wasn't awful. I've heard lots of complaints, but, hey, I got a vibrator and a bottle of wine. In other words, HOT DATE WITH MYSELF. So, thanks for the memories, BlogHer.

The Pre-BlogHer Post...Sort Of

2011-08-01T21:51:00.000-07:00

So, let's see. It's been nearly two weeks since my last post. I don't know what to say except I'm sure we're all used to this sort of neglect to my poor blog. Also, I've been in and out of a weird funk these last few weeks. Maybe it's the heat, maybe it's hormones (a woman's most reliable scapegoat,) or maybe it's Chris's new hours at work that have added up to less time with him and LOTS of time alone with Charlotte. I suppose it's probably all of those things that have left me feeling stressed, irritable, and at times, overwhelmed.

Chris has been getting home around 5 A.M. lately which means he needs to sleep until about one or two in the afternoon, depending how poorly he sleeps with all the heat and noise daytime brings. So, Charlotte and I have long mornings together, which have lately been punctuated by measly 30-45 minute naps. When Chris gets up, I catch up on housework, bills, errands, and other such minutiae, while taking breaks to spend as much time with my husband as we can manage between playing dinosaur puppets and doing arts and crafts. Oh, and in case anyone was momentarily impressed by that latter statement, let me inform you that "arts and crafts" with our two-year-old is just a fancy way of saying "paint" and "glue paper to...other paper."

Yeah, yeah, you get it. I'm a mom, and I do mom things. And house things. Get over myself. I just feel lately like I can't breathe until the kid is in bed for the night. So, I'm sort of out of the loop all day when it comes to internet stuff. And, I don't always use my evening alone time to catch up the way I should. I am trying to remedy this now because after I return from BlogHer it's going to be even harder to keep up. I'm sure I will meet lots of people whose blogs I want to read and with whom I would like to correspond. So, I'm working on it.

I'm looking forward to the conference for lots of reasons. You know, meeting lots of new people, parties, maybe getting some inspiration for my writing and blog goals, and, of course, getting a break from my day to day life. But, then again, that is probably the only reason I also don't want to go. My day to day life can be hectic, and I'm exhausted, but I have never been away from my daughter for three whole nights. Never more than one night, in fact, and that's only been a handful of times. I'm nervous about it.

Charlotte is at an amazing age right now. Which is not to say there were times in her life where it would have been easy to leave her for three nights, but it might have been easier. She's just so much fun right now. She's started telling me "When I was a baby" stories. I love how she can just make stuff up on the spot. The other night she was walking up the stairs to go to bed, and she stopped, dropped to the ground, and said "I see a bug!" (No, she didn't.) She continued "When I was a baby, I saw a bug. A fider (spider.) A big fider. And he bit me. And I said "Maaaahhh." A couple days ago she made up a story about how she was petting and riding on whales. And she started riding a little scooter some friends of ours picked up for her at a garage sale. It's the kind with three wheels, so it doesn't tip over, and she just shuffles around on it wearing a little helmet, and OH MAN, is it adorable.

Then again...

The whole, stopping on the stairs to make up a story, while heartwarming and hilarious, is also just one of the many ways she drags her feet whenever it's time to do anything she finds even remotely distasteful, such as going to bed or heading up to her room to get dressed. Seriously, what is so hard about getting dressed? I'm doing it FOR you! Just raise your arms and let me dress you in whatever ridiculous outfit I let you choose for yourself. I don't get it. If I happen to suggest something she actually wants to leave the house to do, like the park, for example, she'll be all "Yeah! Let's go!" and start heading out the door in her pajamas. I'll tell her we need to get dressed first, and she'll tug on her shirt and say "How 'bout my jammies?" When I inform her we can't leave the house like that, she'll decide she doesn't want to go to the park after all. Kill me.

And, frankly, I suppose it will be nice to spend three days with people I don't have to ask ONE HUNDRED times to pick up their shoes or come to the table for dinner. And since I can plan on that scenario going on for pretty much the next eighteen years or so, I should probably just enjoy the reprieve while I can get it.

I suppose I should start packing...

Random Thoughts

2011-07-20T21:43:00.000-07:00

I realize the whole random thought deal is something many of you do on Tuesdays, but it's all I have the energy for today.I suppose a "Wordless Wednesday" post seems even easier, but see then I would have to walk upstairs to the desktop computer as it is where all of my pictures are stored. Yes, ALL the way upstairs. So, staying on the couch wins.

-Chris and I have this ongoing battle about the bedroom window being open during the night. I like it closed because I am an incredibly delicate sleeper, and I don't like the noise from the freeway, and I hate the sound of chirping birds at 5 A.M. I hissed at Chris for opening it when he got home from work in the middle of the night. Normally, he would concede, knowing how hard it is for me to sleep. But, this time he very firmly told me that since the entire apartment smells like fish, he's keeping it open. Confused, I rolled over and went to sleep. But, when I came downstairs this morning I could smell that he was right. I hunted for the smell in the fridge, the trashcan, and the counters before finding a pan I had used to cook mahi-mahi on...Monday, I think it was? It had been "soaking," and I forgot about it, I guess. Clearly, I am an excellent housekeeper.

-I just found a stray ant crawling on my leg. Fucking summer.

-Why is it so hard to get my child out the door to do anything? Even stuff she claims to really want to do. She'll be all excited about the pool or the library, but the second I start to initiate getting dressed or putting on shoes, or whatever needs to be done to leave, she starts whining about how she wants to stay home. We spend lots of time at home, but if I listened to her every time she claims she wants to stay in, I would never go anywhere, and then I would go crazy and drink even more wine than I already do. She always enjoys herself once we're out, and then she doesn't want to go home. It's more than a little maddening.

-Also maddening? The WHINING. Oh, GOD, THE WHINING! It's her default. She doesn't even try to get what she wants in a reasonable fashion before resorting to the grating and soul-crushing whining.

-My mom and her friend, Lynn, both loaned me a bunch of books because I was complaining about not having the money to buy new books. I have plenty of books on my shelf that I have yet to read, but they are mostly classics, and I realized I need to start reading more contemporary stuff so that I won't get overwhelmed and just stop reading all together like I do when I try to read only dense, period literature. And also because I realized I was missing out on good stuff. So, I'm reading The Help right now. I figured I'd give it a whirl since the movie is coming out soon. I'm liking it. It's not blowing my mind so far, but it's an easy and enjoyable read. And it didn't start out really slow like a lot of books, so I was able to dive right in.

-I'm starting to panic a little about BlogHer next month. I guess when I signed up in January, I figured I'd have my blog together a little more by now. I haven't even picked out my panels and figured out my schedule. I guess I'll just hope to have a good time, meet some new people, and learn what I can. I don't see this being a huge networking opportunity for me since my blog is still so...undefined. And, sporadically updated, too.

-I will be meeting Ginger on Sunday, and I am ridiculously excited about it. Well, there's nothing ridiculous about my excitement. Ginger is awesome.

Okay, that's enough randomness for now. Especially since it is now Thursday morning at 10 A.M. and my kid is still asleep. I could be reading! Or screwing around on Facebook. Whatevs

On Sleep and Summer

2011-07-11T21:40:00.000-07:00

First things first: I will update you on the sleeping situation. I decided to try being a little firmer about Charlotte going to sleep in her room by telling her very matter-of-factly that she was going to have to sleep in her room, I loved her, and so on, before walking out even as she was protesting. I knew if she screamed and got really upset, I would come back to her shortly, but if she settled down quickly enough, I wouldn't have to go back in. I was surprised at how well it worked. Sometimes I have to go back in, and other times she gives up and goes to sleep almost right away. It still makes me feel icky to leave her in there when she's crying, but then again, I guess I know her well enough to know when she really needs me, and I always respond to those cries.

Having said all that, if she wakes up in the middle of the night, she is usually upset, and I always take her to my bed at that point. But, I don't really mind that, as long as I get my evenings to myself. I feel comfortable with what I'm doing, but I also don't regret listening to her when she asked me not to leave her for those few weeks. She IS having some separation anxiety, and I'm trying to be as attentive as possible during the day because I think it alleviates some of the tension when it's time to put her to bed.

An example of her separation anxiety: today I was looking at a text from a friend on my phone. Charlotte walked up to me and hugged my legs. because I'm trying to be more attentive, I immediately put the phone down (instead of first finishing the text)and knelt down to hug her. She made a sort of whimper, and I asked her if she was okay. She said "yes," but she didn't seem okay, so I said "What's wrong?" She started bawling. I asked her once or twice what was the matter, but she didn't answer me. So, I just let her cry while I held her, and when she was calm I suggested we have a snack together. Having my full attention cheered her up right away. And bedtime tonight was a breeze. This isn't to say that I won't ever ask her to wait while I finish a conversation or a task, just that I am trying to be more sensitive while she is going through...whatever she's going through.

In other news, it's summer, and we've been enjoying ourselves. We haven't been to the beach yet, but we will hopefully be remedying that soon. We've been taking lots of trips to the pool, playing with bubbles and sidewalk chalk, taking walks, and going on day trips to the zoo and museums. It's funny how summer feels different, more leisurely, even when you aren't getting a break from anything. My life today is, for all intents and purposes, exactly the same as it was three months ago, but I feel like I'm on vacation. I guess it's all the sun.

I went in for the blood tests my doctor ordered after my last miscarriage. I don't remember what all the tests were, but there were ten vials of blood when I left there. Hopefully, I either find out that everything is fine, or we determine the problem and find a way to fix it. I have a lot of thoughts about getting starting to try for another baby, (which won't happen until next month at the earliest) but I guess I'm not quite ready to delve into them yet.

My brain feels like it's on vacation, too. So, instead of a proper closing, here is a picture of Charlotte showing off her haircut and style last week.

My Child is Broken. Help Me Fix Her.

2011-07-05T13:36:00.000-07:00

This morning, at 10:45 to be precise, I woke up in my bed, stretched my arms, and rolled onto my right side to find that my daughter's brilliant blue eyes were open.She smiled at me, gave me a hug, and we agreed to go downstairs to watch a little Toy Story 3.

Sounds heavenly, right? I'm sure to those of you whose kids wake up with the sun no matter how late they stay up, it sounds downright luxurious. Sleeping in till almost eleven? On a Wednesday? It's a dream come true!

Except it is more of a nightmare. While I am glad that after passing out from sheer exhaustion at 11 P.M. Charlotte didn't decide to greet the day at her usual time of 8 A.M., I am dismayed by the fact that she has been cranky from the moment she woke up and will most likely take a 2-3 hour nap to make up for how poorly she slept, then be up all night once more.

Or, there's the even more dire possibility that she will NOT nap, and STILL be up until all hours. It can go either way with her. And, yes, the nap would save me a lot of sanity (though from the sounds coming from upstairs, I'm not optimistic) but what I really need is for her to be on something resembling a toddler's schedule, as opposed to that of a teenager on summer vacation.

***

Okay, many hours have passed since I started this post. Update: she did not nap. And she was less than pleasant for the remainder of the day. It was quite the debacle. Chris usually has great luck with putting her down for naps and even sometimes for bed. But, lately she has been freaking out if I'm not around, and once I am in the room with her, there is little chance of me leaving it without her.

So, here's what's going on: I take Charlotte up to her room for her vitamin and to have her teeth brushed. We read a couple stories. I sing her a couple songs. We turn out the light, she gives me a big hug, I put her in her crib, tell her "Goodnight" and walk out.

Or, at least that's how it used to happen. The last week or so has gone more like this: Charlotte prolongs story time as long as possible. Even after I tell her the story we are reading is the last one, and she agrees to this, she says "Again?" or "Different book?" as soon as I am done reading. She starts whining about wanting to come to my bed before I even sing her songs. We turn off the light (after much cajoling,) and right as I am about to put her in bed, or right as I am about to leave, she starts crying.

I struggle with this part a lot, but sometimes I walk out anyway. If the crying abates within a minute or two, I don't go back in. I feel guilty for the rest of the night, but I am glad that she's asleep. If, however, the crying doesn't stop and gets more intense as the seconds pass, I go back in.

I hold her. I rock her. I tell her that I know she can go to sleep in her crib. That she's a big girl. It doesn't matter. At this point, I'm basically stalling because she WILL end up coming to my bed. She cries so hard and asks so pitifully, that not only do I end up caving, I also feel like a horrible parent for even trying to get her to sleep in her own bed in the first place. I know. I'm a huge wimp.

But, seriously, the crying is very unsettling. And she says things like, "Don't leave me here!" Or, she'll ask (through sobs) "Can you go get your bed ready?" I know it sounds like I'm being a wimp, but I get the feeling she's going through something. If I'm rocking her to sleep in the rocking chair, which doesn't work anymore, by the way, and she starts to doze off, she will startle herself awake, and her eyes will frantically search for me. Only after she is sure I'm still there will she start to doze again. But, once I try to lay her down in her crib, even if she appears to be asleep, she'll cry and cling to me.

Once I acquiesce and bring her to my bed, a new battle begins. She tries to talk to me and play. I tell her it's time to sleep and try to ignore her. She nudges me with her elbow or drapes her entire body over me. Anything to get my attention. Last night we were in my bed for an hour, after being in HER room for an hour, when I gave up. I know how stupid it is to reward her for not sleeping, but I hadn't eaten dinner, and I needed a break. So, I brought her downstairs and let her watch a little bit of a movie while I ate and tried to psyche myself up for the next round.

By the time we went back upstairs to my room (She started hyperventilating at the very thought of going to her room, so I didn't even try) she was so exhausted that she passed out in five minutes. Then she slept so restlessly that no one really got enough sleep. She talks in her sleep. Sometimes she laughs, but usually she seems upset. She calls for me a lot in her sleep. Sometimes she wakes up and has to find me and be touching me in some way before she will go back to sleep. Once, she woke up, and I was in the bathroom. She SCREAMED.

So, what do you guys think? Am I being a big wimp, or does she really need me? And, in either case, what can I do about this since it is clearly not working? Any and all opinions are welcome.

Miserable Failure

2011-06-24T11:52:00.000-07:00

This has been sort of an off week for me. In my life I strive for a balance between doing all the obligatory grown-up things I have to do, such as keeping the house clean(ish), paying bills, grocery shopping, and doing the fun things in life like taking my daughter to the pool or going out with a friend. Writing doesn't fit neatly into either category, but it is also a very big part of the equation.

Basically this week I accomplished the fun stuff with zest and let pretty much everything else slide. I went out and sang karaoke with a friend on Saturday night and maaaaaybe got a little carried away. I sang about a dozen songs, either solo or with a group, and drank three margaritas. So, I spent most of Father's Day hungover. I know, I'm a real catch, right? In my defense, I still made him breakfast and dinner and presented him with gifts. I just did it all with a splitting headache and a general sense of malaise.

I took Charlotte to the zoo this week and to the Skirball Cultural Center in Los Angeles where we FINALLY got in to the Noah's Ark exhibit. If you are in the L.A. area and have kids, do this! It's very cool. Everything is made from recycled material, and the kids can touch, play with, and climb on it all. Just don't make the same mistake as I did and wear a skirt. If your child is under four, you will have to accompany them up the rope ladders and crawl around on your hands and knees on suspended wooden planks.

The front of the ark

"The snake is eating my arm!"

In the midst of all this fun, I neglected to...you know what? No. I was going to say that I neglected some of my responsibilities, and then I was going to wrap it all up with a, "Well, maybe I am being too hard on myself" sort of thing. But, I can't do it. I'm done beating myself up. I don't even want to wait until the end of this blog post to stop the flagellating. I sent Chris to work with dinner every night, I did laundry, I baked (twice!), I even managed to go to the gym once. So, maybe I never sent that form to my student loan company, and maybe there are more crumbs on the floor than there are in my vacuum, and maybe I can't even remember the last time I dusted, but I think what I have accomplished is much more important.

I played with my kid. I took her to places that she enjoyed and where she got to spend time with her cousins and her "fwiends." I hung out with my husband during Charlotte's naps. I left the television off at night after she went to bed and actually read a book (Have I mentioned I'm reading Lolita? I've never been so simultaneously impressed and disturbed.) I spent time with friends. I am constantly having to remind myself that just because I'm enjoying my life doesn't mean I'm not doing it right.

The only thing I regret from this week is that I didn't write. Plans were foiled by a power outage, a couple of late naps/messed up bedtimes, and a scary train thundering past our apartment right after I put Charlotte to bed last night, which somehow resulted in her being WIDE awake until 11 P.M. But, hey, there's always next week. And I wrote *this*, right?

I guess I'm not such a miserable failure after all!

Table For...?

2011-06-13T20:56:00.000-07:00

If you live in Southern California and have recently noticed a creepy, blonde woman staring at you while you are out with your family, well, I'm sorry about that.

See, ever since all of this went down, and I'm uncertain about the future of our family plans, I've become a little preoccupied with the dynamics of other families. So, I find myself watching families interact to see how people function with one kid, two or more kids, kids a year or two apart, kids who seem to be three or more years apart, and so on. I'm especially interested in what will necessarily be one of the only possible scenarios for us at this point: kids three or more years apart or an only child. I've come to terms with the former option. I've even embraced it. I ask myself frequently if I would really want to have another child right now, and the answer is always "No." Up until recently, I couldn't really imagine Charlotte functioning well with a sibling. Does that mean we wouldn't have been ecstatic to welcome another child into our lives before this point? Of course not. It would have been great. I just think it will be even better in a year or so.

Lately, I've even started wondering if I could be satisfied with having Charlotte be an only child. Or rather, could we possibly choose that path voluntarily? Sometimes I am just so exhausted by the all-consuming fervor of loving and raising this child. She is a FORCE. It can occasionally feel like too much. How could I possibly find the energy to laugh more, love more, worry more, feel more aggravation, more awe, more staggering wonderment at this fiery little creature who loves and needs me?

But, of course, I could. It happens every day. Every day there is a parent worrying about not being able to find room in their heart for another child, and then when the time comes, they do it. And, I want that. I want another child to love this deeply. The prospect is as exhilarating as it is terrifying.

And, maybe I will have that. Maybe in a year. Or two. Or three. I have no way of knowing. So, I study the siblings out there to try and prepare myself for all the possibilities. A few weeks ago I watched a girl of about seven hover over her sister of about two the pool. She was very maternal, very bossy, and very concerned for her little sister. It wasn't the relationship I had always envisioned for Charlotte and her theoretical sibling. I had hoped they would be peers, and that they would play together, tell each other secrets, make each other laugh. But, it was also very sweet to see the adoration in the younger girl's eyes for her big sister and the tender way in which the older girl fussed over her. And who is to say that they don't play and make each other laugh? I think I could get on board with that scenario.

I wish I had a crystal ball that could tell me exactly what the future holds for our family. Because that's really the worst part for me: the not knowing. If I could know that our kids would be exactly 4.5 years apart, I'd say "Great! Can't wait. I will continue to enjoy my life as a family of three until it's time to get knocked up, and then I'll start raising two kids!" I would even welcome the absolute knowledge that Charlotte will be our only child. I would grieve the loss of the family of my dreams, but once I accepted it, I could go on with my life without worrying about getting pregnant and staying that way. I could start solidifying my career plans for when Charlotte starts school. I could start planning international trips for our permanently small family. I could make it work.

But, I don't know what will happen. If I am able to get pregnant again, I won't know that I'll be able to stay that way. I'll worry. I'll panic. I'll assume the worst. If I see even a hint of blood on my toilet paper, I will KNOW that it's all over. It won't matter how common spotting is because experience has taught me that it's the end for my pregnancy. And I will waste no time in rebelling by eating all the lunch meat and sushi I can find, drinking a couple gallons of coffee, a bottle of wine, and snorting coke off a hooker's stomach.

Okay, maybe that's a tad dramatic. I'll skip the coffee. Just in case.

In all seriousness, I am enjoying not trying to get pregnant at the moment. I have been trying to make the most of this stage by going out with friends, planning trips, and arranging date nights. It's freeing to not be obsessing about a potential pregnancy and just enjoying life in the moment. I am looking forward to taking my daughter to the beach and splashing in the waves with her with nothing to distract me. But, it's looming, this unavoidable preoccupation with expanding our family and all the doubt and uncertainty that it entails.

I just hope that these months spent healing will pay off and I'll handle it better than I expect.

I'll drink to that. BECAUSE I CAN RIGHT NOW! There's always a bright side.

What's on YOUR Face?

2011-06-07T21:47:00.000-07:00

I'm in a makeup phase right now. I put it on most days before leaving the house. Even if I'm not going anywhere particularly exciting. I have a sort of complicated relationship with makeup. And, I'm telling you this because Clara told me to, and I always do what Clara tells me to do.

Okay, so this is probably the first time Clara has ever told me to do something. And, she didn't so much *tell* me as suggest that I write about my on-again-off-again love affair with the face paint when I alluded to some complicated feelings in the comments of this post.

I don't always wear makeup. At least not the way I have been lately. Sometimes it's just a bit of pressed powder and some lip gloss. Or some eyeliner if I'm feeling particularly crazy. These days I can be found strolling the aisles of Target with a face full of the stuff: foundation, blush, eye shadow, mascara, and my old friend, lip gloss. And by "these days" I mean the last four or five days. In a few more days I'll probably be back to wearing...chapstick. And, I'll continue to go back and forth for probably the rest of my life. I have Multiple Makeup Personality Disorder.

As a little girl I loved dressing up, painting my nails, and those rare occasions I was allowed to play with my mom's or my babysitter's makeup stash. I remember one day my babysitter, Linda, was putting makeup on me, my sister, and her daughter, Jennifer. Jenny and I are blonde, and my sister is brunette. I remember Linda telling us that blondes should wear darker makeup to contrast with our light hair, and girls with dark hair should wear lighter makeup. This pretty much contrasts with my current, though admittedly limited, knowledge of makeup rules. But, hey, it was the eighties! So, somewhere there exists a picture of my sister in a yellow sundress with the most delicate and "barely there" makeup on her face, standing next to what appear to be a couple of underage hookers. It's hilarious. Ah, I miss those days!

I spent most of my adolescence trying to figure out how to wear makeup properly. I endured lectures from my friends on how I wasn't following the curve of my lips with the lipliner. They helped me pick out shades of powder that would supposedly match my skin tone. I can't tell you how many times I have attempted "smokey eyes," only to have to wipe all the shadow off my lids immediately afterwards. Because when I do it, "smokey eyes" translates to "punched in the eyes."

And then there's the nail polish. I don't think I'm alone in this because otherwise we wouldn't have manicures, but I cannot for the life of me paint my own damn nails. And much like the eye shadow, there have been many occasions where I have no sooner put the stuff on when I'm wiping it all off due to a messy application. I once painted my nails black in a hurry to get to a goth nightclub. I hastily painted them while crouching behind the counter of the retail store where I was working. I got in the car before they had even dried, and by the time I arrived, it looked like I had just finished changing the oil in my car. Chris used to be really good at painting my nails neatly, and let's face it, that's pretty much why I married him. But, the other day I handed him some fuchsia polish, and the end result was DISASTER. Clearly grounds for divorce.

After twenty years or so of experimenting, I finally know how to look like a human when I walk out the door in makeup. More specifically, a human NOT dressed as a clown. But, I have found myself so conflicted about it lately. It isn't a feminist thing. I don't worry that shaving my legs and wearing lipstick makes me any less empowered than other women. After all, if we believe the mantra, feminism is about choice. So, there shouldn't be anything wrong with choosing to get dolled up if we feel like it. Of course, one could argue that I only *think* I want to do these things because I have been TRAINED BY SOCIETY, DAMNIT! But let's not swim in those murky waters right now.

I think my struggle comes more from the fact that I tend to gravitate to the more natural side of things. I try to clean with and bathe with as few chemicals as possible, generally. I buy as many natural and plant-based products as I can afford. And sometimes I get a little idealistic about wanting to look authentic and unencumbered by artificial cosmetics. Until I start to really examine my acne scars. Or the red splotches all over my face. Or my teeny, tiny eyelashes. Then I start rethinking how "authentic" I really want to look.

Or else I'll just see someone with really pretty makeup. And, I want some, too. Or I'm confronted with the rainbow of lipgloss shades. Good GOD, do I love a good lip gloss. Or sometimes I'm a five year old, and I just want to cover myself with pink sparkles from head to toe. These are the times my idealism goes out the window, and I start cruising the cosmetics aisle.

I may never commit to one style, one makeup philosophy. I may continue to be as indecisive and impressionable as I am today. But, maybe I'll just continue to hold cute babies next to my face, and no one will ever now the difference.

Right?

Tales of a Traveler

2011-06-06T21:01:00.000-07:00

I've been meaning to blog about my trip since I got back. But, it's sort of a daunting task since there is, in a way, so much to say, and yet also so little. I mean, a lot happened in the eight days that we were gone, but how much of it needs to be said? Let's find out, shall we?

So, Charlotte and I survived the red-eye flight to JFK. That is big news in and of itself. She slept for about four hours of the five-hour flight. The first hour she was far too excited to sleep. As we were preparing to take off, she bounced ever so slightly in her seat and proclaimed "Here we go!" every few seconds. Then, once we were in the air she chattered happily about being in an airplane and asking questions about her surroundings and where we were going. Once she finally fell sleep, I tried to do the same, but the turbulence popped up and was all, "Hey! Hello there. I see you are trying to sleep, but I would just like to remind you that you are thousands of feet in the air in an airplane that may or may not fall out of the sky. So, keep alert. Constant vigilance!"

So, I didn't sleep until after the hunting for the bags, finding my sister, (who graciously picked us up from the airport at a perfectly ridiculous time in the morning) and finally arriving at her apartment. The next few days were marked by periods of leisurely sipping wine on the back porch, taking Charlotte to the park, and visiting with my sister's friends, permeated by episodes of panic, planning, making wedding favors, arguing, packing, laundry, and getting Charlotte to sleep in an unfamiliar environment. The madness was unavoidable. Weddings are joyous, but stressful times. I tried to remind my sister and her now-husband of that fact, but no one wants advice (however sage, if I do say so myself) when they are in the throes of wedding angst.

Charlotte hangs out with her new uncle

Stress mounted as the big day drew nearer, but we also managed to sneak in some fun times. We took my sister out for dinner, and then her friends took her dancing as a sort of tame bachelorette party. Though, I did hear a rumor about a veil lined with little, plastic penises. Unfortunately I do not have a picture to show you of that. We also took a midnight swim in the indoor pool the night before the wedding.

I woke up on the morning of the wedding to a text from my sister telling me that she was nervous and could feel it in her entire body. I rushed over there to find her two best friends already taking good care of her. The day seemed to lull as we had our hair done, played with the kids, ordered pizza, and put together the finishing touches on our outfits, when all of a sudden it was time to go, and we were scrambling to get out the door on time.
My kind of bride!

My mom gets Charlotte ready to go

I'm one of those people who always cries at weddings. Always. Sometimes I don't even know exactly what is setting off the waterworks. But, as I watched my little sister being escorted down the aisle of the palatial church by our father, I knew exactly why I was crying. She was just so damn beautiful. The most beautiful bride I have ever seen, hands down. And, all of a sudden we were kids again, walking down the hallway of our house with veils made of pillowcases, arguing over whose fake wedding was the more elegant and whose imaginary husband the most handsome. I was overwhelmed by the sight of the little girl I once knew transformed into a gorgeous bride, now a wife. I can't explain it, really. After all, we are only two years apart. And, I don't see her as a little girl in our everyday lives. She is my peer. My confidant. My friend. But, I was hit with a wave of nostalgia the day of her wedding, and it was nearly impossible to keep from weeping all through the ceremony.

We're not exactly dressed as brides here, but you get the idea.

And here we are post wedding. Gorgeous, isn't she?

But, I made it through, and we all enjoyed the lavish reception and coming together the way we do best: on the dance floor. Charlotte danced all night. She danced with her daddy, her grandparents, and with anyone who happened to be near. But, mostly with her daddy. She even protested when Chris tried to walk away from the music with her after we thought she had fallen asleep on his shoulder. I'm sure we looked like incredible parents, what with the comatose child that we seemingly would not take off the dance floor.
All. Night. Long.

The next day Chris, Charlotte, and I ventured to New York City with Chris's mom, sister, Janay, and her boyfriend, Josh. We had a really nice hotel in Times Square and spent a day and a half just wandering around, braving the subway, taking Charlotte to an awesome playground in Central Park, and ending the trip with seeing "The Lion King" on Broadway.

So, you know how that particular show is famous for its opening number? You know how during "The Circle of Life" all the animals approach the stage from the back of the theater, and it's really incredible? Yeah. Well, I don't. Because my husband was in charge of the tickets.

We all kept asking him what time the show started, and he told us over and over again that it started at 7:30. So, imagine our surprise when we were drinking wine in our hotel room, chatting with my sister and her husband who had come to watch Charlotte, when Chris looked at the tickets and announced that the show started at 7:00.

It was 7:06.

We kissed the baby goodbye and sprinted the two blocks to the theater, where we were escorted to our seats as the opening number was ending. I was crushed. And, Chris felt so guilty it was almost impossible to be mad at him. Almost. But, after profuse apologizing and promises of tickets to future shows, I had to forgive him. And, the rest of the show was phenomenal. We'll go back and catch that opening act when Charlotte is old enough to see it with us. And I will be in charge of the tickets.

So, that's about it. We came home the next day, and I've been doing laundry ever since. And Charlotte has been making up for lost time with her toys. And Chris is going to work. You know. Business as usual.
We'll miss you, New York. You and your kick ass playground.

Today's the Day

2011-05-23T14:12:00.000-07:00

Well, I've been looking forward to and dreading this day for months now. Today Charlotte and I embark on a 5 and a half hour journey to New York to begin the festivities for my little sister's wedding. I'm very excited to see my sister and her fiancée, see where they live, and to celebrate their big day. But, I will miss Chris. Charlotte and I will both miss him. A LOT. The wedding is this weekend in Rhode Island, and we won't be seeing him until Saturday. We're just going to Long Island to spend some time with the bride and groom and help out in any way we can. Well, I'll help. Charlotte will probably prove to be rather useless in wedding preparations.

And, of course, I am nervous about the journey with a headstrong and rambunctious two-year-old. Especially because due to some poor planning on my part, I'm basically guaranteeing that neither one of us gets a good night's rest. See, I thought an overnight flight was brilliant. Charlotte will sleep through most of the flight, and when she isn't sleeping I'll let her watch movies on my iPod, which is sure to keep her entertained, especially since she has never done that before. But, what you may be thinking, and what I failed to consider, is that a five and a half hour flight, even if she slept the entire time (which she WON'T) is not nearly enough sleep for ME, let alone a child who typically sleeps for twelve hours a night. So, unless a miracle involving her sleeping through the landing, a transfer to her stroller, a walk to baggage claim, a transfer into her car seat, and a transfer to a bed after the car ride home, (in other words: HA!)we're looking at a pretty miserable child the next day or so. A child who has the capacity to make those around her miserable, as well. I don't really sleep on planes, so I'll be a zombie, too. So, that was incredibly smart of me.

The trip is going to be great, though. I get to see my baby sister, most of my family, meet up with a very good friend whom I've never met, which I am ridiculously excited about, watch my sister get married, which is so surreal and wonderful, I can't even describe it, and top the whole thing off with a couple days in NYC and a Broadway show with some of my husband's family. I'm thrilled.

I just hope we make it over there in one piece...

Wordless Wednesday: Learning to Share

2011-05-11T19:53:00.000-07:00

A couple weeks ago I was in the ER for an afternoon. Chris was with Charlotte in the waiting room since they won't let her into the back with me. Chris decided to buy Charlotte a bag of popcorn from the vending machine as a snack. She wasn't interested in sharing, but he informed her that if he was going to open the bag for her, she would have to share.

So, what did my child do? She walked over to a teenage girl sitting a few seats down and asked HER to open the bag. Perplexed, the girl opened the bag. Chris thought he had never been so embarrassed. That is, until Charlotte walked as far away from Chris as she possibly could and ate her popcorn from a safe distance, while periodically shouting across the room, "YOU CAN'T HAVE SOME, DADDY!"

Eating her popcorn away from Daddy's grabby hands

That Totally Average Day I Bought Condoms

2011-05-03T20:45:00.000-07:00

Today was a sort of dull, average day. But it was a good day. It was the first day in a couple weeks that my body seemed back to normal after everything it's been through. I found some sunglasses of the not-giant variety (Seriously, ladies. Must our sunglasses cover our entire face? When is this trend going to die?) Of course, the sunglasses would be a bigger triumph if they were prescription lenses that didn't make all road signs vaguely out of focus. But, those would have cost me a lot more than ten bucks. And, according to the DMV I don't need corrective lenses to drive. So, I probably won't crash my car into the side of a mountain. Probably.

We took Charlotte to the pool this evening, which is sort of hilarious, if not maddening. See, she likes to be in the "big pool" instead of the foot and a half wading pool, which would be fine, except she doesn't want to be held. So, it's a lot of her "swimming" back and forth on the stairs while I walk alongside her with my hands at the ready to catch her when she falls or when she decides surely all this practice has been sufficient and she can swim the length of the pool by now. She's really interested in putting her face in the water and does it over and over again even after sputtering and coughing up pool water after each attempt. Kid's got moxy. What can I say?

But, I suppose the highlight of my day was at Target when I had to take care of our brand new "No Babies for Three Months" situation. It doesn't make sense to use anything hormonal since we'll be trying again soon, so that left...well, condoms. I don't know why I'm so squeamish about condoms. Maybe because in the twelve years we've been together, we haven't really needed them. And, the few times we have, Chris was always the one to get them. He was more than willing to do it this time, but I was already going to the store. Why not get them myself? It would be silly to make him do it.

So, I stood in front of the different varieties for what seemed like a very long time. I was quite surprised at how many options the condom user is offered: ribbed, of course, that's nothing new. But, did you know they make condoms that can offer you a hot and/or cold sensation? I don't even know how that works! Or if it's something people would want. I do have to say that there seem to be quite a few of these gimmicks designed to help the ladies out, IF you know what I mean...

In the end, however, I settled on the most very basic pack I could find. Mainly because I was clearly in way over my head when it came to this decision-making process, but also because I was painfully aware of the woman and her two children standing mere inches from me while waiting to talk to the pharmacist. For whatever reason, I was embarrassed. And, I felt like I was doing something sinister. Like, here I am perusing prophylactics, while these poor, innocent children are just trying to get their cough medicine, and surely I am offending their very innocence with my proximity. I felt like telling their mother, "You know, I'm not buying these to have casual sex with a random stranger. I'm married, and we have a kid, and we want another one, but my doctor said I have to wait three months on account of my two miscarriages." Am I an idiot, or what? This chick probably didn't even notice what I was shopping for and probably wouldn't have cared.

This summer is going to be interesting. I think, impatient as I am to get started on expanding our family, it is going to be really nice to spend these next few months just enjoying my family and enjoying the freedom of not either trying to conceive, being pregnant, or nursing for the first time in over five years. I can drink a venti iced coffee with no guilt! I can hike and have a second glass of wine. Did I say "second?" I meant third.

It's bittersweet, to be sure. There are constant reminders of the milestones I would have been reaching had either of these pregnancies stuck. Yesterday Charlotte inexplicably pointed to my belly and asked "Where's your baby?" I honestly can't figure out how that happened since we weren't discussing it with her, but I guess we underestimated her capacity for understanding our discussions with one another. So, it's still difficult, and even though I'm riding the silver lining pretty hard, I'm not able to completely shut out the pain.

But, life is good.

Very, very good.

To the Potty! Or...Not

2011-04-29T14:13:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I was freaking out on Twitter about the fact that at this point when we have a second kid there will be at least three years in between Charlotte and her sibling. Everyone was quick to reassure me that it will be fine, that they know plenty of people with kids three and four years apart who get along just fine, and most importantly, many people reminded me how much easier it will be to have a baby with a slightly older child who can help.

My sister and I are two years apart, and most everyone I know has kids anywhere from fourteen months to two years apart, so in a way it's all I know and the reason I felt like I wanted to do it that way. But, in the end I realized that while a closer spacing might work well for some families, for our family it's probably best to let Charlotte get a little older. Right now she has no interest in babies, unless you count her interest in being really mean to her baby doll. She's also extremely high maintenance, volatile, jealous, and above all, STILL IN DIAPERS.

That's right. At this point in time, my number one consolation for the fact that I will have another year or so before having my oh-so-wanted second child is the fact that I won't have to change two sets of diapers. And that's not even a definite because this kid has NO interest in potty training. Like, at all.

I'm a believer in following her lead, not pressuring her, and trusting her to not remain in diapers forever. But, I figured giving her a few nudges, introducing her to the idea, and then stepping back when she resisted would be my strategy. So, I asked her if she would like to own some underwear, and she seemed excited. She picked out some Minnie underwear, we came home, and I put them on her. She loved them. They were soft! And "niiiiice!" I kept reminding her she would need to sit on the potty (which we'd owned for a while,) that these were not to be peed in. She brushed me off with a curt "Yeah." And then she peed in the first pair. And the second. When she even further defiled the third pair, we called it quits. This was clearly a stupid plan.

I resigned myself to the fact that she wasn't ready. Perhaps she wasn't even able to tell me she needed to go before it was happening. So, I backed off. I mean, she's only just turned two. What's my rush? She'll let me know when she's ready.

And yet, I AM in a rush. I really couldn't even tell you why. Diapers have never been a big deal to me. Changing them is simply what you do as a parent. It can be a little annoying at times, but it was never high on my list of grievances, until recently. But, after two years of mostly uneventful changing sessions, things have gotten contentious between Charlotte and her Official Diaper Changers. She doesn't want her diaper changed right now, thank you very much. She is too busy playing. "Well, okay. We'll change you in a few minutes." Nope. Still not interested. Oh, good. Now she's screaming. I just took a kick to the rib...you get the idea.

She's gotten better about the whole thing, but it's mentally exhausting to have to use so much psychology to get her to lie down willingly so that I can have the great honor of wiping her butt. We have to warn her, prepare her, give her little tasks along the way to make her feel like she's helping. It's quite taxing.

So, yesterday, when she announced she'd like to go potty while we were running errands, I took the bait. And, I took it with gusto. I whisked her to Target where I explained the concept of Pull-Ups to her. I know many experts say to skip these and go straight to underwear, but she's clearly not there yet, and I wanted to ride the momentum I thought we were gaining. So, as I'm explaining how she gets to pull them up and down herself "Just like underwear!" she spots the Toy Story pack and says "How 'bout Woody and Buzz?" Sure! Sure thing! Let's get them! Now let's go pick out a potty!

Charlotte's pediatrician recommended the seats that rest on top of a toilet seat. She said they are softer than most potties and that many kids like to feel that they are using a grown up potty. So, we went down another aisle where Charlotte agonized for a few minutes over her choices before finally settling on a Sesame Street cushion.

The whole ride home I was trying to pump up the excitement. Lots of "You're gonna use the potty! Hooray! And you'll get jellybeans! (Yes, jellybeans. I don't want to hear it.) And you're gonna wear Woody and Buzz Pull-Ups! Yeah! Best day ever!"

We get home, and I immediately begin setting everything up, still chattering with excitement over the momentous occasion that was about to take place. When, all of a sudden, I stop talking long enough to hear some very obvious grunting. I leaped into action. "Charlotte, are you pooping?" No answer. "Why don't you poop on the potty so you can get jellybeans?" "Okay!" Except we were too late. And for the rest of the day whenever she would agree to sit on the potty, she'd say "Pee, pee. Jellybeans, now!" I explained that she had to pee "for real" to get jellybeans. "Pee for real! Jellybeans!" "Um, no." She pressed on: "Pooping, pooping. Jellybeans!" This wasn't working.

When it was time to take her soaked Pull-Up off and replace it with a new one she requested "No Pull-Up. Just diaper."

Yeah, we're done. Son of a bitch.

Well, This is Getting Redundant

2011-04-27T20:14:00.001-07:00

So, yeah. That pregnancy I was so excited about in my last post? Turns out, not so much.

If you read this blog, chances are you heard this news on Twitter or Facebook when it happened last week. Because of that I was almost tempted to just skip writing about it. Everybody knows. Let's just move on. And yet, here I am.

I think we're fine. Chris is performing his usual role of making sure I'm taken care of, perhaps in the process ignoring his own pain. We talk about it a little. We're both angry. We're both sad. I'm worried about being able to have another baby. Chris either isn't worried or is pretending not to be for my sake. I try not to dwell on all the energy we put into this pregnancy. All the fear, the worry, the bleeding, the countless trips to the doctor, to urgent care, even the ER. If I think of the time, energy, money, and especially all the hope we put into this pregnancy I start to feel sorry for myself. And I get whiny. And, I suppose it's okay to whine about something like this for a little while, but I need to do what I didn't do last time. I need to move on. I need to heal.

I knew it was careless to try and get pregnant so quickly after the last miscarriage. I knew not giving ourselves time to properly grieve before we were right back where we started would be immeasurably hard. But, I also didn't really think I would have two miscarriages in a row. I arrogantly assumed the miscarriage had been a fluke, and even though I knew it was POSSIBLE to lose this pregnancy, too, I have to admit, I didn't think it was probable.

When I went to urgent care a week ago with some spotting, I hoped the outcome would be the same as all the other trips to a doctor, post-bleeding. It wasn't. She couldn't find a heartbeat, but told me her machine was really sub-standard. It had a low resolution and didn't always pick up the heartbeat. She told me to see my doctor the next day. My doctor wasn't available. But, guess who was! If you guessed "The Really Horrible Doctor from Last Time Who Shouldn't Be Allowed Anywhere Near Pregnant Women" you are correct!

Now, I will say this about him: after careful examination, I don't think he is TRYING to be horrible. I think he's just been doing this way too long and maybe needs some updated sensitivity training. Or to retire. But that doesn't make it any less traumatic when, after trying in vain to locate the heartbeat (and, bless him, he TRIED) he squints hard while looking into the monitor and says, "I don't think this baby is alive!" And then says it about four more times. He also said something to the effect of "Don't shoot the messenger." Many of you will be pleased to know I have decided to file a complaint.

So, what's next? Well, my doctor is ordering a test to be done in a few weeks which will determine whether or not I have a blood-clotting disorder that could be causing miscarriages. My progesterone was on the low side this time, so I'm sure we will be monitoring that the next time I find myself pregnant. Basically, the plan is to work with my doctor this time in planning and achieving a healthy pregnancy when my body has healed, rather than sneaking behind her back and trying to get knocked up in a few weeks.

I don't know if my body not being properly healed from the last miscarriage had anything to do with this one. And, really, it doesn't matter. What matters to me most this time is that I give us all time to heal emotionally. I think my family needs and deserves some time to enjoy our wonderful lives without countless trips to the doctor and a ton of anxiety. we might find ourselves there again someday, but right now I want to play with my daughter without worrying if I missed a phone call from a doctor. I want to have some conversations with my husband that don't begin with him asking me how much I've been spotting lately. I want to go to my sister's wedding next month and dance and drink champagne without silently panicking about my boobs not feeling sore enough or not having enough nausea.

I want to thank everyone for all the support. I know this has been exhausting for those of us living it, but also for those of you who have rejoiced and mourned with us twice now in such a short period of time. I promise not to put you through this again. For a few months, at least...

Here we Go Again...

2011-04-11T21:02:00.000-07:00

First of all I just want to thank everyone for your comments on Charlotte’s birthday post. I feel terrible that I never responded to those of you who said such nice things about me and my daughter. It was greatly appreciated. I’ve been sucking at a lot of things lately: blogging, cleaning, remembering stuff. So, basically, things are no different than usual, except this time I have an excuse!

I’m pregnant. Eight weeks pregnant. Which means I got pregnant approximately two weeks after my miscarriage. Oh, and I totally did this on purpose. Which makes me kind of crazy. Though, I do want to clarify that Chris was in on it, too. I might be crazy, but I’m not “Trick My Husband into Getting Me Pregnant” crazy.

The reason I say that I’m crazy is that although it seemed at the time that the only thing to do was to get pregnant immediately as though it would somehow erase the pain of the miscarriage, it turned out that as soon as I saw the test I was filled with dread. I was thrilled, sure. But I instantly realized how badly I wanted this pregnancy to work and how completely pulverized I would be if I lost this baby, too. My anxiety was unbearable.

And then, just to really test me, my body started acting like an asshole. A week or two after I discovered I was pregnant, I started bleeding. I don’t mean spotting. I mean BLEEDING. So, I went to the emergency room with my husband, daughter, and the complete and utter certainty that I was having another miscarriage. I couldn’t even cry. I was too numb and a little busy internally yelling at myself for putting us all through this again. And almost no one knew I was pregnant, so I was also trying to figure out if I could keep it to myself this time or if I would run blubbering to my mom, effectively blindsiding her.

After three hours of waiting in a hospital bed while Chris played with Charlotte in the waiting room, an ultrasound, some blood work, and a LOT of boredom, I left the hospital that day knowing very little. It was too early to see anything on the ultrasound, but my HCG levels were still rising, meaning that I probably wasn’t having a miscarriage…yet. No one knew why I was bleeding, but since the bleeding had stopped and because something similar happened when I was pregnant with Charlotte, I held on to hope.

The weeks that followed brought spotting, multiple blood draws, several ultrasounds, a prescription for progesterone suppositories, another trip to Urgent Care, more bleeding, an explanation for the bleeding, and a lot more worrying. And yet, everything keeps progressing normally. I saw the baby’s heartbeat at six weeks, again at seven, and again last Friday at nearly eight weeks. I’ve started feeling nauseous, which was a huge relief to me. I mean, gross and annoying, but also reassuring.

I think at this point, I am pretty optimistic. I’m scared, and also totally prepared for the possibility of having another miscarriage. But, I also feel like this could be it. The one that sticks. Our next baby. And I’m (cautiously) pretty psyched about that. We haven’t really discussed it with Charlotte yet. She won’t understand it, I’m sure, but I do want to start preparing her soon. I think of all people I’m scared to tell her. Not because I’m worried about it upsetting her if something goes wrong; I’m sure she’d move on with no problem. It’s because the few times she would ask about the baby in my belly before she understood that it was gone, would kill me. I hate having to think of things like that, but I can hardly help it anymore.

On to the lighter side! I mentioned I was nauseous. It isn’t too awful yet. I haven’t actually thrown up; I just feel varying degrees of queasy all day, and it seems to get a little worse at night. I can eat. In fact I eat all the time. But, I am extremely specific about what I want. And what I want is rarely good for me. What is it about pregnancy that makes us want to eat crap? I honestly can’t remember the time I ate a vegetable, and that is NOT me. I usually love my veggies, but right now they sound disgusting. I bought a big bag of Reeses Peanut Butter Cups and threw the whole thing in the freezer. Chris pulled it out and said, “What the hell…oh, right. You’re pregnant.” I want burgers and fries and garlic bread and cookies. I’m trying to be good and not give in to the cravings, especially since I am going in to this pregnancy about fifteen pounds over my comfort level as it is. But, it is NOT easy, lemme tell ya’.

So, there you have it. I’m an insane person who will either have a beautiful baby in November or…not. So, keep your fingers crossed for the former.

Happy Birthday, Charlotte!

2011-03-23T22:35:00.000-07:00

Charlotte,

Today you are two years old. In some ways I can hardly believe it. As much as I loathe being cautioned to enjoy this time because "they grow so fast," it really can't be denied as truth. It feels like I waited so long to have you, and the time since I brought you into this world has gone more quickly than I anticipated, despite all the warnings.

But, at the same time, it doesn't surprise me at all that you are two. You're so much a part of me now, that it's difficult to believe there was ever a time I didn't spend my days with you. Is it possible that I used to wake up to an alarm clock instead of your grumpy voice calling for me to come get you, and your massive bed head, out of your crib? Could I really have gotten coffee at Starbucks without having to set you down and let you grab your own chocolate milk before you proceed to eat half of my scone?

I really don't even know how to begin telling you how much you have enriched our lives in the last two years. Being your mother has been an incredible experience, and it has changed me into a different person. Well, I'm the same person. I'm just...better. More patient, more generous, more empathetic. I needed you to help me become this person. This person who can take it in stride when things don't go as planned. This person who cares more deeply than ever about people in need and wants to find ways to help. It was easy for me to make excuses for myself before you were here, but now even when I don't feel like it, I need to put my best face forward and be the kind of person I want you to be.

You are also teaching me to be silly. In the last day or so your imagination and capacity for creative play have EXPLODED. We hit a wall a month or so ago, and I have to admit I was getting a little weary of holding one of your stuffed animals while you commanded it to cry and be sad. You still do that, and it really boggles my mind that you are so obsessed with the emotion of sorrow. It is also less than encouraging when you tell one of your toys he is sad because he wants to go swimming in the bath, and when I ask you if he can go swimming since it would make him happy, you reply with a booming, "NO!" You're like the bully of the toy box, and I sure as hell hope you get over that soon.

Last night was the first time you really committed to pretending to be anyone other than Charlotte. You'd dabbled in it before, but would ultimately get confused and insist that you weren't Mickey or a giant or a princess; you were Charlotte. Last night you were Lightning, and I was Mater. You were Tiana, and I was Shadow Man. Today you were Jack, and Daddy was Sally. And then for the longest time, you were Daddy, and Daddy was Charlotte. You even parroted some of the things he says to you, like when you told him he could have carrot juice after you washed his cup. It has been a BLAST. You meowed your way through dinner because you were a cat. It's just beyond adorable.

Enjoying your carousel ride on your big day. You love carousels.

Your dad and I sit around and marvel at you constantly. It's such an intense experience watching you learn and develop your personality. You get sillier and smarter by the day. Yesterday at Starbucks you informed your dad that one of the tables was a circle, and the the other an oval. We hadn't even talked about shapes in weeks. Don't even get me started on your memory. It's eerie how you remember the smallest detail from, like, months ago. Somehow I get the feeling your super-strength memory will not do me many favors in the years to come. No false promises of lollipops to lure you away from playgrounds. You'll call me on it.
Showing us your birthday cupcake with "frinkles"

Digging in

We've had a lot of fun this past year. We went to Sea World, Disneyland, a Santa Barbara trip, and you and I took a trip up to Napa for your aunt's engagement party. Traveling and taking you out is easy because you are generally very well-behaved. There have been preludes of the inevitable "Terrible Twos," but right now you are mostly pleasant and a great companion. I am looking forward to more trips, days at the park, museum excursions, and hikes with you. Your dad and I are never happier than when we are out spending the day with you.
You and daddy on one of the trains at Travel Town. You also really love trains.

Sunday will be your party, which is really just dinner with both sides of the family. I asked you if you wanted a bunny cake or a Mickey cake, and I expected you to say "bunny" because you are infatuated with bunnies. If we are reading a book, and you see a bunny on one of the pages, you will interrupt me mid-sentence to say, "Hey, bunny!" But, you chose Mickey. I was going to make the cake from scratch, but it looks like it will have to come from a box since your dad and I will be out on a date for most of the day before your party. As for decorating? I bought Mickey figurines from the Disney store that I will place on top. I do hope for your sake that you turn out to be less artistically-challenged than your mother. It's quite sad, really.

I feel like there is so much more to tell you, so many more details that would give you a picture of the incredible little person that you are right now. So often I have the urge to record every move you make through pictures, video, or my writing. But, it just isn't possible. You're just too big a personality to shove into the margins of a blog post. You're sweet and caring, except when you're a tyrant. You're cuddly and affectionate, except when you can't slow down long enough for a hug, and it always has to be on your terms. You point to every picture on the page of a book, inquiring, "He says?" because you think everyone has a catch phrase. You make up nonsense words, like "Pumpsy" and use them with perfect comedic timing. When we're in a restroom or a stairwell and you think there will be an echo, you yell "DA!" at the top of your lungs. It's...embarrassing. Every time I make any kind of noise, you say, "What's wrong, Mommy?" You make me laugh. You infuriate me. You make me proud. You make me smile. I can't get enough of you.

Happy second birthday, Bunny. I love you.

You have very strong opinions about your wardrobe. Sometimes it backfires.

Love, Mommy

Coming Around

2011-03-07T13:51:00.000-08:00

Today is the first day of one of my many new beginnings. This past month has been difficult. The miscarriage took more of a toll on me than I expected. I think because in my life everything looks good on paper, and because I can't find any tangible thing to complain about, I feel confused when I'm sad. Because intellectually, I'm happy. I have an amazing daughter. A husband so good I couldn't possibly deserve him. Wonderful family and friends. Money is tight, but then again, we can pay the bills, and I know what a big deal that is right now. I should be happy. And, most of the time, I am.

But, then there's the sadness. No matter how much I am enjoying playing with Charlotte or laughing with Chris, there is this sadness permeating my thoughts. It can strike at any time, seemingly out of nowhere. It causes me to react with bitterness and jealousy to situations I would otherwise be celebrating, like, of course, pregnancies, ultrasounds, and births.

I think more than anything else, my inability to see a post about morning sickness or view a picture of a positive pregnancy test without going to a very dark place is most troubling. The first couple weeks, I cut myself some slack. But, now that I am still finding myself terrified to turn on the computer lest I be affronted with more pregnancy news, I am starting to wonder how long this will last. I don't like this side of me. It feels...weak and immature. It made more sense before I had Charlotte, when I didn't know if I would ever be a parent, to react like this. I assumed it would be different this time around.

A few weeks ago I had a follow up appointment with my OB to make sure my body is healing properly from the miscarriage. Seeing the ultrasound machine set up in the exam room, and knowing there wasn't even the slightest bit of hope that I would see that elusive flickering heartbeat on the screen was disheartening, to say the least. But, the hardest part of that day was when I was in my private room waiting for the doctor, and I realized that the muted thumping I was hearing was a fetal heart monitor from another room. A sound that would have faded into the background had I been in that room under different circumstances, was deafening to me now. I couldn't stop hearing it, and I couldn't stop thinking about how we would never hear this baby's heartbeat. This baby was already gone from my body, not a part of me anymore. And, I just couldn't hear it. So, I covered my ears like a petulant child being scolded until I heard the doctor knock on the door.

So, it's been hard. And the sadness has been keeping me from living my life the way I normally do. I've been falling WAY behind on housework, eating too much, drinking too much, practically disappearing from social media (I know, what a tragedy,)and all but abandoning my already-neglected blog.

And that is why today is my new beginning. Maybe I'm starting to feel better, maybe I just realized enough is enough; I don't really know. But, today is the day I have decided will be the beginning of my return to normalcy. I've resolved to update my blog once a week. I would love to do more, but that just doesn't seem possible right now. Especially since I am still hoping to do some other types of writing. Today I will eat my vegetables and flaxseed and leave the cookies in the cupboard. Today I have already cleaned and done laundry, thus starting the process of getting our apartment clean again. Today I am a little better than yesterday and a lot better than I was a month ago.

This isn't the first time I've cut my losses and decided to begin again, and I'm sure it won't be the last. Here's hoping I can make it work.

That Which Never Was

2011-02-15T14:47:00.000-08:00

When I found out I was pregnant a couple weeks ago, I looked forward to the time it would be appropriate to share the good news. Would I post the requisite picture of the pregnancy test, or was that lame? I hadn't decided yet. But, in the end, it didn't matter because I am not writing about my pregnancy, I'm writing about my miscarriage.

I wrote those words about a week ago. What followed was a long, convoluted post in which I tried to say more than I could manage at the time. Losing this pregnancy obviously brought up a plethora of emotions, but it also brought the memory of our trouble conceiving Charlotte and of my first miscarriage, to the surface. And, I just can't cover everything I am thinking about in one post. So, I'm starting over and just focusing on what happened last week and where I am now.

Getting pregnant after only two cycles of seriously trying was a very new experience for us. Here is that story, if you're interested. Something about it felt wrong. We weren't the couple who just decides to expand their family and POOF! We've done it. That's not us. Our story is supposed to be full of bitter resentment, disappointment, despair, and heartache. Between that nagging feeling that this was too easy, and the fact that we suffered an early miscarriage three years before, we were cautiously optimistic. But, as the days went on and my breasts continued to ache, and I continued to feel like I had been run over by a truck, the caution began waning.

Maybe we had been through enough. Maybe now it WAS our turn to have it easy. I had already had a miscarriage; surely I wouldn't have another one. Charlotte's pregnancy worked out just fine. Maybe we had turned a corner. So, we let ourselves get more and more excited, and every day our optimism grew exponentially. This pregnancy started out as a big secret, and within a week,ended up being almost common knowledge.

And then one day a pinkish hue was visible against the stark white of the toilet paper. It was ever so slight, but in my mind it was positively glaring. I called the doctor and was told that since the spotting had already stopped, to take it easy and call again if it resumed. Days went by, and I thought we were in the clear. Then Thursday came. I went to the bathroom: blood. Just a little bit of brown blood, but enough to paralyze me with fear. And then, instantly, I was angry. I didn't even know that this was necessarily a sign of trouble yet; after all, you are told constantly that spotting is common and many times innocuous in early pregnancy. But, I was pissed. Because I'm just so goddamned tired of pregnancy being this unattainable and terrifying thing. Because I was right about this pregnancy being "too easy." And, even if it turned out to be alright, I was just...so tired.

So, I drove myself to urgent care, and Chris met me there later that evening with Charlotte who had been napping when I needed to leave. When I got called in to the exam room, Chris and Charlotte were out wandering the halls since she was getting restless. I asked the nurse if I could get them to come in with me. She got really uncomfortable and said she would ask the doctor, but she didn't sound very optimistic. I told her if it was a problem, I could do without it, but I just didn't want to be alone if there was bad news. So, she asked, and I could hear a gruff voice answering, "What? No, I can't have the whole family in here." Then, he burst into the room, introduced himself, and proceeded to make me more and more uncomfortable as the exam progressed. First, there was the complete lack of an attempt to hide his disdain for my plan of having my family with me in the room. Next, he yelled at the nurse no fewer than three times for her apparent ineptitude (She seemed to be doing just fine to me.) And, finally there was the all-business way he informed me that I might be having a miscarriage, with no sympathy or concern in his voice or manner, and then repeated it incessantly. I'm sure I gave him every indication that I understood what he was telling me; there was no need to say it seven times.

Every time I have had a vaginal ultrasound since my first miscarriage, I wait in agony for the doctor to speak once he or she has inserted the wand and begun perusing the monitor, searching for a heartbeat. This time was no different, only it was made worse by the fact that I was in the presence of a doctor I had learned to loathe in a matter of minutes and didn't have Chris there to hold my hand. This time he told me he didn't see a heartbeat, but did (to his credit) quickly add that it might just be too early. He told me to put myself on bed rest, ordered me a blood test to be repeated a few days later to check my levels, and sent me home.

The days leading up to the Sunday I was meant to go have my follow up blood test performed were horrible. I held on to hope, even when the bleeding increased over the next few days. I told myself it was not as heavy as a period yet, and it would stop for hours at a time. Those few days were hard because Chris and I really didn't know what to expect. He was more optimistic than I was, but I went through periods of hope and increasingly more frequent periods of dismay. The ups and downs were tiring, and I was eagerly awaiting my second blood test Sunday morning which would reveal if my levels were increasing enough to call this a viable pregnancy.

But, I didn't make it that far. Saturday night the cramps started, and the bleeding was not something you could ignore or explain away. By Sunday morning (Superbowl Sunday) we were back at urgent care where my second blood test and an ultrasound confirmed what we already knew: this pregnancy was not only not viable, it was on its way out. Luckily, the doctor who saw me on this day was the kinder, gentler, and more encouraging of the two. I was also alone this time, because Chris and I both agreed after being there for a couple hours that he should take Charlotte home to nap. But, this doctor took the time to talk to me, answer my questions, reassure me that I should be able to have another child, and even squeezed my shoulder briefly before leaving the room. It was a vast improvement over the previous experience and just one of the many things I have found reason to be grateful for throughout this experience.

I am grateful for my beautiful, healthy child. For my husband who is not only a supportive and caring partner, but a wonderful friend. My best friend. And, somehow, the fact that he could make me laugh even in the darkest moments of this experience, makes me realize that we will be okay and makes me feel so lucky to be married to him. I am grateful that my body knew how to take care of this on its own and that I didn't have to have any interventions. I am grateful for our family and friends who stepped up with child care, gifts, cooked dinners, and washed dishes. I am grateful that even though I wish I hadn't been so frivolous with the news that we were expecting, everyone handled our disappointment perfectly. No one made me regret sharing with them. Which, is great, because I don't know that I could have handled it any other way.

And, that's the tricky part, isn't it? It's hard to contain your excitement over something as huge as being pregnant. It consumes your thoughts, your body, your entire life. How can you have casual conversations with your friends and family and NOT respond to their inquiries on your general well-being with, "Well, I can hardly keep my eyes open all day, my head is pounding from the caffeine withdrawals, I obsessively check my toilet paper for signs of bleeding, and I pretty much spend all day thinking about this super-secret baby I'm hiding in my womb. How are YOU?"

So, we sometimes take the risk and share our happy or happily terrifying news. Because it's human nature, or maybe mostly female human nature, but, we need support. We need people to be happy for us, hopeful for us, and then we need them to grieve with us when it doesn't work out. Using this logic, it's strange that we don't just take out an ad in the Sunday paper announcing our pregnancies the moment we see the double blue lines. But, there's something else. Something I can't quite put my finger on, but something that will prevent me from being so open about it next time. It's the same thing that made me regret telling as many people as I did. I think it's...embarrassment. Like, if I thought I was getting a promotion or a new house, and I told everyone about it, and they celebrated with me, congratulated me, and then it didn't work out? I'd feel silly. And I guess that's how it felt when I had to un-tell people about this pregnancy. Ridiculous? Maybe.

It's also hard to relive it over and over again. Especially because whenever someone heard the news and then proceeded to be amazingly kind and sympathetic, it would set me off crying all over again. When I had my first miscarriage I had only been at my new job for a few days. I didn't know anyone. Didn't have any friends there. So, when I returned from my leave of absence and the school secretary very warmly put her hand on my shoulder and told me to call her if I needed anything, I collapsed into paroxysms of sobs and unintelligible muttering. She hugged me until I was whisked into the principal's office, presumably so I would stop making a scene in front of the children.

So, maybe I will handle things differently if and when I get pregnant again. And,that "if" is what keeps me up at night. I should take solace in the fact that we got pregnant so easily this time around, and I do. But, I would be lying if I said that I wasn't just a wee bit terrified of the possibility that we just lost our only chance at having the family of our dreams. And, yes, we hit the jackpot with the child we have, but I do think we're allowed to want another one. I realize this sounds defensive, and maybe it is. I just know that somewhere out there someone wants to tell me to be grateful for the child I have, and I just want you all to know that I AM. WE are.

A long time ago, my sister-in-law and I were having a discussion about whether or not it is any easier to go through a miscarriage when you already have one or more healthy children at home. And, really, this was a completely useless discussion because how could we possibly decide something like that? How you handle a miscarriage will depend so much on so many different factors in your life, and it will vary from person to person. All I know is that for me and Chris, it is so much easier. When I walked out of that exam room after the Ultrasound of Doom and was greeted by a grin spreading across those chubby cheeks and golden curls bouncing up and down as my daughter ran to meet me, and later when I was treated to her very seriously looking me in the face and saying,"What's wrong, Mommy?" I knew I was going to be okay. Because I have to be. For her.

So, that is the very long story of my miscarriage. I feel a little better every day, a little more like my old self, and a little more ready to move on and continue trying for the baby we hope to have someday.

A Day in the Life

2011-01-28T19:49:00.000-08:00

I used to constantly write about my life, however mundane it might be. I think it was easier when I started this blog because I was a new blogger, but also a new mother. And, every day I was experiencing something for the first time. Days spent nursing and changing diapers, folding tiny, little bibs and pants, were days filled with the joy that comes with being a wannabe mother who has finally fulfilled her destiny. Certain days would read like a comedy of errors, complete with a baby toppling off the bed or one of those poop blowout diapers we so often discuss in the parenting community.

It was all so easy then. Everything was a blog post. And, while those emotions and frustrations are all still there, though I can still tear up watching my husband read a story to our daughter, or somehow find peace in a day filled with tantrums and inconveniently timed diaper changes, I cannot for the life of me lately find the words.

And, it isn't because there isn't anything new or interesting to say about being a mom, because all around me people are doing it. Ginger, for example, wrote this beautiful post about a moment she shared with her son. A moment like so many of us experience on a daily basis. A moment that sticks with us, no matter how brief it may have been.

And then there's Clara, who is an amazing writer (and my Zen Master,) who wrote this post about an average day at home with her boys that is absolutely hilarious.

So, you, know, it CAN be done. But, you need to have a certain amount of talent and inspiration. And I'm not being whiny here; I do have small amounts of both, but they don't always choose to hang around at the same time, and sometimes they ditch me and go out for beers, and then all I can think to write about is how I made muffins today. Scintillating, no?

So, what this all amounts to is a blog about my inability to blog. But, never fear! I will write again. In fact, I got Charlotte down for an impossibly early bedtime tonight, which means I have more time before I collapse in a heap on my bed (Did I also mention I've been going to bed, like, two hours earlier than usual lately?)So, I am going to take Clara's advice and try some free-writing to get my brain moving so that one day soon I can share some awesomely bad fiction with you!

Sounds like a plan to me.

Sorry for all the links. I was all nostalgic and stuff.

Serenity Now!

2011-01-19T21:49:00.000-08:00

Wow, has it really been over a week since my last post? The super lame one that wasn't so much a post as a list of ingredients in my cupboard? Man, this might be a new low.

It isn't traffic, comments, or networking potential that I mourn when I don't post for a while. I mourn the words that I was too lazy or tired or preoccupied to write. They might not necessarily be eloquent words, they might not say what I need them to say, but each one of them helps me stretch that writing muscle and brings me closer and closer to finding that eloquence.

See? That muscle metaphor? Weak. But, now I'm writing. I'm thinking. I'm trying things out. And maybe if I write again tomorrow, instead of a week from now, I'll be able to come up with something before that muscle stiffens up again. Oh, yes, I am riding this lame metaphor ALL the way out.

Get ready for a forced segue!

Speaking of stretching muscles, let's talk about my current fitness routine!

Yeah. That just happened. Believe it.

No, but seriously. Remember when I wrote this post about being happy? Part of the deal was to focus on being healthy instead of thin. And while there are times *cough*Christmas*cough* that I am neither, I think if I were to stick to what I said, I should be reasonably pleased with myself. I don't always find the time or energy to exercise, and I might bake a little too much for my own good. But, generally, I am healthy.

But recently, I've found that I do need to be more proactive in losing some weight. My clothes don't fit properly, and I'm not comfortable in my own skin. And I find myself wishing I could just do one of those crash diets that are just as impossible as they are bad for your health. I could eat nothing but grapefruit for a month, right? No. I couldn't. Even if I could, why would I want to?

Sometimes I understand how morbidly obese people on those TLC shows get to be the way they are. Maybe they just get so damned tired of thinking about food and calories and fats, until they wonder if this was really how they were meant to spend their lives: struggling against a country and culture that foster obesity while concurrently shaming anyone whose arms jiggle when they wave. Maybe it's like, "Screw it! I'm just going to enjoy this food and not think about it." As if that were possible.

Maybe I should get to my point. Balance. That is the word of the day. The word for my year. Instead of pondering crash diets or berating myself for even considering them and thus going back on my resolution to be healthy, I will accept that I would like to look different and take steps to achieve that. Then when I take one of those steps, I will pat myself on the back. Like when I had a good workout on the treadmill or when I choose a grapefruit over a third pancake (Both those things really happened!)And when I slip up? I slip up. I can be okay with it. I think.

When my husband showed me this lovely picture, all I could talk about was how fat I looked. I don't want to be that girl. I want to punch that girl in the face.

I'm looking for balance with my writing. I need to do more of it, but I also need to spend more time on my projects, meaning I can't worry about how often I update my blog if I'm working on something I need to spend more time writing, like the fiction I keep saying I'm going to attempt. Maybe I need some writing prompts. Or a dictator. A dictator who has given up on world domination and just wants to see me write a short story, for god's sakes, and who will yell at me until I'm done.

Balance in parenting. I think I have made vast improvements in my quest to stop worrying and over-thinking every feeling I have as a mother. Like, I don't need to feel guilty because I wish I could get out of the house more and do some of the things I did before having Charlotte. It doesn't mean I don't love her. It doesn't mean I regret having a child. I know these seem like obvious statements, but this is really how crazy I am.

The other night, Charlotte was in one of the moods, all too familiar at this juncture of our relationship, where she wanted to push my buttons. She was doing the opposite of everything I told her to do. She grabbed on to the base of a floor lamp in the corner of my bedroom she knows she isn't supposed to touch. I asked her to stop. At which point, she looked directly at me and began to shake it harder. I moved to physically pull her away from it, but I was too late. The heavy, frosted glass shade fell down and landed on her head. In that instant, before I had a chance to see the damage, when I wasn't sure if it had hit her eye, cut open her head, or gave her a concussion, I was terrified. But, I was also MAD. I told my friend that she was trying to piss me off, and she succeeded more than she had dared to hope was possible. I hate when people use a child's injury as an "I told you so" moment, convenient though it may be, so I refrained. But, once I ascertained that it was just a bump, I silently thought, "Bet you won't be touching that lamp again!"

The old me would second-guess those feelings, wonder if a GOOD mom, a mom who actually loved her children would entertain those thoughts. But, I didn't. I have accepted the balance between the idea of devoting all of yourself, leaving nothing for yourself, and of being a selfish parent. I am neither. I am human. I am ZEN.

Okay, so I'm far from Zen. But, I'm closer. Happier.

Oh, and these are my new glasses. Special shout-out to Jana who told me all about the magic of Warby Parker.

Help Me Make Dinner?

2011-01-11T16:53:00.000-08:00

I've entered some stagnant water with my meal planning. This fall I was getting new and exciting produce from my CSA, scanning cookbooks and websites like mad, and discovering great dishes.

Things went a bit haywire over the holidays; we ate out a lot, ate at our parents' houses, and when we did eat at home, we sort of just scraped something together and passed out. Then my CSA took a two-week break for the holidays, and I was ever so lost without my veggies and the 500 apples they were sending me every week.

So, now that I have a fridge full of food again, I'm feeling a bit lost. I want to try some new recipes, but I haven't got the energy to hunt for them. So! Lest I resort to another week of the same risotto, potato soup, and stir fry that I have been eating for weeks, perhaps you could peruse this short list of stuff I have sitting around my kitchen and give me some ideas. Please? I can't promise I'll save some for you, but I will describe it to you in mouthwatering detail! That's just as good, right?

Okay, here's what I have:

Broccoli
Cauliflower
Potatoes (Oh, so many potatoes!)
Kale
Turnips
Spinach
Oranges
Onions
Garlic

And some non-produce items I already had:

Arborio rice
Brown rice
Quinoa
Black beans
Polenta

Hopefully at least ONE person will give me ONE idea. Then I will have a new recipe and won't feel like a jackass for posting this. I'll return the favor when I'm feeling more inspired...

Adventures in Exercise

2011-01-04T16:26:00.000-08:00

I think I need to throw this bag of truffles into the trash. I sort of indicated that I was going to stop eating so many truffles after the holidays, didn't I? I do apologize for misleading you.

But! It's okay, because I actually went out for a run today. Well, a walk/run. And there may have been more walking than I'd care to admit. But, still! I went. And it was quite the ordeal, but I went anyway. Mainly because I have a little friendly wager going on with Cheryl, and whoever runs three times a week, ten times, first, gets a Starbucks card. I just envisioned lattes while I was panting along. There were a few reasons it was such a chore making this run happen today.And they are as follows:

My toddler's sleep schedule, otherwise known as OMGWTF?

We are still trying to undo the damage the holidays did to Charlotte's very delicate ability to sleep like a normal person. We live very close to both our families, plus we had family visiting from out of town. Between seeing everyone, shopping, family outings, etc. she kind of just napped when she napped, if at all, and bedtimes got later and later. It was very stressful, and ultimately resulted in what we have now, which is an almost-two-year-old who goes to bed around ten, sleeps in till nine, and naps late in the afternoon.

In trying to undo some of this damage, I spent an inordinate amount of time trying to make her nap earlier. I'll spare you the boring details, but it was looking like she was finally going to sleep, but not early enough that I would have time to run before it got dark when she woke up. So, when she fought through that last attempt, I threw up my hands, made her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and strapped her into the jogging stroller. If she wants to stay up, we're doing what *I* want to do.

The Wind

I live in the desert, and one of the many fun weather patterns, besides crippling heat and frigid (to us, anyway) lows, is the wind. It's intense. Case in point: my friend bought her daughter a trampoline for Christmas. and a few days later the wind blew it up over a wall and into the neighbor's yard, effectively destroying it. When we were kids and lived in a more remote part of the desert, my sister and I would walk down the street to our friends' house where the four of us would each collect a tumbleweed, place them in the middle of the street, then let go and run away as the wind blew them down the road. Good, clean, hick fun!

So, after bundling Charlotte, handing her her cookies, and venturing out of the garage, it should not have come as a surprise to me that I was punched in the face by an icy wind. But that sort of thing tends to surprise you no matter how many tumbleweeds you've ran from or how many times you got a brush stuck in your windblown hair.

I thought for a moment that this was an ill-fated trip, and that we would have to go home. But, then I remembered that the jogging path is nestled in between two hills and might be sheltered somewhat from the blasts. So, we set out, another obstacle narrowly dodged.

My Toddler

This isn't really her fault. But, when we got to a certain part of the trail, where it widens and there's loads of grass just waiting to be frolicked upon, she was pretty much over sitting in the stroller, munching on dry animal crackers, and requested to "Run, run, run." And, I couldn't exactly blame her. So, there was sort of a lull in my workout as Charlotte ran around getting her exercise, falling on her face, getting consoled, and picking up sticks. But, I'd like to think I made up for that lull by pushing her home against the wind.

My (lack of) Stamina

I know this will change. I know I will get stronger and faster, and my lungs will no longer ache and throb after mere moments of jogging but damn is it uncomfortable in the meantime.

So, there you have it. A suburban SAHM goes for a jog. Riveting, no?

2011: The Year I Finally Sleep? (ControverSunday)

2010-12-31T14:14:00.000-08:00

Edit: I was bummed that I had missed yet anotherr ControverSunday when Kathleen over at amoment2think (AKA the new host) suggested that I label this a ControverSunday post since this month's topic is about resolutions. So, same post, new label. Thanks, Kathleen!

I am sitting on my couch, sipping some green tea and blogging. It's a far cry from the champagne and truffles I've been living off this past week while ignoring my blog. Why not just wait till tomorrow? It will be the new year after all. One more day to indulge in my gluttony and laziness.

Normally I would take that day. I have always been big on resolutions, not just for the new year, but also the coming week, or the next day. Tomorrow. Or, next week. I will start to run, put down the remote and pick up a book, write a story. Then, when day after day, week after week, month after month, I fail to accomplish my goals, December rolls around. December with its hectic holiday schedule, abundance of treats, and the built in excuse to put it all off till next year. I may have squandered 2010, but THIS! This is my year!

I have a great deal to look forward to in 2011. My daughter will turn two. My little sister will get married, and we will get to travel to Rhode Island for the wedding. I'm going to BlogHer for the first time and will hopefully get to meet a lot of great people (including Brooke and hopefully Ginger!) My husband and I will celebrate our seventh anniversary. I'm looking forward to this year, and I plan on working at some of my goals.

But, unlike many other years, I don't see 2010 as something to regret. I don't really need a clean slate. Rather, I am looking forward to building on some of my accomplishments this year. I didn't become a mother in 2010, but I did really hit my stride. Which is not to say that I don't have completely off days where I feel like I couldn't possibly be doing this right or days where I feel like I just don't care to do it right. But, for the most part, I have worked hard to develop a beautiful relationship with my daughter, and I am proud of the mother I have become.

This past year I have also been welcomed into a wonderful community of bloggers, all of whom have been inspiring, supportive, intelligent, and, most importantly, hilarious. You guys keep me coming back to this blog when I get lazy or too intimidated to keep writing, because you make me feel like my story and my voice are valuable.

This is the year I discovered my passion for food. The year I made my first pie (and then made lots more.) The year I discovered risotto and how much better it is when I use homemade chicken stock. I baked and cooked, went to farmer's markets, joined a CSA. I got an apron for Christmas. I heard my husband tell me time and time again that I was "such a good cook." I loved every minute of it.

I took baby steps toward learning my guitar. I can play a few chords, and by the end of the year, I resolve to play at least one song (but hopefully more than that!) from the Beatles song book given to me by my father in law, the same person who gave me my guitar.

Many people scoff at New Year's resolutions, but I actually really love the promise of a fresh start. Nothing has actually changed: I am still carrying the weight I gained in 2010, still have empty space in my head where knowledge would be had I read more, Facebooked less. I won't be magically rocking out on my guitar after yet another year of neglecting it. But, there is the promise of change each December as I prepare to ring in the new year on my couch, once again (Seriously, I have never managed to do New Year's Eve right. Having a kid just allows me to pretend it's her fault.)So call it what you will: delusion, cliché, or foolishness, but I resolve to make 2011 a year of productivity, good food, friendship, fitness, learning, empowered parenting, romance,rest, and happiness. It's going to be a great year.

Now, if you'll excuse me I need to make sure I'm stocked up on champagne and more truffles for tonight.

Christmas in Hollywood

2010-12-13T15:00:00.000-08:00

Yesterday Chris had to work for a few hours. He was working in Hollywood, and I remembered that when we were there last year around Christmas, there was a big Christmas tree in the fancy shopping center on Hollywood and Highland. Last year we went with Chris's sister and her boyfriend, and everyone convinced me to leave the baby with my in-laws even though I wanted to bring her. They were right; it was bitterly cold, and we would have spent the entire time making sure she was bundled, her ears covered from the wind, etc.

So, I was excited to bring her with me, show her the tree, and let her do some people-watching, a favorite pastime of hers. It was a different experience, and not just because I was pushing a stroller instead of drinking cocktails with my sister-in-law. It was HOT. And, we all know how I feel about unseasonably hot weather, right? And, I feel especially insulted when said weather is ruining the "feel" of a holiday. I don't like it when it's cold on Easter, either. I don't discriminate.

So, we walked in, past the Ralph Lauren and Coach shops, and headed for the restroom. I waited forever for the handicap stall because I had the stupid stroller, and I eventually left without ever getting to use the bathroom. That might seem like an unnecessary and terribly uninteresting detail, but it will be relevant later. Hang in there!

As we made our way to the center of the plaza, I noticed one of those water fountains that kids can run through, where they water comes and goes intermittently, alternating height and intensity. I pointed it out to Charlotte because she loves water, and since there weren't any kids there it wouldn't occur to her to run through it. Except that there was a little girl there who escaped my notice, running around the water spouts, daring herself to sprint across the entirety of the fountain before the geysers came back from their hiding place beneath the ground. At first Charlotte was content just to watch her while I slathered the sunscreen I couldn't believe I needed to apply in December, to her face.

But, ultimately, this is what happened:

At first she mostly ran along the periphery of the fountain, mostly only getting lightly misted by the water. But then she started getting more daring and running across while the water was gone. Until finally she was just running into the water, headfirst and squealing all the while. She was DRENCHED. Water was pouring off of her. When I finally pulled the plug on the water play, I realized I had gotten myself into a tricky situation.

The bathroom wasn't far, but it wasn't close enough for me to walk her there. I would need to put her in the stroller, and I didn't want it to be all soggy for the rest of the day as she would be riding in it. I try to be respectful of Charlotte's body and her as yet undeveloped sense of modesty. I usually take her to another room to change her diaper, even among family. So, I was a little uncomfortable with my own decision to strip her naked right then and there so that I could wrap my sweater (Guess it was good for something that day!) around her and take her to the bathroom.

I've mentioned that I struggle with images and perceptions. I'm trying to let go of my need to look like I have it all together. Because, first of all, I don't. And second of all, none of us do. So instead of putting on a show for one another, I am hoping we can all be honest and vulnerable with one another, and receive support in return. The point is, I struggle with it. And being in the land of beautiful people, whether or not that beauty is chemically and surgically enhanced, and being in the land of the designer-clothing-clad, perfectly coiffed babies, I was already a little on edge. But, I guess pushing a naked and sopping-wet toddler wrapped in a sweater through the crowd is what they call immersion therapy.

I did, in fact, get a lot of stares on our seemingly endless trek to the bathroom. I was able to get into a stall relatively quickly this time, and I began the arduous task of wringing out her clothes, shoes, and socks before putting them in a plastic bag I did not know I had, and I swear was put there by magical elves. Then I got her dressed into the pair of backup clothes that I don't always have, but did today by providence, or perhaps more magical elves. She didn't have shoes the rest of the day, including when we ate lunch in a restaurant, but, hell, she was happy.

I was slightly damp, as well, having been asked by Charlotte to join her in the water fountain romp. I was more cautious than she, choosing my paths carefully, rather than just charging in with reckless abandon, but I did manage to get a little water on me. So, I decided to use my Gap gift card and procured a tank top on clearance. (Side note: I also snagged an adorable summery skirt for sixteen bucks that I would not have been able to afford when it was in season. I win.) I didn't want to go ALL the way back to the bathroom, only to possibly wait another hour for a stall, so I devised a plan in which I took off the tag, walked into an empty elevator, arranged the shirt on top of the stroller in the ideal position for getting it on with ease, and pushed the button. Whereupon the shirt fell from the stroller just as I had taken off my old shirt, causing me to panic and scramble to get the shirt off the ground and onto my body in the length of time it takes to go up one floor, which, in case you were wondering, is not a lot of time. Which is how I ended up topless as the elevator door opened. But since luck was on my side this day, no one was there, and I was able to dress myself discreetly.

And with that, I leave you. I'm off to pick up a Christmas tree, probably clad in a tank top and flip flops. Oh, which reminds me: here's a picture of Charlotte at the Christmas tree display in Hollywood yesterday. Nothing says 'Winter Wonderland" like a barefoot kid in a t-shirt.

The Saga Continues

2010-12-09T20:52:00.000-08:00

Here is a haiku I wrote about tonight's session of rocking Charlotte to sleep:

Eyes are not closing
The rocking chair is squeaking
Patience is thinning

And here's another:

If you sleep right now
I will buy you a pony
For the love of God

This is what I was thinking about while I was standing in the dark next to Charlotte's crib, trying to ignore the deadening sensation in my arm because the rocking chair was making too much noise for me to sit in it. I didn't want to lose the momentum I'd gained going through the bedtime routine by greasing the chair, so I just proceeded with the rocking while standing. Although, I suppose if my arm had fallen asleep, causing me to drop Charlotte on the floor, I would have been starting from square one anyway. It was a gamble.

Related to this conversation: I heard a little girl outside call for her mom a second ago, and I thought it was Charlotte calling for me. My reaction to that perception can only be described as full-on panic. Holy hell, that was a close one!

So, yeah, it's wearing on me a little. The reluctance to sleep. The fact that I can't, no matter how hard I try, get her into bed much before nine, and usually it's later. The fact that most nights I'm starving because I usually eat dinner after she goes to bed.

But, what are ya' gonna do?

As It Should Be

2010-12-07T12:42:00.001-08:00

Well, I dropped the ball on ControverSunday this month. We had our nieces over for the weekend, and I was having way too much fun eating junk food with them, playing board games, and laughing hysterically at our eight-year-old niece's banter. Seriously, this kid has WIT. And she goes on these bizarre tangents; most recently she was telling us about how Curious George was the fifth Beatle. He is, as I understand, George Harrison's brother, and he made monkey sounds on every one of The Beatles' songs, but you can't hear him because he was never given a mic.

Anyway, I was going to tackle the whole Santa topic in the post I never got around to writing. Chris and I have never had a doubt in our minds that we would do Santa with Charlotte. Believing in Santa is fun, magical, and part of being a kid. But, recently I have read a few blog posts about how lying to our kids about Santa is going to erode their trust in us. I laughed it off at first, but then I started getting nervous. I knew we would still do Santa, but I started stressing about the details. How far will we take it? How will we handle her questions and concerns about Santa? I was going to write a long post, exploring all my feelings on it, until I read this post by Clara over at The Cheeseblog. It's her ControverSunday post, and while the whole thing isn't about Santa, you need to read the whole post because Clara is one of my favorite writers. She is witty, insightful, and says eloquently in two sentences what I couldn't manage to express in two pages. She always makes me realize that things aren't as complicated as I make them out to be. She's like my Zen Master.

So, you have Clara to thank for sparing you my long-winded Santa post. And, what I want to talk about instead is letting go of perceptions, not worrying about what we "should" be doing. This has been on my mind for a couple reasons:

Reason #1-

I have been rocking Charlotte to sleep for every nap and every bedtime for the last two weeks. She will be two in March. Now, I realize this is not advisable due to the quite possibly literal back-breaking nature of the work, what it might mean for her future sleeping habits, and most importantly, what it might mean for the delicate flower that is my sanity.

I'm not thrilled with the current situation. especially because in the months leading up to this development Charlotte was like an Olympic sleeper. A story, a song, a snuggle, and she went happily into her crib, rolled over to hug her bunny, and that was that. So, a process that used to take ten minutes, tops, now takes up to an hour. Also frustrating is that it HAS to be me. I do like that she wants me and that we have our special thing, since as I mentioned, she is something of a Daddy's girl, but it can be frustrating that I'm the only one who can do this particular task right now.

Whenever I mention that I've been rocking her to sleep, I'm a little guarded, ready with some self-deprecation to ensure that everyone knows that *I* know how ridiculous it is. Because I know how we all are. We all have opinions about other people's children, and we all KNOW what is best for them. So, I try to diffuse any judgment that might be headed my way with some quips of my own.

But the truth is, I don't think it's ridiculous. I might regret it later. I might have to do some damage control when she's five and can't fall asleep without me. But, Chris and I have always done what works for us and for Charlotte when it comes to her sleep. We co-slept until it didn't work. We Ferberized until she hit a new stage, and then we adjusted. I've used an Ergo to get her to sleep even though she was old enough to say "No Ergo." And, we enjoyed the fruits of all our labor during her rockstar sleeping phase. Now we're in a rough patch, but I feel it will get better when she's ready for it to get better. So, I have decided not to worry about where or how she "should" be falling asleep. Besides, I am rather enjoying the cuddliness of it all.

Reason #2-

Yesterday we took Charlotte to a free trial at MyGym. It's basically Gymboree, only it's called MyGym. Brightly colored mats, a ball pit, and all sorts of other tumbling paraphernalia. She had a great time, we could see how it would be beneficial for her to have an hour of more structured playtime each week, we liked that it gave her an opportunity to listen to other adults, and of course, we liked that she got to interact with other kids. The park is so hit and miss. Some days there are kids roughly her age, and some days they are interested in playing with her. But, other days, she's on her own, or rather, she and I are on our own, and I desperately want her to interact with more kids. Mostly because she adores other kids. She craves their attention. So, I want to give her that. She was at top of the age group in yesterday's class, and the teachers recommended she try Thursday's class where there will be older kids. So, we're going to try it out because she will probably have a blast.

But, here's the problem: we can't possibly afford to sign her up for this class. I misunderstood the pricing when I agreed to try out the second class, but once I figured it out, I realized this ain't happening. We tried to find an extra 70 bucks in our monthly budget, but there really isn't much else we can cut from our bills.

I'm disappointed because I know Charlotte would love and benefit from this class. But, part of my despondency on the matter is coming from the fact that I feel like I am not keeping up with the other "good mothers" by failing to get her into one of these programs. I have this perception of what it means to be a conscientious mother of a small child, and it includes always having a box of raisins in the diaper bag, taking her to story time at the library, setting up little art projects for her to complete, and going to Gymboree. You know, like they do in the movies.

Well, I fail at story time because I didn't sign up months in advance, which the disdain in the librarian's voice told me is a huge parenting faux paus. I fail at art projects because my organization skills and limited creativity don't allow for much more than throwing a piece of big paper and a tube of finger paint on the kitchen floor, and now I fail at gym class because I don't have a job that would enable me to pay for it. The only thing I can do is the raisins, because how hard is it to carry a box of raisins on you? And sometimes, I fail at that, as well.

I know, I know. This self-doubt and parental anxiety is getting tiresome. But, never fear! I'm actually not whining. Charlotte is a happy kid. She doesn't know that I can't afford to take her to a gym class, and she doesn't care. She is perfectly happy running around at the park. And, maybe we'll join a mom's group so she can meet other kids. Then again, maybe we won't, and she'll just have to wait a week or two to see her cousins, whom she idolizes. And maybe I'll be able to get us ready in time for the bookstore's story time on Monday mornings once in a while. Or maybe we'll make pancakes in our pajamas instead.

Charlotte doesn't know that I don't look like the moms in the movies, and she doesn't care. So, I don't care, either.

A Different Kind of Tired

2010-11-29T17:15:00.000-08:00

News flash!

Parenthood is exhausting, yo.

That is all.

I kid, I kid. But, seriously, I knew it was going to be tiring, what with all the sleepless nights and the all-too-literal-as-it-turns-out toddler chasing. I'm not exactly surprised by how physically tired I am because it was easy to anticipate how my body would react to less sleep and being on my feet when I'd rather be sitting down sipping on a latte, because my kid is trying to pull merchandise off all the shelves at a coffee shop. I could comprehend exhaustion in those terms before I had Charlotte.

What I wasn't prepared for is the pure mental exhaustion I feel at the end of every day. Exhaustion that, while compounded by the fatigue that radiates to my every limb, is wearying on a much deeper level.

I worried throughout my pregnancy, as most of us do. Having suffered a miscarriage at eight weeks in a previous pregnancy, I was a complete wreck when I discovered I was pregnant. I thought I would feel better after my first ultrasound when we got to see the heartbeat. But, then my poor, unassuming doctor made an off-handed comment about the baby looking smaller than he expected for seven weeks, and I panicked. I was so upset that he agreed to see me in a week to make sure everything looked good. I spent that week preparing to stare in disbelief at another doctor telling me he couldn't find my baby's heartbeat. He was sorry. Happily, our follow-up scan looked good. But, then there was the ER at ten weeks for heavy bleeding. And hours spent with my hand on my stomach, waiting to feel a kick, and fearing the worst. Mystery pains and symptoms I couldn't find in any of my pregnancy books. I just kept holding my breath (and my belly,) feeling like if I could just claw my way out of the woods, make it to the end of this pregnancy, I could catch my breath. I knew I couldn't relax until the baby got here.

You're laughing now, right? Because as excruciating as the fear of losing a pregnancy is, it is a joke to think that you'll feel better once the baby arrives. Sure, she's here, and she's healthy. But is she latching properly? Is she getting any milk? You want to give her a shot? But, she's, like, hours old! You're drawing her blood again? Is she pooping enough? She's not? She's jaundiced? She didn't pass her hearing screening? She needs phototherapy? You're not going to let me take her home?

I think it would be easier to count the minutes and hours I WASN'T crying in the hospital, because to do it the other way around would take you an eternity.

There's this children's book called Wemberley Worried by Kevin Henkes about a little, hand-wringing girl named, well, Wemberley, who worries all day and night about everything that might possibly go wrong in her life. The book has a happy ending, but it makes me very, very sad because that little girl was me. I had severe insomnia when I was eleven because I was so stressed out about what might happen in school the next day. I literally didn't sleep many nights until after heard my dad get up for work, which was around 4:30 A.M. So, many days my mom would keep me home from school because she couldn't bear to send her kid to class on two hours of sleep. In fourth grade I faked sick constantly, effectively missing weeks and weeks of school.

In short, I was a stressed out kid and became a stressed out adult. So, it follows that I would be an especially stressed out parent. I doubt my fears/concerns/worries are unique. That is to say, I know ALL parents worry obsessively about their kids. We are all preoccupied with their safety, health, self-esteem, and general well-being. But those of us with weaker constitutions might just be more prone to collapsing under the pressure.

And, oh, the pressure! Most of it self-inflicted, but then again, some of it does come from the outside. It feels like I spend most of my day downing cocktail after cocktail mixed of guilt, fear, self-doubt, and, yes, worry. And the hangover is a bitch.

If I'm not making sure Charlotte is breathing every hour or checking out symptoms on the internet to rule out every disease and ailment in existence, I'm flogging myself for not noticing her wandering over to the high-power sprinklers at the park while I was chatting with another mother, or for not being patient enough during a tantrum.

And then there's the constant focus and attention required of us as parents. Chris and I spend hours not only recapping the joyous and amusing events of the day, but also discussing our hopes and fears for our daughter. We fine tune our partnership, commiserating and arguing about our philosophies, methods, and styles. There are accusations, irrational hurt feelings (mostly from me,) and reassurances.

Also exhausting is constant journeying back and forth between the extreme highs and lows of parenthood. One minute you're reveling in the bliss of a spontaneous hug and "I wuv you" from your toddler, and the next minute you're pretending not to notice when she responds to your attempt to play with her with "No, Mommy!" I don't want to play the guilt game, so I try to just smile and respect her wishes, letting her come to me when she's ready. But, damn, sometimes I just want to cry. Then I feel silly for letting an almost two-year-old make me cry. More self-doubt.

The highs really and truly do make up for the lows, as we all know. The moments where you're pretty sure you're doing it right, when you're pretty sure your kid loves you and feels safe with you, or just when she's being completely hilarious and you realize you signed up for hours of entertainment along with all the fear and self-loathing, those moments are indescribable. You just feel...whole.

Exhausted, but whole.

FAIL!

2010-11-28T10:07:00.000-08:00

Well, I guess that's that.

I didn't post yesterday, thusly failing at NaBloPoMo. I'm disappointed, but ultimately I feel like it served its purpose. I wanted to get back into blogging. I had been feeling uninspired and listless, and even though I don't feel like I've written anything brilliant these past few weeks, I'm glad I at least got back in the habit of posting.

I've also been enjoying the community aspect of blogging again. It's been great reading and commenting on all of your posts, and feeling the love from you guys over here, as well.

So, I'll keep posting every day until the end of the month, and then hopefully I will maintain the momentum and post regularly after that.

In the meantime, here is a picture of me and my friend, Valeri, last night on her 30th birthday. As I walked through my apartment complex last night after the celebration, I gasped, looked at the time, and realized with dismay that it was 12:20, and I had missed my deadline.

Sadder still is the fact that my night was over by 12:20. I guess we're all getting old.

This is Why We Don't Have Thanksgiving Resolutions

2010-11-26T12:39:00.000-08:00

Today was the day.

The day I resolved to get up in the middle of the night to do some Black Friday shopping. I've never done it before because large crowds make me unreasonably angry under normal circumstances, so I can only imagine the violence and vitriol that would ensue in large crowds at 3 A.M.

But, we're pretty strapped for cash, and I was hoping to get everyone presents that don't suck for half the price. Unfortunately, after scrutinizing the ads I couldn't even find anything that caught my eye. And, if you're going Black Friday shopping, especially with the Early Bird specials, you kind of need to know what you're after and make a beeline for it. It's not exactly the time to be wandering aimlessly, what with someone's elbow being in your eye and all.

So, I slept in, instead. It was wonderful. Unfortunately, I was greeted by "No Mommy! Just Daddy." when I came down the stairs, eager to greet my daughter. I try not to let her hurt my feelings, but it can be hard when she basically wants nothing to do with me all morning. And now she's refusing to nap. Again. At least there is pumpkin pie to get me through this very difficult time.

Which reminds me, I also resolved to work out today. Something about going to bed with a gut full of turkey and mashed potatoes, along with the knowledge that this will only be the first of many indulgences this holiday season, made me feel the need to drag my gravy-laden carcass to the treadmill so I can gasp for breath for about half an hour. I'm not completely ruling it out, but I'm about to tuck into a second cup of coffee and a slice of pie. So, prospects are not good.

I could clean my apartment! Yes, that would be a good idea. But, Chris just got the baby down for her nap (miraculously.) So, maybe today would be a good day to watch our first Christmas movie.

I'll just save all that stuff for New Year's day.

Thanksgiving Randomness

2010-11-25T20:39:00.000-08:00

My feet are freezing. You know, I spend all of autumn idealizing a colder climate, a place where it's actually fall, and a place that gets snow in the winter, but the truth is I am SUCH a Californian. I love the cold weather, but, like, California cold. I really don't know what I would do if I had to plan my days around whether or not the roads have been plowed. Still, I am pretty jealous of all the snow talk I've been hearing. Maybe I just need to visit a snowy climate and then come home to wear my flip flops in January.

I didn't take any pictures of our Thanksgiving today. I'm not sure why. So, I made up for it by taking a picture of Charlotte and Chris winding down upon our arrival home. We had a huge meltdown that only Wall-E could fix. Yeah, we're a little ashamed about caving, but we figured we dragged her around all day, she didn't get a nap, she handled the crowds at Chris's rather large family gathering like a champ, and she is exhausted. So...yeah.

The funny thing about watching this movie with Charlotte is that she narrates it with her very limited, toddler vocabulary. So, it's basically a constant stream of "Oh, no, Wall-E! Where's Wall-E? There he is! Silly Wall-E. Silly Eve. Oh, no, Eve! Wall-E sad. Hold hands." And so on. It's very cute, but damn, she talks a lot. Like her mother, I suppose.

Poor Charlotte is so used to me telling her that every article of clothing is too big for her, she now says it every time I get her dressed. She also informed my mom that the red cardigan she purchased for her was too big. It isn't, by the way. Poor, tiny child. Although, she stood on a scale at Chris's aunt's house, and it looks like she's up to 25 pounds.

And now we're in the throes of a bedtime catastrophe, so I'm out.

Five more days, right?

Not So Wonderful Wednesday

2010-11-24T21:19:00.000-08:00

Okay, guys. I was all set to write my Wonderful Wednesday post for today. I had some good stuff, too: a fabulous haircut, a cuddly toddler sleeping on my shoulder, and more!

But, then I found a letter that came in the mail days ago, telling me that my health insurance has been cancelled, though I can't figure out why. And now I won't know what happened until Monday, and I'm just so tired of worrying about health care, and we want to have another baby...

It just blows. At least Charlotte still has coverage, but Chris and I appear to be screwed.

On top of all this, my kid refuses to sleep, and the internet is down. So, I'm writing this on my phone while she watches Beauty and the Beast. And I don't have an I@hone like y'all, so this is a bit tedious.

Anyway, happy Thanksgiving! Sorry to be such a downer.

Mommy in Grouchland

2010-11-23T07:57:00.000-08:00

I'm writing this while Charlotte watches "Elmo in Grouchland." God, I hate this movie. I love Sesame Street, but this is just painful. We've been on a roll watching Disney movies, which is something we both enjoy. But, today she randomly asked for Elmo. Okay, I do have to admit I love Mandy Patinkin's song and dance number. Makes me wish I could see him on Broadway.

I'm getting a hair cut tonight. My hair is all tangly at the bottom because I haven't had it cut in about two years. I might be seeing the new Harry Potter movie tomorrow, so expect a total cop out post, most likely involving a picture of my hair. Calm down. I know you're excited, but take a valium or something.

I'm ready for November to be over. I'm thrilled that doing NaBloPoMo has gotten me out of my blogging funk, but now the pressure to post every day is mostly just cramping my style because I have bigger posts I want to work on, but they will take more time than I can usually muster in one day to complete. Besides that, I get a text from my mother or one of my friends almost every day alerting me to a typo. Though, that happened before November, too. I'm a lousy proofreader. The worst is when I do things like use "affect" when I mean "effect." Because that looks less like a typo and more like I'm dumb. I swear I'm not!

I also have some design plans for the blog. I'm pretty sure I'm moving to Word Press. And, honestly, I wonder who will be left on Blogger. It seems everyone is moving or has moved. Just today my friend, Lex, was pondering it on Twitter. I'm also considering adding a food section. Like, a place to talk recipes and just generally appease my little foodie heart. Thoughts? Chris will have some time off next month, so hopefully I can find the time to make the changes I want.

Okay, Vanessa Williams is on the screen now with her ridiculous, blue wig. I think it might be time to turn this off and feed the kid some breakfast. We have a play date later, and I think everyone would appreciate me to shower before we arrive, as well.

Oh, and good news! I'm not hungover today.

Out of Practice

2010-11-22T21:27:00.000-08:00

I'm hungover.

And, I'm a little embarrassed about it.

Not because of the many tasks I ignored today in favor of hiding under the covers with a bottle of aspirin. Though, perhaps I should be. The bathrooms are still grimy, the laundry unwashed, and not a word is written of a blog post I was hoping to work on during Charlotte's nap time.

No, I'm embarrassed because my hangover was caused by a measly two vodka tonics. Two! That's like, what I used to consider a warm up for the REAL drinking. I drink wine nearly every night, sometimes beer, but apparently my hiatus from the hard liquor consumption has severely hindered my tolerance.

You might wonder why I am taking this so hard. Well, first of all, it's just one more sign of my divorce from my pre-baby self. I mean, even the WAY I got drunk is ridiculous. A hangover is always unpleasant, but it helps to have the memory of dancing on tables or totally killing "Livin' on a Prayer" at the karaoke bar, to remind you of why you got yourself into this mess in the first place.
I wasn't kidding about dancing on tables.

I got drunk by sitting on my couch in sweats, watching some British sketch comedy with Chris. Don't get me wrong, a good night. Just maybe not worth the throbbing head and queasy stomach I've endured today.

The other reason I am ashamed of the effect my imbibing had on my day is that I come from a drinkin' family. And we're not ashamed. My grandma and I will pound chardonnay like no one else. My sister and I can lose track of how many beers we've consumed and feel fine. And then there's my mentor: my mom.

My mom is the one who taught me how to drink Bombay Sapphire martinis (with three olives) and took me to Ireland where we drank pint after pint of Harp lager. She is the wind beneath my alcoholic wings!

And I've let her down, people. I've let her down. This is how our phone conversation went today:

Me: I'm hungover.

Mom: I'm sorry, babe. What'd you do last night?

Me: (laughing) Nothing. Just hung out at home and had a couple vodka tonics.

Mom: That's it? Two vodka tonics?

Me: I know! I'm so ashamed!

Mom: You know you're Irish, right? We taught you better than this.

It was like coming home with a bad report card. Only worse, because I was hungover.

"This is how you pour a martini, grasshopper."

Proof That We Were There (An Hour After Everyone Else)

2010-11-21T20:26:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting here wearing my witch's hat from Halloween, as per Charlotte's request. She's running around with some balloons, and Chris is trying to explain to her that she needs to go to sleep so we can eat ice cream and drink liquor. She doesn't seem to care

So, here are a few pictures from our walk yesterday, taken by my very talented friend, Jami. She's the pretty one at the bottom of the page.

Could We All Just Run on My Schedule? That'd Be GREAT, Thanks!

2010-11-20T13:25:00.000-08:00

Okay, I am two years into this motherhood thing, and for some reason, I still have not figured out how to get anywhere on time. I am consistently twenty minutes late to my weekly coffee with my grandma. I am constantly scrambling to get out the door. I'm ridiculous.

Well, today was no exception. Today was the St. Jude walk, and even though my friend was running late, I'm pretty sure we would have been tardy even if she had been here at our designated hour. Because I couldn't get Charlotte to bed at a decent hour last night, I didn't have the heart to wake her up this morning until the absolute last minute. So, more scrambling.

Traffic was a breeze and moved quite quickly despite the fact that it was pouring rain. We found the location and the parking right away, and made our way to the registration desk. We were about an hour late, but I wasn't concerned. At AIDS Walk last month, Chris and I got horribly lost, couldn't find the parking lot, and missed the shuttle to the starting line. I was expecting to see tumbleweeds floating across an empty street when we reached the registration desk. Instead I found pretty much everyone else in Los Angeles, just as late as we were, waiting to check in.

Not the St. Jude walk. These people are prompt. They started when they said they were going to start, dammit! That, coupled with the fact that is is a much shorter and far less crowded walk, meant that everyone was done by the time we got there. I'm not exaggerating. They were all finished. I even got a congratulatory high five from a volunteer mascot. I didn't have the heart to tell him I'd just arrived. How embarrassing...

But we didn't despair. We tried to check in, but there was no one at the registration desk because, why would there be? So, we sidled into the line of accomplished walkers and grabbed our t-shirts before heading out to do the walk all by ourselves.

We looked kind of silly, I imagine. But, the important thing is that we raised the money and honored our commitment. I mean, we're still total asses, but at least we finished the walk!

I Can't Even Pretend to Care Right Now

2010-11-19T21:06:00.000-08:00

Okay, look.

It's nine P.M. Charlotte just went to bed. She's been doing this all week. No matter what I do, I cannot get her to bed before nine. It's been a long week.

I haven't eaten dinner. There is a bag of trash I put outside yesterday but was too lazy to take to the dumpster that has now been rained on, so I should probably do something about that. I have the St. Jude walk tomorrow EARLY in the morning. The last thing I want to do right now is write a blog post.

So, call this what you will. You'll either be generous and say that it counts as a post, or you'll be honest and admit that it doesn't. And if you're really out to get me, you might also point out some of the other questionable posts containing nothing more than a picture and a line or two of text, and you'll call me a cheater.

Do what you gotta do. I'm pouring a glass of wine, watching Dexter, and going to bed.

What Sad People Dream About

2010-11-18T21:21:00.000-08:00

I have this fantasy. It doesn't involve riding over a rainbow on a unicorn, or anything like that, but it does seem just as impossible. It goes something like this:

I wake up early in the morning while everyone is still sleeping. I glide out of my bed and into my running shoes. I slap my iPod into one of those arm band holders and cue up a playlist filled with upbeat and motivating, and yet, still GOOD, music. I start the coffee maker so that I am greeted by the aroma of my breakfast blend upon my return, and I head out the door.

I walk out my front door and stretch my legs out for a few minutes before I begin my brisk walk to the gate of my apartment complex. There is a very steep hill that must be surmounted before I reach the jogging trail; I do this with little effort, and it gets my heart rate up.

Once I begin my run, I feel peaceful. The adrenaline and the awesome tunes take over, and I hardly notice my feet pounding the cement or how hard I'm breathing. The endorphins kick in, and I feel...happy.

Here's how it really goes: I don't wake up before everyone else. I wake up at 6:30 to the sound of Charlotte crying for me. I could throw her in the jogging stroller, but we're both pretty cranky, so we usually watch a little "teebee." Then I have to feed her breakfast. So, I eat, too. Okay, NOW I could strap her into the jogging stroller and at least go for a walk, but, well, I just ate, didn't I? And I need to go to the store for pickles. I need pickles right away! No time for a jog. Besides, Charlotte would probably just start demanding Milk! and Raisins! and Binkies! and Bunny! And I would spend so much time hunching over the side of the stroller, I wouldn't get very far.

Now let's say I did get to go for that jog, with or without Charlotte. How it would actually go down is that I would walk up that hill, survey the jogging trail in front of me, remember how good that coffee smelled, turn around, and limp home.

Because, let's face it: I didn't always have a kid waking me up before the sun comes up and whining from her stroller. But, the reasons behind my inability to make this dream a reality go beyond my general laziness and the fact that getting up earlier than I needed to to haul my ass around the neighborhood just seemed like the stupidest idea ever when my alarm was going off.

For some reason, I've always really fancied myself a potential runner. I like the sound of it: "I'm going for a run." I've always wanted to be more athletic than I really am. I enjoy being active, outdoorsy stuff, but my body has never really taken to exercise the way I thought it was supposed to.

I played sports as a kid. Most relevant to this discussion were basketball and soccer. LOTS o' running in those sports. And, even as a healthy kid who played outside, participated in P.E., and partook in the drills and sprints required of me at every practice, I always felt like I was going to die a thousand deaths whenever I had to run for any length of time. Tiny daggers were piercing my lungs over and over again. My mouth would instantly go dry and hot. My legs would feel heavy. And my skin itched all over.

Not much has changed after all these years. And, yes, I know that you want to tell me it will get easier after a while. I have to work my way up to the place where I can run without hyperventilating and passing out. And you would be right. But, getting to that place seems so unattainable most days.

I think I (mostly) have the maturity and drive I need to work on this, but I need a realistic plan. Going without Charlotte is not likely, neither is going first thing in the morning. And, is it messed up to make her sit in a jogging stroller several times a week for a half hour or more? I mean, I'll make sure she gets her exercise, too, but even still. Am I being selfish? I have considered giving the gym one last try before I cancel my membership, but Charlotte has never done very well in the daycare center. Maybe now that she's a bit more social, I'll try again.

I don't know. I don't know why my blog is turning into an advice column starring, YOU! The reader! Apparently I need a place where people can tell me how to run my life. Or, maybe I'm just too tired and mystified by my kid's flat out refusal of bedtime lately to write anything more coherent. But, at least I'm posting every day? Go...me?

Wordless Wednesday: The Nostalgia Edition

2010-11-17T21:25:00.000-08:00

It's nights like this one that make me miss the newborn days when all Charlotte did was sleep. She slept constantly! We were all so rested!

...It's possible I'm not remembering this correctly.

Prelude

2010-11-16T20:48:00.000-08:00

Today my friend Lisa came down with her brand new baby, Jonah, to visit me and Charlotte. She apologized for not bringing her older son, Isaac, who is right around Charlotte's age. She felt bad about depriving Charlotte a playmate, but she just wasn't up for the task of wrangling a wily toddler and tending to a new baby's needs. I completely understood.

We had a nice, little breakfast. Charlotte sat in her high chair, politely coloring or reading her books (a miracle) and Jonah happily gulped his bottle before settling down enough to let his mommy eat her meal. Charlotte was mildly interested in the baby, asking to see him when we returned from the restroom and offering him her binky when he started fussing.

I was watching her closely, especially when it was my turn to hold Jonah. See, Chris and I want another baby, and I was curious to gauge Charlotte's reaction to such a small one, and one that wasn't just cruising by us in Target, but rather a baby in HER space and in HER mommy's arms.

I was pleasantly surprised by her concern for him, her eagerness to help, and the fact that she liked seeing me with the baby. And, yes, of course I know that it will be completely different when it is a sibling we're talking about. I'm not pretending that the emotional ramifications of having a new baby come live with you forever and the difficulty for a toddler just trying to wrap her poor brain around this change, even remotely compares to an afternoon of patting a baby gently on the arm.

But, she was great. She actually requested that "Mommy hold it," and when I did, she was quick to put the burp cloth on my shoulder and was more than happy to oblige when we asked her to hand me the bottle. We were practicing with her bunny last night, so that helped prepare her. She was in hysterics over me swaddling her precious bedtime pal in a blanket and giving him her sippy cup as a bottle. Now Bunny has an alter ego in "Baby Bunny," and when she isn't in the mood, she just rips his blanket off. Maybe I need to buy this poor child a doll...

Jonah fell asleep in my arms right away (Oh, how I've missed a tiny baby sleeping in my arms!)and I was not about to put him down. This proved difficult when Charlotte climbed down from the booth and started running away from me. See, because when she does that, she doesn't come back. I think Lisa was amused by watching me do the very thing she had so shrewdly avoided: corralling two small children in a public place. She also gave me a little preview of what could be my future someday by letting me steer the double stroller when we took the kids to Target. Man, that thing is a beast! I felt like I needed to upgrade my driver's license to a Class A just to be behind the handlebars.

It was a small glimpse of what could possibly be my life if things go a certain way, but I could tell that even though Lisa has her hands full, she couldn't be happier.

Priorities

2010-11-15T21:12:00.001-08:00

This is one of those posts that is really just an excuse to get feedback from you guys. Specifically to assuage my oh-so-typical feelings of inadequacy.

How good are you about keeping your living space clean? Because, I gotta tell you, lately, this apartment is wrecked. ALL the time.

I have always been a pretty average housekeeper. But, I never let it get to the point where you'd need a hazmat suit to enter. We're not talking Hoarders conditions here. And, if it starts to get a little slimy, I suck it up and get the job done. But, even then I pretty much do the bare minimum.

Lately, though, I've been finding myself pushing the cleanliness of our place lower and lower down the priority totem pole. I pretty much do everything else on my list before I will tackle the bathrooms or pull out the vacuum.

The one exception is the kitchen. I have to keep the kitchen clean because I cannot cook in a messy kitchen, and cooking is one of my higher priorities.

I would say my top concern each day is that Charlotte gets to do an activity she really likes. I am fortunate enough to be at home with her, so this usually means we get to go to the park or the bookstore, or any similar activity, every day. If we have a bunch of errands to do, or I have to drag her all over town for some reason, I try to at least squeeze in a walk somewhere (She's particularly fond of the little path at Whole Foods.)

My other priority should be playing with her. This is where I drop the ball sometimes. I complain about Charlotte preferring to play with Chris over me, and it's true that it makes me sad. But, I have to accept responsibility for the fact that I use the time that Chris is playing with her to cook. Sometimes, yes, cooking is a necessity. But, it is also a hobby of mine, and while I think we are all entitled to our hobbies and interests, I have to realize that if I stopped what I was doing more and sat down to play with them more frequently, she might be more interested in playing with me. I also have to gain some of the patience that Chris has to do the same thing over and over, no matter how boring it is getting. I'm working on it, and I think I've made some progress with her over the last couple days.

Then there's my writing and my leisure time. Too often I pick watching television or screwing around on the internet over writing. And reading! I hate the quiet at night, so I'm much more likely to turn the TV on than I am to a book. This bothers me. So, this is another area where my priorities get all jumbled. I want to read and I NEED to write, but in the moment all I ever seem to do is vegetate.

So, you see? Cleaning doesn't even fit into the mix. I really do try every day to clean up the clutter because I know it's good for Charlotte to be in a more organized and less chaotic environment, but as for scrubbing bathtubs and dusting the bookshelves? Only if my mother-in-law is coming over.

I realize this is not entertaining at all. I just needed to get it out of my head. And, I really want to know: What are your priorities? How and when do you manage to keep the house clean? Am I a disgusting pig?

Wait. Don't answer that last one.

I Had Nothing to Do With This

2010-11-14T21:41:00.000-08:00

This shirt means very little to me, but I'm amused by the reactions it elicits from different people. My father-in-law responded with a, "Yeah, Raiders!" while my mom's husband looked at Chris and said, "You're dead to me."

Football fans, you so crazy.

Get Off My Back; It's Saturday

2010-11-13T20:33:00.000-08:00

Seriously, why didn't I think about the fact that I would be blogging on the weekend? I guess it wouldn't be a problem, except that I usually overbook our weekends pretty severely. When you take into account that we live in roughly the same area as both our families and most of our friends, you have to figure just about every weekend is going to be someone's birthday or a holiday, or a performance of some kind, specifically, as was the case today, our 16-year-old niece's high school play. She played a nurse, and she was adorable, by the way.

After the hours spent in the car, the play, a mini date involving cupcakes, and hanging out at my in-laws' house, my brain is fried. It was a great day, but a long one. So, you get random tidbits from my day.

1. After picking up our produce box from the CSA, Charlotte and I went to Starbucks to get coffee and read some books we had brought. I told her she could get chocolate milk, and she was very excited. Then I realized they didn't have any of the little boxes of milk they usually keep in their refrigerated section, so I told her she'd have to settle for juice. Some lady reminded me that I could just have them make one for me. I told Charlotte that chocolate milk was back on, and she FLIPPED. "Chockey milk! Woo hoo! Chockey milk!" Then, she drank it, and it was worse. For this chocolate milk was the most chocolatey of all the chocolate milks. I spent the better part of an hour following her around the shopping center as she jumped up and down, squealing. Good lord.

2. Our younger nieces were playing with Nerf darts and a Nerf gun. Tori, the six-year-old walked up to Chris and said, "I have a pocketful of bullets. Fear me."

3. Chris-"Do you want a drink? I can make you a Long Island iced tea. Me-"You know how to do that?" Chris-"No, but I can just make it up. Me-"I think I'll pass."

Okay, I'm out of...everything: words, energy, remotely interesting anecdotes...

Cutting it Close

2010-11-12T22:41:00.000-08:00

I actually thought about giving up on the NaBloPoMo thing tonight because I am seriously tired. Like the kind of tired where you feel wasted. I really don't sleep enough as it is, and the sleep I do get depends entirely on how well Charlotte is sleeping. Wow, that last sentence is like the most obvious thing a parent has ever said.

See, I haven't said anything about this before because even though I don't believe in "jinxing" things, this was too good to risk losing: Charlotte has been sleeping like a CHAMPION, lately. Like...a sleeping Olympian. She usually goes to bed and down for naps with a couple stories, a song or two, and a goodnight kiss, accompanied by a "See you in the morning," which she says to her stuffed animals when she pretends to put them to sleep. Yeah, it's cute.

If she wakes up in the middle of the night, I can usually get her back down with some binkies, a quick cuddle, and occasionally, another song. But, even then, she's been known to interrupt me (or Chris, but usually me) mid-song, point to her crib, and say "Night-night."

So it was a rude awakening (literally) when she woke up an hour and a half after I had finally fallen asleep and responded to every attempt to put her back down with, "Downstairs? Mommy's bed?" and subsequent wailing when those requests were denied. She did eventually come to bed with me so she could sit up, kick me in the face, and talk to me about her binkies. Chris came home to find us hanging out in bed. Me, half asleep and Charlotte, inexplicably wired. He was able to get her down, but I was on my own the next three times. There was Orajel application, a diaper change, a Tylenol dosage, more repetition of the same Beatles song than should be humanly possible, and a lot of sitting in my rocking chair alternately dozing and thinking, "What the hell am I going to do now?"

On top of all this, she wouldn't nap today. I don't know why she is trying to destroy me, but she is succeeding. Today the combination of sleep-deprivation and the fact that she once again, requested I leave the area in which she and her daddy were playing, resulted in me huddled in a corner of the kitchen, quietly crying.

I'm a pro, I am.

Charlotte's First Haircut

2010-11-11T20:09:00.001-08:00

Please indulge me a moment to document this completely clichéd parenting milestone. Today Charlotte got her very first haircut. We had noticed that her hair always looked just awful , and we weren't really sure why. It was constantly in her eyes, and it was just sort of...frizzy. And stringy. I mean, that might just be her hair. Neither Chris nor I have enviable hair. His is pretty, but we are both cursed with really thin locks. I am very pleased with the results, though it is probably too soon to know if it will help with the overall shagginess.

In any case, we decided to get her some bangs to keep the hair out of her eyes. I found one of those places where they have the little cars for the kids to sit on. Bonus! They had a little television at each station, and Lotte's was playing Dora. I was never so happy to hear that shrill, little voice shouting the same phrase over and over again, as when I realized my daughter might actually sit still for this procedure.

In all her shaggy glory

It should be noted that I had to pull Chris away from an old arcade game (FOR THE CHILDREN) to take this picture.

She was doing really well, but a little, autistic boy (a regular of theirs) who does NOT like having his picture taken was yelling, and Charlotte, little empathetic creature that she is, got upset. So, she held my hand.

Bangs!

They gave us a certificate with a lock of her hair fastened to it. Pretty cool.

The cut actually rejuvenated her curls.

A celebratory "pop" in the castle

"Aaaaalll done!"

Bang, Bang, Bang, on My Wall, Baby

2010-11-10T12:19:00.000-08:00

I am sitting here listening to the most obnoxious hammering. I am also bitching about it on Twitter. But, in case you missed that, let it be known: my neighbor is hammering.

By some miracle, Charlotte hasn't called for me. Might I dare to hope she is sleeping through it this time? When the hammering first started, I had just put her down for a nap, and she cried for me instantly, telling me that it was scary and asking to go downstairs. I complied, gave her something to eat, and only attempted another go at the nap when I was sure the hammering had stopped. Well, I guess my neighbor was just taking a coffee break, because the hammering has resumed with a vengeance. I mean, the walls are shaking. Whatever is going on over there, it's intense. Maybe he or she is building an ark, in which case, I can't complain. It's God's work!

I'm still happy with the move. The location just works better for us in so many ways. But, it's been five months, and I'm still having a hard time getting used to the many noises of apartment living. I get really tense and have to remind myself to breathe with every barking dog, every honking horn, every blaring radio. I'm pretty tightly wound as it is, but when Charlotte is sleeping, I NEED her to stay asleep. Especially after day like yesterday. So, threaten that, and I won't like you very much. I won't DO anything about it. But, I will curse you in my thoughts. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Actually, I did take some action last week, and I've been hiding from my neighbor (not Hammery Joe, a different one) ever since. There was a slight altercation over the fact that he was playing handball with his kids at, like, 11 P.M.right outside everyone's bedroom windows. Why his kids are up that late playing handball on a school night is not my business, but the incessant banging and shouting, is. I had already told him the previous week that it was too loud, and that my daughter was sleeping. So, he was basically just being an asshole. Which, he continued to do throughout our conversation. He questioned whether or not it was really disruptive, and then asked if I just waited around for them to start so I could bust them. I'm sure his kids will grow up to be responsible and respectful citizens with a dad like that.

I know, I know. I sound like an old lady. But, Charlotte is just not someone you want to know when she's cranky. Plus, I just hate rude people. So, maybe I am an old lady.

Well, the hammering is slowly coming to an end, and Charlotte is still sleeping. I think I'll go enjoy the calm before the storm that is brewing in that crib up there, wakes up.

A Day Like This Calls for an Extra Glass of Wine

2010-11-09T20:02:00.000-08:00

Guys.

GUYS!

Charlotte is driving me ca-razy! The last two days have been like non-stop battles in a war I am becoming more and more convinced I can't win.

Okay, lest I be accused of being dramatic, I will say this: "Yes, I know she is a toddler. I know she is testing her limits. I need to be patient and consistent, and this too shall pass."

Just last week, I was going on and on about how delightful she has been, and how I am having SO much fun with her. Which, is still true. The problem is that (like most kids, I imagine) she goes from being THE BEST EVER! A MARVEL OF TODDLING WONDERMENT! to PLEASE KILL ME NOW! NO, REALLY. NOW.

Okay, no more caps this entire post. Probably.

Today, for example: we went from her stacking and stacking, block after block, as I looked on in pride and admiration, both of us giggling when the blocks would tumble, using imagination, and having a great time...to a two-hour standoff about putting those damn blocks away. I am not exaggerating. Two hours.

I tried to remain calm. I patiently asked her to help me pick up. I tried to make it fun: "We'll sing songs while we clean!" I walked away and read a cookbook, after telling her that we would paint as soon she was ready to start picking up. I pretended to be aloof and uninterested in whether the blocks made it into the bag or not. Like, "Whatev. You do it when you do it, and when you do, we can discuss our next activity." When really inside I was pondering how much Chris would really mind being a single dad. I mean, he's a catch! The chicks would be all over that!

The whole thing ended in a paroxysm of tears and dramatic wailing, (hers, not mine, mercifully) which woke Chris up after he banked about three hours of sleep. He was able to get her to clean them up (See? They don't need me at all. Barbados, here I come!)And, in the end we were able to finger paint and go to the library as I had planned. Though, the library was sort of a disappointment, after all. That trip also ended in tears and the throwing of one's self onto the pavement in a not-so-dignified way. Again, not me. I'm all kinds of dignified when I tantrum myself onto the sidewalk.

I don't know. I hope I'm not screwing her up by not handling this properly. She is such a sweet kid, and I know she isn't a bad seed. I know this is normal. But, holy hell, I am having a hard time.

I'm pretty much used to taking the good with the bad. Like, it is freaking amazing how much she is talking now. I get such a thrill out of hearing her put together three, sometimes four-word sentences. And, I love her little Charlotte-isms and her bizarre syntax. I love how when she wants something she says "Hab it! Hab it pen. Hab it binkies." I find it adorable when she wants out of her stroller or high chair at a restaurant, and knowing she'll need to hold our hands, she asks "Walk hands?"

But, now that she can use her words to assert herself and get her needs met, we need to work on her manners. Like when I reached for the little box of Horizon milk at the cafe, and she looked me in the eye and said, "I want chocolate." I'm sure you do, bossy pants. *I* want you to not squeeze the box and get milk all over your clothes, but I bet that isn't going to happen, is it?

I guess it's okay when I prepare her a meal, and she says, "I don't like it." It's when she plays it fast and loose with the "yucky" adjective that I get a little offended.

To end this on a positive note, I will say that one of my favorite things about my daughter is hearing her sing. Her little made-up songs are just...so goddamn cool. And it's pretty incredible that she is learning to copy bits and pieces of the songs I sing to her. Tonight it was "Eight Days a Week." I sang "Hold me, love me," and she echoed with "Hold me, Mo-mmy."

And that right there, is why I had a kid.

Today

2010-11-08T20:16:00.000-08:00

This evening Charlotte sat on the potty for ten minutes. She played with stickers, looked at her books, and did everything except pee. Which is fine because we aren't potty training. We're only using the potty when she expresses interest. So, when she decided she was done I said, "Okay, honey."

Then she peed on my bed.

Aaaaand...scene!

The Overshare

2010-11-07T16:25:00.000-08:00

Recently, Kathleen over at AMOMENT2THINK took the ControverSunday reins and was on a mission to bring it back from its summer slump. We all voted and commented and agreed that we would post once a month instead of once a week, so as not to feel overwhelmed. Additionally, to minimize the tendency many of us had to rely on the lax posting schedule and decide on Tuesday that everything had already been said so there wasn't any point in participating, posting will need to happen ON Sunday from now on.

Kathleen gave us all gentle reminders. She gave us a month's notice. And this slacker right here somehow still managed to not be ready. While the rest of you are dressed, showered, off to your corporate jobs, writing your ControverSunday posts, I'm sitting on the couch smoking pot and watching cartoons. And I'm all, "Oh, riiiigght. ControverSunday. Can I have an extra day? I just poured a new bowl of Cap'n Crunch and this episode of The Smurfs is my FAVORITE.

Oh, relax. It's a metaphor, people.

In any case, I'm going to give it a go. It is still Sunday, after all.

First of all, you should head over to Kathleen's ControverSunday post and read her post as well as those of the other participants she's linked to. I haven't read them yet because I'll just get intimidated and decide I have nothing of value to offer.

The topic this month is digital privacy. How much of our children's lives is it fair for us to share? Does it creep you out that most children have an online presence before they are two? In what way will this affect them in the future?

Given the outrageous number of times I've plastered Charlotte's bouncy, blonde curls and crooked smile all over this blog, I think you can guess where I come down on this. I have almost no qualms about sharing my life, and consequently, Charlotte's life, on the internet.

Obviously I am not alone. There are plenty of bloggers, all of whom have MUCH higher traffic and exposure than my little blog sharing pictures and embarrassing stories about their children to the delight and dismay of many readers.

Of course, there are just as many parents who keep the anonymity of their children (and themselves) protected. I suspect there are concerns I haven't even considered that prevent many moms and dads from exposing their kids to the big, bad internet. I respect any parent's decision to keep their loved ones away from prying eyes. Maybe you are concerned with safety. Maybe you don't like the idea that some pervert is walking around armed with the knowledge of your kid's likes and dislikes, location, schedule, and all other kinds of information they could use to lure your child into a van.

I get that. I really do. I think, though, that if you want to keep that information private, you need to be insanely diligent about your Facebook. In my mind, all the crazy privacy loopholes on Facebook are more dangerous than a blog by far. But, that isn't the point. The point is that even before all our kids lived on the internet, my mother warned me about strangers. She told me she would never send anyone to pick me up that I didn't know. If she had to, she would personally give me all the information I needed about this person. I was never to take anyone's word for it that they knew my mom, no matter how much information they seemed to have. I realize that social networking and blogging has exponentially increased these dangers, but my point is that teaching your kids lessons like that is essential, no matter what your stance on internet privacy happens to be.

I think, though, that for the most part, people keep their kids' identities a secret to respect their privacy. I'll admit, this one gives me pause occasionally. every once in a while I will be confronted with the admonition, "Your children will read your words one day." And, I'll think about it. I really will. But, I just can't, no matter how hard I try, make myself believe that Charlotte will resent me for telling stories about her keeping me up all night and saying cute toddler things. I don't even see her getting worked up over the occasional poop explosion cautionary tale. At least I don't provide visual evidence.

Parents share stories about their kids. They always have. Granted, these days the audiences are getting wider, but I don't see what I do as any different from swapping stories at the playground with the other moms. The only difference is that now the playground is limitless. The swings are in San Diego or Wisconsin, the slides are over in Canada. There's even some monkey bars in New Zealand! I love the way we can create communities for ourselves now based on common interests and like-mindedness, or even just with those whose opinions we value even when they differ. It's so much more rewarding than being limited to a Mommy and Me group based on nothing more than zip code.

Now, it gets a little different when you're talking about bloggers with celebrity status. Even though I am technically exposing Charlotte to potential haters and making her vulnerable to negative comments, let's face it: it just doesn't happen to me because no one knows about me. So, if you read my blog, it's because you either know me personally or have decided you like me. You don't read it because not reading it would be like missing the latest episode of Project Runway, and you don't want to be out of the loop. I can see the arguments against exposing your kids to the masses. But, I tend to think of it as inevitable. I think some kids have celebrity parents, and their lives are a little different from our kids' lives. And, all you can do is use as much tact and grace and decorum as possible.

I used to think it was arbitrary to stop writing about a child when they turned five or started kindergarten. I mean, they don't just become a person who deserves your discretion one day. They have always been that person. But, the more I think about it, the more I get it. As kids grow, they become more self-possessed. They have a greater understanding of who they are, and their wants and needs get more complex. If Charlotte ever came home from school upset with me because one of her friends made fun of her for an anecdote I shared in my blog, I would feel awful. So, it seems only fair to never share anything Charlotte hasn't expressly approved beforehand.

Is it unfair that she has no idea what I'm sharing now and might not give me permission if she could? Perhaps. But, I am willing to take this risk. I think the odds are in my favor. And as long as I never post a picture of her sitting on her potty, I think I'm golden.

Exploiting my husband AND my child in one fell swoop

Stupid Computers

2010-11-06T21:51:00.000-07:00

Okay, if you're on the east coast, I missed my deadline today. But, I am on the west coast, so technically I still made it.

I'm sort of relying on technicalities today because I am not going to write an actual post, but TECHNICALLY this counts as a post.

We have been out all day. We started the day with a birthday party, which was great. Then we went to Chris's work, which was, well, not more glamorous than it sounds. And currently Charlotte is sleeping in her crib without pants and with unbrushed teeth. Because I'm an awesome mom that way.

Ugh. I was going to post some professional pics we had done by my friend, but I can't get them to upload here, and now I need a drink. So, here's a picture of Charlotte petting a goat.

Whatever.

We Don't Take Our Clothes Off at the Park

2010-11-05T20:09:00.000-07:00

See, now I remember why I never blogged. This toddler thing is killing me. We're on, what, day five? Five! And I already feel burnt out. Oh, suck it up, you big baby. Now, I'm talking to myself. Great.

I guess it's just felt like a long day. Up at 6:30, a trip to the park (Okay, this is sounding leisurely, Megan. Try harder...), tearing my kitchen apart to make some pumpkin gnocchi, which turned out only so-so, and blah, blah, blah.

Okay, it was a perfectly fine day. I'm just tired because I didn't get enough sleep. And whose fault is that? Mine!

Be that as it may, I'm pretty beat. Certainly too tired to write a proper post, so here is a list of random things that happened today. Hey, no complaining. You get what you get:

1. On the way to the restrooms at the park, Charlotte spotted a man on a tractor. "Tractor!" she yelled as she approached the maintenance shed in which Tractor Man was having a conversation with another man. They realized they were being watched by a creepy toddler voyeur and stopped talking. "Sorry, she just wants to see the tractor." "Oh, that's okay. Hi! I bet you just want a ride on the tractor, huh?" And this is when Charlotte looked directly at him and pulled her shirt up over her head. Was that a "no"? I couldn't say.

2. I ate two lunches. I sort of didn't realize I was doing it until I was mid-burger. Then I just went with it. The two frozen Reeses were just a bonus.

3. Charlotte and I were watching a little "Beauty and the Beast" this morning to take the sting out of the early morning blues. She called the Beast a lion and Belle, Allison. That's my sister. Yeah, she's pretty enough to be mistaken for Belle and vice versa.

4. I daydreamed about going across the parking lot and punching one of my neighbors in the face. I hate that guy. Actually, this is more of an ongoing thing than a recent event.

5. I left my new commuter mug that was pretty and green and made out of recycled plastic, at the park. I didn't realize it until we pulled into the garage, and it was too late to go get it because if I didn't put Charlotte down for a nap right then? Apocalypse. Now, I'm sad and will have to drink my coffee out of my hands, like a crazy person. Or maybe I'll replace it with one of those beer hats! Things are looking up!

That's all for tonight, folks. Tune in tomorrow for an explanation of how Charlotte's verbal exuberance is getting in the way of my good time.

NOVEMBER!

2010-11-04T19:39:00.001-07:00

As promised, here are a few words on the recent heat stroke:

What the crap?

I'm pretty sure my husband is somewhere groaning and rolling his eyes, though he doesn't yet know why. He is sick to death of me constantly pointing out not only the temperature, but the date on the calender as well. It's pretty much some form of "I can't believe it is 90 degrees. It's NOVEMBER!" or "Guess how hot it is. Just guess. And are you aware that it is NOVEMBER?"

He's just as miserable as me. Though, I suspect for very different reasons.

I'm not pleasant in the heat. I can deal for about two months, but by late summer I'm way over it and beginning to look forward to fall. But when you live in the greater Los Angeles area, you can't really count on cooler temperatures until, oh, I don't know, January? This is gravely and just...so very much wrong.

I sometimes wish that we could have stayed in Northern California, specifically the Bay Area because the weather was always cool and perfect, and even when it got hot it was never TOO hot, and it never lasted long. But, then I would have had to listen to my conservative husband complain about all the hippies. Plus his work is here. So, this is all his fault really. Just kidding honey! I love you. You pay my rent. Pet Shop Boys, anyone?

Okay, the heat is clearly making me a crazy-ramble lady. A SWEATY, crazy-ramble lady, so I will stop now.

You're welcome.

P.S. Can you make the heat stop? Because I will make you cookies if you can.

I Never Promised You'd Enjoy This

2010-11-03T19:57:00.001-07:00

It's day three, and I'm already going to sort of phone it in. I'm very tired, and I have a bottle of Sauvingon Blanc in the freezer calling my name. I think there are some Kit Kats next to it, too...

I'm tired because I'm a total moron who stays up way too late every night. Sometimes it's because I want to finish a movie or watch another episode of Arrested Development (Except now I've seen the whole series. Seriously, what is wrong with you, America, that you couldn't be bothered to keep unadulterated genius programming on the air for more than three seasons? Maybe we should vote on THAT next election.) Do I not have the absolute longest parentheticals you've ever seen? That's probably not something to be proud of.

Other nights I do bizarre things like bake an apple pie at ten o'clock even though I can barely keep my eyes open. Chris says I don't respect sleep, and I suppose that's true. I just don't make it a priority.So, my bedtime has been hovering around midnight for a while now. Some days, it works out okay for me, and other days I'm totally wrecked in the morning, and I sort of get through the three or four hours until nap time with copious amounts of coffee and sometimes with the help of my pals over at Disney. Have I told you about Charlotte's obsession with "Pincess Fog?" So, THEN I take a nap, right?

Not so much. I have, you know, stuff to do. I usually end up spending two straight hours in the kitchen while Charlotte naps. I'm really getting into this food thing, and I just can't resist the temptation to make pumpkin bread, or black bean chili, or risotto,(a serious and alarming addiction for me. Seriously, find me help)or soup, and hopefully soon my own pizza dough with a recipe sent to me by the lovely Kathleen.

Food has sort of become my new hobby/obsession. Which is great except that getting off my ass and exercising has not made the cut. So, in the spirit of making positive changes like writing more, I'm going to do two things: go to bed early tonight and go to the fitness center at my apartment complex during Charlotte's nap tomorrow,(Relax. Chris will be home. Child neglect isn't on my to-do list.)and clock in at least half an hour with the treadmill.

I'd go outside and do something, but it's like a billion degrees out here. IN NOVEMBER. I'll save that rant for tomorrow.

I Voted...Kinda

2010-11-02T19:45:00.000-07:00

However, when it comes time to perform my civic duty, I pull my head out of the sand, get involved, do my research, tentatively wade into discussions to get perspective, and I get the job done before going back to thinking about food and whether or not I should have that second glass of wine (The answer is always "Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!", by the way.)

This time, though, I just didn't get there. I won't make excuses. I just didn't. And, I feel extra, extra shitty about it. I left so many bubbles blank simply because I felt like the only thing worse than not voting is guessing, or just voting with whatever party you happen to align yourself with. The latter is especially impossible for me since I do not align myself with any party and particularly loathe our two-party system and all the "Democrats are evil" and "Republicans are stupid" banter it inspires.

So, I fail as a citizen today. All I can do is try harder in the future, and, as my dad instructed me last night, "Read the news once in a while."

I hear ya', Dad. I hear ya'.

Here Goes Nothing...

2010-11-01T20:44:00.000-07:00

I was unaware of this fact last year, but apparently November is National Blog Posting Month, or, NaBloPoMo. Meaning, your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to post a blog every day in the month of November.

You may or may not have noticed that I have hit something of a blogging slump. I really can't explain it. I haven't felt motivated to write here (or anywhere, really) in quite some time. I have a nagging feeling that I SHOULD be writing. And whenever something happens to me, something very stereotypically "frazzled mother to a precocious toddler", I'll think to myself, "This is comic gold!" I'll write the post in my head all day, get more and more excited to type it up, then when I finally sit down at my laptop and put fingers to keys, I'm all "Meh."

I suppose it's a combination of my general fatigue, my proclivity for listless apathy, my laziness, and maybe more than anything, my fear of rejection. I've noticed a significant decrease in comment activity on the ol' blog, and rather than just saying "Screw you! " to anyone with whom I may have fallen out of favor or began to bore, I start scrutinizing what I've said, how I've said it, and pretty much begin to lose all confidence that anyone gives a damn about what I write. Once the "Do I complain too much? Did that come off as snobbish? Judgmental? Or am I too wishy washy? Am I telling too many poop stories? Posting too many pictures of Charlotte? Not enough?" questions start flooding my head, I've pretty much shut down, and the chances of getting an authentic post out of me are non-existent.

So, here I go. I will post every day this month (I hope). I can't promise that anything will be worth reading, but since I HAVE to write every day, I hope I will get out of my funk and just write.

Giving Thanks

2010-10-20T15:42:00.000-07:00

As some of you may know, I recently participated in AIDS Walk Los Angeles. I've always wanted to do this walk because as a huge supporter of the gay community, this is an issue that is dear to my heart. Especially because when I was four years old I lost my godfather to the disease. My mom lost one of her best friends, my godmother lost her soul mate, and I never got a chance to really know the man who read Shakespeare to me as a baby.

Unfortunately, I didn't raise nearly as much money as I had hoped, and I showed up to the walk on Sunday, not having met my goal of $200. The reason for this is mainly that I was too timid about asking for donations. It's silly, really. It isn't as if I am asking for a handout. The money isn't for me. It's for a good cause. But, I know how awkward it can be to be put on the spot when you can't afford to donate.

So here's the deal. Next month I will be participating in the St. Jude "Give Thanks" walk to raise money for St. Jude's cancer research center. St. Jude treats and researches cancer and other diseases that affect children. No family is denied treatment due to an inability to pay.

So, why am I doing this, especially only a month after I failed miserably at fundraising for AIDS walk? Well, you've seen their commercials, right? Where all the celebrities tell you to "Give thanks for the healthy children in your life," and Jennifer Aniston says "OUR research..." and I'm like, "Really, Jennifer? Have you slapped on a lab coat and hunkered down with a microscope and come cancerous cells?" I didn't think so.

I digress. My point is that since I started blogging and "meeting" so many other parents on the web, I've come across countless heartbreaking stories of babies dying of congenital heart defects, kids succumbing to cancer, horrific accidents that cost people their children. And, it's very, very hard to take all that in sometimes. As a mom, I can keenly feel the potential for that kind of devastation and loss. But, nothing I imagine will ever come close to what those parents must be feeling.

So, I'm giving thanks for the healthy child in my life by doing my damndest to raise as much money as possible for the sake of these kids. Cancer is a horrible, ugly, monster that clearly doesn't discriminate. I don't remember this, but apparently after seeing the St. Jude ad in a movie theater, I started crying, looked at Chris, and said through my tears: "I can't believe kids get cancer!"

It seems a simple and naive thought, but it really is something that boggles my mind. I've witnessed people dedicate their lives, their paychecks, all their free time, and more to fight diseases like this, to raise awareness,and organize fundraisers. A perfect example is Kristine McCormick. Her daughter, Cora, died at 5 days old due to an undetected congenital heart defect. Her condition could have been detected if Cora had received a simple and inexpensive procedure called a pulse oximetry test. Kristine now raises awareness and saves lives by educating mothers about this life saving test. Check out www.corasstory.org for the whole story and to see what you can do to help prevent other parents from suffering the same tragedy. I know I had never heard of this test, and I will definitely make sure any future child of mine receives the pulse oximetry.

Participating in this walk might seem like a small contribution to the sick children in the world, especially when you compare it with some of the more heroic efforts out there. But, it's what I can do right now to show how much I appreciate my beautiful, healthy daughter, and how much I feel for the parents and children out there suffering from cancer, heart problems, and any number of other tragedies.

So, please, if you can spare it, make a donation to my page. Thanks for reading.

Here are some pictures of Chris, Charlotte, and me from AIDS Walk:

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This is a crappy picture. What you might not be able to see is that these assholes were there with signs saying things like "Homo sex is sin." Stay classy, guys.

Our cheerleader at the finish line

Wordless Wednesday: At the Getty

2010-10-13T16:11:00.000-07:00

The Not-So-Terrible Not-Yet-Twos

2010-10-04T22:02:00.001-07:00

Charlotte,

By now you have given up on receiving a letter for every month of your life, and you are wise to do so. It's clearly not happening. The fact is that you keep me so much busier now than you did when you were smaller and less mobile/talkative/playful/willful/bratty.

But, I do promise to write you a letter on each of your birthdays until you are sixteen, and beyond, if you want me to.

Right now you are eighteen months old. The reason I'm writing this letter even though I've just let myself off the hook until your second birthday, is that I need to remember this time in your life. You have never been quite so amazing as you have been in the past month or so. I suppose that's normal. You'll just keep doing more and more awe-inspiring (to me and your dad, at least) things as you grow older. But, there is something about you at this age that just makes your father and I swoon every time we talk about you, which is always.

A couple of days ago my mother, your grandma got married to the man you know as "Pop Pop". You and your cousin, Victoria, were flower girls, and you were both just lovely. The sight of you bravely walking the aisle, grasping Tori's hand, and resolutely climbing the stairs to the altar was incredible. You are fearless. And you're so...sure of yourself. You have a kind of self possession people my age crave. It makes me sad to know that this probably will not always be so. One day you might come home and toss your favorite shirt in the trash after someone at school has made fun of it. You may pretend to like a band you secretly hate because they're popular, and you'd rather blend in with your friends. And I'll insist that you be your wonderful, perfect, self because you're so much better than those other kids, even though I did the same thing when I was that age.

In any case, right now, you know what you want, and when you reached your destination in front of me and the other bridesmaids, what you wanted was Daddy. And, you stomped your little feet and yelled your little yell, until I let you cross the stage and be with your father. For the rest of the night, I graciously accepted all the compliments about how beautiful you looked and how well you performed in the ceremony, while trying not to let on how annoyed I was that you had shunned me.

But, I forgave you a few days later when out of nowhere you called for me while I was pushing you through the mall, and you actually called me "Mommy" instead of what you've been calling me for months, which is "Mom." I was grateful that it wasn't "Mother", at least, but I had always dreamed of hearing my child yell, "Mommy!" when she saw me and I was really afraid you wouldn't ever make the switch. But, you did, and it stuck. And hearing you call me is just as wonderful as I'd hoped it would be.

That's the thing about you: one day you just learn a new word or skill, or you start saying something differently than you used to, and you act like you've been doing it all along. We're cheering for you, and you get this look on your face like, "What? I've always been able to walk down the stairs by myself. You mean you've never seen me feed myself with a spoon? Pssht. Where have you been?"

I've found that watching you grow has me in a constant state of simultaneous bliss and agony. With every new development I'm rejoicing, I also have the burden of mourning the stages long gone, never to return again. Like how you used to say "Das?" instead of "please", and I made fun of you for sounding German, and it was sososo cute. You did it for months. Then after a few days of replacing "das" with the inexplicable "tee-ta", you started saying "Pees?", which is damn near completely accurate and totally awesome, except that now you'll always know how to say these words properly, just like normal kids. You won't be my baby who says things funny forever.

But, honestly, I am loving your brand new communication skills. You can tell me when something is bothering you: "Eyes. Hurt." I mean, that's a VAST improvement on whining and/or crying while I guess what could be ailing you. You are also now able to express your opinions and desires, which is a blessing and a burden. It's great to have you just walk up to me and ask for milk or tell me what toys you would like for us to play with. But, pointing at the risotto I've made for dinner and saying "Yuck!" or responding to me telling you we're going to be eating some broccoli with "No. Noodles.", is not quite as helpful.

It's fascinating to watch your verbal skills blossom. Your dad and I don't do anything differently. We just keep talking to you like you're a grown up, and then one day, you respond like one. Yesterday, you looked at me and said "I'm eating pretzels." My mind was blown. I could sit here and name all the new words and sentences and mastery of pronouns that have had me tempted to alert Harvard and request a spot be held for you, but the list would just go on and on, and I have a very small laundry/cleaning/cooking/screwing around on the internet/watching Dexter (I'll show you when you're older) window of opportunity while you sleep.

One of my favorite things about you is the way you embody all that is precocious and sweet at the same time. One minute you will pretend that you are going to give me a bite of your food, then pull it away at the last second or walk away from me saying "No." when I say it's time to change your diaper, and the next minute you're asking me if I'm okay when I bump my head, or saying "Bless you." when I sneeze or running towards me to give me a "flying hug" as your dad calls it. You are amazingly empathetic. If we tell you one of your stuffed animals is sad (especially your beloved Bunny) you will say "Hug!" and then look them in the face and say "Okay?" If we're reading a book with an animal or character that you happen to like, you will kiss the page of the book on which they appear. You are much more likely to kiss a stuffed animal or book than your own parents. What's up with that?

You love to go to the park and ask me to take you there almost every time we get in the car. You love kids, especially your cousins. Sometimes out of nowhere you will look at me and inquire, "Athena? Tori? Kayla?" I tell you they're at school, and then you'll start to ask about everyone you know: "Gamma? Pop pop? Gigi? (other) Gamma, Poppa?" Depending on the time of day, I will tell you they're at work or school, or that they went night-night. This seems to satisfy you.

A couple weeks ago we took you to Disneyland, even though I always swore I would never take a child as young as you. Predictably, you slept horribly the night before and woke up earlier than you needed to. I steeled myself for a day of tantrums and for the possibility of having to leave early. But, you surprised me. You were incredible. Your dad and I spend so much time marveling about how well-behaved you are and how wonderfully you handle stressful situations, like performing in a wedding or being kept out past your bedtime. (I want you to remember all this praise because from what I hear, in about six to twelve months I'm going to be writing about the lengths I go to every day to not put you in a basket and leave you on a random and more patient stranger's door. Please don't get all evil on me when you turn two, okay? Just...don't.)

Here is a video of you meeting Mickey at Disneyland. We introduced you to him a couple months ago, and in an attempt to imitate his laugh, you call him "Hoo hoo." It really is the cutest thing.

And here you are at the park, totally ditching me on the slide.

Happy eighteen months, bunny. I love you.

Mommy

And Then I Passed Out at Nine P.M.

2010-09-23T20:51:00.000-07:00

My mom is getting married in nine days. I am a bridesmaid. I should be staining little wooden boxes that will be filled with chocolate espresso beans and used as party favors, but I am not (Sorry, Mom! I'll get it done!)

My sister is moving to New York two days after the wedding to be with her fiancé. Last weekend I drove to San Francisco on Saturday, had wonderful food and wine with her and her two girlfriends, woke up and helped her pack the car, and drove back down to L.A. That's over twelve hours in the car in a 36 hour period, in case you're counting.

I'm not complaining about any of this. The trip was taxing, but fun. I'm excited about the wedding. And, I'm loving soaking up every minute I can with my sister before it's time for her to go east, and time for me to start waking her up at 2 A.M. to talk about Dexter because I've forgotten the time change.

My point is that I am missing my blog, but I am very, very busy. Tomorrow we have Charlotte's 18 month old check up, as well. Then she's spending the night with my in-laws, and my sister and I might be having a farewell karaoke party.

In related news, HOLY SHIT. My baby is 18 months old. Soon I will have to write about how I am much more freaked about her turning two than I was about her turning one. Something about her being a "kid" and not a baby by any stretch.

Oh, and we're going to Disneyland on Sunday. And, yes, we're taking the toddler. I know some of you might be thinking this is stupid, and if I were paying a million dollars to get in and hadn't scored some free tickets from my soon-to-be-stepfather, you would be right. I have always shaken my head at the people pushing strollers around Disneyland. I didn't understand why you would spend all that money to bring a baby to a place they wouldn't remember. Especially if it prevented you from going on Space Mountain. I mean, REALLY.

But, like I said, free tickets. And, I also underestimated the intense desire to give Charlotte every experience. Even ill-advised ones like hauling her cranky butt all over The Happiest Place on Earth sans nap. Besides, I'd just end up envying all the other morons who brought their babies, and no amount of free-falling down the Tower of Terror would help me miss her less.

So, not that it's a change for my posting to be sporadic, but I will probably be around even less than I have been. I'll be back to tell the tales of Charlotte meeting Mickey, a farewell night of karaoke with my sister, and the aftermath of my mom and I deciding that the 18 month old could totally be a flowergirl.

And, now if you will excuse me. I am going to face plant on my keyboard. Or a glass of chardonnay.

So There

2010-09-15T13:12:00.000-07:00

A couple days ago I was talking to a friend. She has a two-year-old named Riley, and usually when we get together we spend most of our time pulling toys out of the collective death grip each of our kids has on them amidst shouts of "Mine!" and "No no no!" But, on this day, thanks to an ill-timed trip to Whole Foods and the fact that neither of our kids had napped, they both fell asleep in the car on the way home and continued to sleep through dinnertime once we brought them back to my apartment, so we were actually able to have a conversation for a change.

They're adorable, yes?

Do you have one of those friends that just always looks cute, and when you know you're going to see her, you put a little more effort into picking clothes that won't make you feel fat and dumpy and just generally awful about yourself when you see her in stylish clothes three sizes smaller than yours? Well, Jess is mine.

She is decidedly thin, sort of exotic looking with her dark, almond-shaped eyes and thick, black hair, and is always dressed in a way that seems hip and effortless at the same time. I, on the other hand, am...thicker, and most of my clothes are hand-me-downs from friends who were clearing out their closets to make room for bigger and better things. Well, not bigger. But, better.

So, when the conversation turned to fashion and clothing, I was astonished to learn that Jess covets other people's clothing just as much as I do. She, too changes her outfit twenty times and drives the man in HER life crazy with questions about what does and does not make her look fat. She also struggles with the constant push/pull of trying to move beyond the material and focus on the more important matters of life, but OMG, I need that belt!

Now, in the past, upon hearing that this waif of a girl ever worried about looking fat, I would have been annoyed. I would have taken it as an affront. Well, if she thinks SHE'S fat, what does she think about me? But, this time it hit me: it isn't about me. It's not about her, either. It's all of us. We all have our body issues, self-esteem issues, doubts, etc.

And it isn't limited to the aesthetics. One of the things I love about the internet community I've found is that we can all express our doubts and insecurities about the kind of job we're doing raising our kids. It's harder to get to that soft, squishy place in some of the moms we meet in real life because we're so much more guarded. We worry about how we're being perceived. One of my favorite bloggy buddies, Kathleen, recently wrote this post about protecting our kids vs. letting them make mistakes, and she admits that while her instincts tell her not to hover and to let her daughter fall (literally and figuratively), she has caught herself rushing to her daughter's aid more than she feels is necessary just to deflect the wayward glances the more protective mothers give her at the playground.

Part of the problem is that no matter how sure we are in one moment that our parenting style is right and good and totally the way to go, all it takes is to see another parent doing it differently, and all of a sudden we're not sure of anything anymore, and we are compensating for this uncertainty by very ostentatiously offering our kids their ORGANIC raisins or asking them to count to ten for no apparent reason.

It's just so damn hard and maybe even impossible to not compare ourselves to everything and everyone. To the other mothers we encounter, to the beautiful and fashionable people we see on the street, to the better paid and superiorly-titled co-workers, and so on. I realize this is not a new revelation, and my resolve to try and opt out is not one that hasn't been made and then forgotten by millions of people, but... still.

I have to try. I have to try to focus on being the best parent I can. And, yes, that includes continuing the dialogue with people, both in the real world and on the web. I think exposing yourself to the various parenting styles with as open a mind as you can is great. The trick is to take what you like, leave what you don't, make your choices with pride, and remain confident even when faced with the myriad voices of dissent. It's hard. But, it helps to know that almost everyone else is fighting the same fight.

I have to try and love my body, flab and all. I feed it good food. I try and take it for a spin around the block or on the treadmill when I can. My husband loves it. I have to focus on being healthy and not thin. Because, if I don't change the way I think, I could lose twenty pounds and still think I'm fat.

I have to try and write more. I want to be a writer, and yet, I veto so many ideas in my head without even giving them a chance to live on the page, because I'm worried about what people will like to read, what they will find tiresome, what they have heard a million times before. I have been afraid to write fiction because it's unfamiliar territory for me, and I worry it won't be good enough. Good enough for whom? Me? yes. But also... people. Everyone else. And writing some bad stuff is better than never writing anything for fear of rejection and ridicule.

I guess what it comes down to is that I have to try to be happy. Food makes me happy. Wine makes me happy. Exercise will keep me healthy, and that makes me happy (If only the exercise itself made me as happy!). Writing makes me happy. My family makes me happy, and I won't feel guilty anymore for spending time with them when I *should* be doing something else. The kitchen can stay messy. My stomach can stay flabby. My clothes can stay shabby. But, I'm going to be happy, damnit.

So there.

Wonderful Wednesdays: At the Park

2010-09-08T12:54:00.000-07:00

I thought this week would be a good one to participate in Wonderful Wednesdays because this is the first day in months that I woke up to weather that didn't make me want to kill myself!

Seriously, it is beautiful today, all gray and cloudy, with a cool breeze. I looked out the window and was so happy that I decided to forgo our usual routine of hanging out in pajamas until Chris wakes up, and I got us all dressed, dusted off the jogging stroller, and we set off to the park.

Charlotte was thrilled when she realized we were going to the park. She gets a little bored just sitting in the stroller when I've tried to go for an evening jog (which is my word for panting, holding my side, and generally dying, for thirty whole seconds and then walking the rest of the way), so when she saw the shiny plastic kingdom awaiting her as we turned the corner, she cried out "Play!" and decided I was good people and called off this afternoon's assassination attempt.

There was a little girl about Charlotte's age there with her nanny. So, they did the typical toddler ritual of smiling and pointing at each other while repeatedly informing those around them that there is, in fact, another baby in proximity.

It was kind of awkward for us grown-ups, as there was a significant language barrier, but we were able to ascertain the respective ages and names of the kids. Then we just smiled feebly at one another whenever one of the girls would start following the other all over the park.

It took Charlotte a little while to warm up to the girl, but once she did, she very suddenly (and loudly) ran up to her and said "HI!" at which point, the baby looked frightened and asked to be picked up by her caregiver. I don't blame her. Charlotte scares me, too.

There were a few more uncomfortable moments, this time involving Charlotte's new favorite word. First she ran up to a toy that a little boy was playing with, pointing her finger, shaking with rage and growling, "MINE." Which, you know, is typical, and she can get away with, what with her cherub face and all. It's when she starts pointing at human children and asserting her claim with a "My baby" that things get interesting.

Soon enough, it was time to head home. The walk was less than wonderful considering that my inability to comply with her majesty's command to "Run run" all the way back to our apartment complex due to aforementioned panting and wheezing, was something of a disappointment to Charlotte.

But, when we got home there was bacon being prepared by my cute husband. So, back to wonderful.

Don't forget to visit Ginger to see what's wonderful in her world this week or to read her beautiful post about her baby boy turning one.

And tell me what is wonderful in your lives, too!

Charlotte: Eating Sand and Stealing Hearts. But Mostly Eating Sand.

2010-09-02T14:17:00.000-07:00

I've spent the last few days writing the same blog post, whining, being hormonal and emotional, and just generally being loads of fun.

Charlotte has been waking up several times during the night, sometimes taking more than an hour to go back to sleep, and only accepting my presence as acceptable, so that even when Chris happens to be home and willing to deal with her, she screams bloody murder until I come in and ultimately nurse her.

I'm feeling stifled by her dependence on me, and I'm sleep-deprived. Plus, like I said: hormones. All of these combined have made me, unpleasant, to say the least, and I'm really surprised Chris hasn't started slipping mood stabilizers into my coffee just to save his own sanity.

Last night, as I was getting ready for bed, I started thinking about all the bitching I'd been doing.

I started recalling how I'd spent an evening with a friend complaining that I can't go out for drinks and to independent movies with my child-free friends anymore, and that I can't afford to buy clothes, and that I HATE all my clothes. I whined to anyone who would listen about how I needed a break from Charlotte, how I couldn't deal with the wakings and the clinginess.

I won't go into the details of how I ended up putting things in perspective because while the inner workings of my mind may be complicated, they certainly aren't interesting. But, suffice it to say, I realized I was being a giant ass.

I'm not saying we can't complain when our kids do annoying crap like keep us up all night. Nor am I saying it's wrong to want some space from them. I am with Charlotte all the freaking time. Even without the defiance and poor sleep habits, I'd need some time away from her. I'm just saying I can't let this self pity consume me the way it has been. She might shove sand in her mouth and get in my face right after I've sternly told her not to eat sand. She might get all bright-eyed at 3 A.M. and start talking about pie (true story). But, she also kicks a lot of ass. And, here's some video evidence to prove it.

Once she takes this act on the road, I'll have money for all the nice clothes I want!

And We All Made it Back Alive

2010-08-26T16:08:00.000-07:00

Well!

For someone who hopes to someday make a living at this writing thing, I certainly am not doing very much writing, am I?

I could go on and on about why I'm not as prolific as I would like to be, about how I spend the baby's sleeping hours hanging out with Chris or resting after a long day of child rearing. Or how I feel too guilty to enlist help during her waking hours so I can go get stuff done, as if she can't exist without me for an hour or two, or I her.

But, what it really boils down to is that I am lazy and lack motivation. Part of that lack can probably be explained by the fact that as my blog nears its first birthday, I'm starting to enter the crisis mode of "Why am I writing this blog? Does anyone even read it? Do I have anything worth writing about? Haven't I written about all this already?" You know the one. So, I'm trying to work all that out. In 100 degree weather, so bear with me.

In the meantime, I have been meaning to tell you about my solo-parent vacation with Charlotte! And, I know you've been waiting with bated breath, so without further ado...

I realize I haven't written about it, but a couple months ago my little sister got engaged to a very nice guy named Patrick. We like him because he's nice and polite and treats my sister very well, but mostly we like him because he makes wine for a living, and, well, we like wine. So, we were all meant to celebrate this engagement at Patrick's house in a little town near Napa. Chris and I had determined we would drive to save money on airfare, and we'd drive up on Friday so we could rest up for the party on Saturday. Then it turned out Chris had to work on Friday night, which meant we'd have to leave early Saturday morning, and he'd only get a few hours of sleep. We might not even make it on time for the party, and everyone would be sure to be in a foul mood after the eight-hour drive, especially Miss Needs Constant Entertainment in the Car. The happy couple wearing their totally cool and not nerdy shirts from my hippie dad

So, we bit the bullet and shelled out the money for a plane ticket, rental car, and one night in a hotel by the airport. It hurt a little to spend the money, but mostly I was freaked the hell out about travelling with Charlotte without Chris's help. The flight is only an hour to San Francisco, but then I'd have to rent a car and drive an hour and half to the house, up a winding road, in the dark. Not to mention dragging around a suitcase, backpack, AND a wily toddler.

Not only that, but Charlotte has been extra clingy lately, and I knew that even though there would be an abundance of family members willing to help me with her, I'd still be on my own since she won't let anyone near her besides me or Chris (or sometimes just me) most of the time. This prophecy turned out to come true, but more on that in my next post.

So, Friday afternoon the three of us piled into the car so Chris could drop us off at LAX. He walked in with us and stayed while I checked the bag and located the security line. He helped me strap Charlotte in the Ergo, took a picture, and kissed us goodbye. The dread starting setting in as he descended the escalator and disappeared from the horizon. I felt like I'd just been dropped off for my first day of school.Moments before we set out on our own

I got through the security check, but not without making it very apparent to all that I don't fly very often. I forgot to take my cell phone out of my pocket. I forgot to take off Charlotte's shoes and put them with mine in the basket. The security guard asked me if I could take the baby out of the carrier. I asked in the nicest way possible if that was totally necessary because I couldn't get her in it myself. This was true, though out of necessity, I learned how to do it over the course of the trip.

After more blunders and deference on my part and some gruff handling on her part, the security guard waved us through, and we started the long walk to the gate. I must have had the look of someone who needed to be rescued. Maybe it was the way my shoulders were drooping from carrying a backpack full of snacks, diapers, board books, and toys on my, well, back, and a 25 pound toddler on my front. Maybe it was the look of resigned fatigue on my face as I trudged up the hill toward our destination. I'm not sure. But a ridiculously nice airport employee on a golf cart drove up and asked me where I was headed, then DROVE me right to my gate. I could have kissed her. In fact, maybe I did. Who can say?

When we reached our seat I started to put the backpack containing my entire arsenal for keeping Charlotte happy on the plane, in the overhead compartment, when I hear the flight attendant get on the speaker and announce the overhead compartments are full, so carry-on bags will need to go under the seat. So, now I'm trying to shove both my backpack and my purse under the seat behind me.

Yeah. You expert travelers out there are laughing at me. Apparently, your bag goes under the seat in FRONT of you. Which the flight attendant finally told me after I struggled for five minutes as people waited to get past me, trying not to trip on the binkys and stuffed Elmos and books that were flying out of my purse. When I finally got us settled into our seat, I heard the flight attendant get on the intercom and explain to the captain that the hold up was a lady with a baby trying to get into her seat.

Awesome.

Oh! I almost forgot the best part. The part where I insist to the surly man that he is in my seat, only to find out that, no, he is not in my seat. And my seat is not by the aisle as I had hoped, but by a window. Trapped. Where I have to climb over two sets of legs while balancing Charlotte to get to the bathroom. Luckily a really nice (and really high) chick offered to switch with me as she wanted a window seat anyway. Presumably because it enhanced her... experience. Either way, I was grateful.

The flight was deliciously uneventful. I had a bad moment where I thought Charlotte was going to freak out during take-off. The plane started to move toward the runway, the engine rumbled, and I tried to elicit excitement out of her: "We're going to fly now! In an airplane! Are you so excited?" To which she replied, "No. No. All done?", and I was like "Shiiiiit." But, she clutched her Elmo in one hand, extra binky in the other, and didn't make a peep the whole time we were ascending. She was remarkably well-behaved for the rest of the flight and while we roamed the airport picking up our bag and renting the car. And, she fell asleep on the drive up to Napa. So, scores all around.

The weekend was great. I had a glass of wine in my hand at almost any given time. Charlotte was clingy, but charming as always. Everyone got along, and the party was lovely, complete with awesome food and awesomer wine. Charlotte and I shared a bed the whole weekend since I didn't have the playpen, and it was so sweet waking up to her little face in the mornings. She even slept with me in the hotel even though I had a crib in the room because she had gotten so used to it. When I woke her up at 5:30 the morning of our returning flight, she bolted up, pointed at the television and said "T.V.!", which just proves that I am an incredible mother.

Clearly.

See? With the wine glass?

The most surprising thing about this trip is how much closer I feel to Charlotte now that it's over. I kept telling Chris about how I was going to check out on Monday because I knew I would need a break from Charlotte. And, in fact, when Chris took me out to breakfast at an outdoor cafe in Santa Monica and ordered me a mimosa, I was happy to drink it and screw around on my Blackberry while HE chased her around and showed her the fountains. But, I also missed her when she took her nap and have been reveling in how much cuddlier she's been with me since we embarked on our adventure. I was so nervous about being on my own with her for three days that I didn't even think to expect that we'd have fun, just the two of us.

But, we did have fun. We giggled while waiting for our plane. We laughed during our dinner together to escape the four-hour traffic jam we encountered on the way to the hotel from Napa. We tickled and cuddled in our bed before passing out from exhaustion after our drive. Who wouldn't want to wake up to this hair?

And, she was so GOOD. She handled the long car ride like a champ. She got upset a few times, but a few repetitions of my crooning "Old McDonald" to her or handing her a snack usually did the trick. Of course, there was the time that she squeezed her fruit puree all over herself and Elmo, and kept repeating "Uh oh. Uh oh." I acknowledged that there was indeed fruit all over her face and hands and that I would clean it up as soon as I could. She kept insisting: "Uh oh! UH OH!" and then inquired, "Keen? Keen?" "Yes, Charlotte, I will clean you as soon as we stop." But that wasn't good enough for her. She kept insisting that I clean her RIGHT NOW. Because, she can eat sand and play with garbage, but having some fruit puree on her person is completely unacceptable. I finally decided that we would either die because I crashed the car while cleaning her off or because I drove it off the Bay Bridge to escape the whining, and I quickly wiped her face and hands while traffic was stopped. Then she started in with "Uh oh! Elmo. Uh oh! Elmo" while gesturing frantically to the fruit on Elmo's foot.

Yeah, that one I will deal with later, kid.

She didn't get enough sleep, but she never got too out of sorts about it. Napping was hard for her because there were so many people in the house. So, as the party was approaching on Saturday evening, I took her for a walk in the Ergo because I had this wild idea she might fall asleep in it. Which, she did! I texted Chris because I was so excited that it had worked! To which he replied, "So, what now? You just walk around for an hour?"

Oh. Right.

I was able to sit in a chair and got 45 minutes out of her. But, out of everything that happened on the entire trip, the thing that made me love her the most, the main reason I walked away from this trip feeling oh so gushy about my wonderful little girl, is this:

SHE FELL ASLEEP ON THE FLIGHT HOME!

Nay, she fell asleep before we even took off, STAYED asleep throughout take-off, and didn't wake up until five minutes before we landed.

I know, right? I watched the in-flight entertainment! I pitied the poor mother with the crying baby, while enjoying my narrow escape from the same fate! I had to pee, but I didn't care!

So, the bottom line is that travelling with Charlotte was great...this time. She seems to have a new personality each day, so I can't say that she would handle other trips as well, especially longer trips. But, this trip was good. And, I learned from it. You wouldn't have recognized the calm, prepared, and organized mom on the return flight as the one who was holding up the line and dropping toys all over the plane a mere two days before.

Then again, it was only an hour flight. All the organizing in the world ain't gonna help you on hour four of a six-hour flight when you've run out of snacks and your kid is screaming about wanting to watch Dora instead of the romantic comedy they're playing.

I think I'll make sure Chris is with me on that flight.

Fess Up Friday: Travel Edition

2010-08-20T08:37:00.000-07:00

As Charlotte and I shared a blueberry scone at Starbucks this morning, three cops walked in for some coffee, and I suddenly got really nervous.

Then I remembered it isn't illegal to take your child out in public in her pajamas. It's just embarrassing.

In my defense, what she wore to bed wasn't technically pajamas; it was more like a t-shirt and yoga pants. But since I wasn't taking my 17-month-old to yoga class, I guess you could call it a fail.

We had a rough night. Charlotte woke up three times last night before finally waking up for the day around 5:30. I was up at least five times including trips to the bathroom and reaching for the aspirin for my headache that got progressively worse before its climax of tear-inducing throbbiness(Totally a word. Look it up. Except...don't) when I realized I was up for good.

Due to the crappy nature of the morning, I decided to give myself permission to go for a coffee even though I'm supposed to be on a budget. "It'll be nice!" I thought. Unfortunately, I did not have the foresight to bring more than one binky. Charlotte's new obsession is with having two of everything, especially binkies. If you give her one, before it's even in her mouth, she'll inquire, "Twoooooooo?" So, she screamed all the way to Starbucks this morning since I was so ill-prepared.

I should nap when Chris gets up, but I probably won't. I am so stupid when it comes to getting the sleep I need. And, then it bites me in the ass on days like this. I'll try to make myself sleep, but I also need to pack.

See, Charlotte and I are flying to San Francisco tonight, renting a car, and driving to Napa for my sister's engagement party tomorrow. I'm a little nervous about negotiating the airports and rental car station, etc. with no help from Chris. But, I figure an hour flight is a good way to break me in for bigger trips in the future. I'm going to miss Chris a lot, but I am excited for the trip, and I think I will feel proud of myself when this is all said and done.

Maybe this will sound ridiculous, but I feel almost guilty about the fact that I get so much help on a daily basis from Chris. It feels like I'm cheating at being a stay-at-home mom, which makes me feel like I have something to prove. This is all really stupid.

I'm going to see about getting this kid to nap. She is driving me crazy, and of she doesn't watch herself, I may just "accidentally" leave for the trip without her.

The Good, the Bad, and the Mundane

2010-08-17T21:39:00.000-07:00

I'm far too tired to write a proper blog post. So, instead, here is a list of things that happened to me today. Some of them will explain why I'm too tired to write a proper blog post, and some of them will not. Enjoy!

1. Charlotte slept for ten hours before wanting a diaper change and to nurse, then slept for two more hours! I realize this isn't the best way to evoke your sympathy, but hear me out. While Charlotte may have had an awesome night's sleep, I did not. I had a terrific headache that lasted all through the night, plus my bladder is a wimp, PLUS I made the mistake of checking my Blackberry during my 3 A.M. potty wakeup, got a confrontational response to a blog comment I posted, and began to compose my rebuttal in my head. None of these are conducive to an awesome night's sleep for me.

2. I took Lotte to the mall (Have I ever called Charlotte "Lotte" here before? It's my preferred nickname for her because it reminds me of Victorian England.)Anyway, I took her to the mall for some shoes and for a little play time at the indoor playground since it's too effing hot for the park these days. We walked by a cart with a pushy salesman who practically dragged me to his chair so he could straighten my hair with an overpriced ceramic device and then try to sell it to me. I fancy myself pretty socially capable, but this guy made me SO uncomfortable. Between his close-talking (Seinfeld, anyone?) and his insincere flattery, not to mention the all too obvious sales lies: "This sale will only last a few more days! I'm the manager, and I don't usually give this deal to anyone. I'm gonna throw in this $50 hair spray!", I was a little disgusted with him. I know it's their job, and they need to make a living like anyone else, but GAH! I just hate when people compliment me when I know they don't mean it. It puts me in this really awkward position of having to be gracious, but not wanting to look like a fool by pretending I believe them. I...I don't know.

3. I completely destroyed my kitchen making ratatouille, what with all the peeling and seeding tomatoes, vegetable chopping, and olive oil splattering. Plus, I had to ignore my child while I was doing it, which has been one of the ways in which I'm struggling with cooking so much from scratch. I get really jealous hearing all the laughter coming from Chris and Charlotte as they play while I'm in the kitchen. I know I'm being a big baby. It's never more than an hour a day, tops, but it helps if you're pleased with the results of your labor. And today's ratatouille? Not so much.

Unlike this endeavor. THIS was worth every second.

4. I ran downstairs to throw some clothes in the dryer, and to my surprise and delight, Charlotte wanted to come with me, even though she was busy playing with her daddy. While I went about my business, Charlotte admired and prodded at a bike I'm borrowing from my mom, which we're keeping in the laundry room till we make space in the garage.

Well, it fell on her. So, to sum up: I feel super guilty about ignoring her and not being the one making her laugh and squeal with delight. I get her back for one minute, and she gets injured and is screaming. Faantastic. She was fine, just a scratch on her arm, but...still.

5. Right before Chris left for work I was bombarded with a return of the headache from hell, in addition to a cranky toddler from roughly the same region of hell. She was screaming, throwing tantrums, throwing OBJECTS, the works. Then, when we'd gotten her calmed down and Chris left for the night, she gave me the ol' bedtime fake-out. This is where we go through her whole bedtime routine of jammies, teeth, stories, and nursing, only to have her freak the hell out upon being placed in her crib, and we have to start over about twenty minutes later. The second go around almost always works, but man, is it rough getting anything done when I can't get her to sleep until almost nine.

Right before one of her trademark meltdowns

So, there you have it. The good, the bad, and the mundane.

ControverSunday: The Return

2010-08-14T23:50:00.001-07:00

Remember ControverSundays? Well, they're back. We might vary from the EVERY Sunday schedule, and the lovely Perpetua will be sharing her hosting duties, but despite those minor changes, we're back, baby!

I'm hosting this week, which means that you should check back here for links to the other ControverSunday posts and leave your own link in the comments section should you decide to join us. Which you totally should. We're quite awesome, if we do say so ourselves. Oh, and don't forget to grab the badge from Accidents while you're at it.

ControverSunday Entries:

amoment2think
The Disgruntled Academic
Perpetua
Brooke

This week's topic is Toddler Discipline. What are reasonable behavioral expectations for a toddler (ages one to three, shall we say?)What do you consider age-appropriate consequences? Time-outs? Natural consequences?

I'm not personally going to discuss spanking because we've already covered that topic (see: here), and it's not the method I choose. I have serious problems and concerns with spanking, but I will certainly welcome a dialogue about it in this space.

This topic was suggested by Kathleen, but it is very timely for me, as it probably is for her seeing as our kids are only a day apart in age. This is an IMPOSSIBLE age for discipline as far as I'm concerned. Which, is not to say that I have given up, but man are there days when I wish I could.

Okay, here's the thing: I have no idea what I'm doing. Other than knowing that I won't be spanking, I got nothing. I could ask Chris his opinion on discipline, but he would just tell me to give her more ice cream.

I've read articles, talked to more experienced parents, and observed other parents, but mostly, Chris and I both just sort of...do it. If she hits me, I sternly tell her no, and recently, as soon as she realizes I'm upset about being smacked or pinched or having my eyes gouged, she will say "Hug!" and pat me on the back. It's a little patronizing, but I'll take it. Especially since I never taught her to hug someone when she hurts them. It's her own instinct, which I think is cool. I believe in not forcing kids to apologize or teaching them to feign remorse. I just hope she learns by my example when it's my turn to apologize to her or others.

If she is touching something she shouldn't or doing something I've asked her not to do, I get down to her level, get really stern, and repeat myself. And nine times out of ten, this does absolutely nothing. In fact, she seems to rather like doing things she knows I won't like and goes out of her way to do so, while making sure I'm paying attention. Supposedly, she is just testing her boundaries, and eventually, with consistency, it will sink in and pay off.

I don't know. I sure hope so. All I know is that I am taking a much softer approach with her than I ever thought I would because it feels natural to do so. Hopefully this won't bite me in the ass later. I try to give her space when she's throwing a tantrum and not give in (though, admittedly, I have given in a few times), but I will also stay close and rub her back if she'll let me and make it clear that I will comfort her if she wants. Which, sometimes she does, and sometimes she pulls away from me, in which case I back off.

I never thought I'd hug a child who was screaming and stamping her feet because I wouldn't let her eat a magnet (true story). I always knew I'd be the mom who could calmly and casually walk away and go about my business. And, sometimes, I do. But sometimes she seems to need to be consoled (without giving her what she wants, but rather just acknowledging that she is sad for not getting it.)

I do things based on really compelling online literature (especially Janet Lansbury. She is wonderful, and I've learned so much from her) as well as my own instincts. There are many times I feel I'm at a loss. There are many times I feel I'm screwing it all up. And maybe I am. I guess the most important thing that I do is try to keep an open mind. Chris doesn't discipline nearly as much as I would like, but he is open to my suggestions when I tell him he shouldn't be letting Charlotte do something or that he could have handled a situation differently. And, I am open to his ideas, and he often convinces me that I'm overreacting and that I should let something slide.

So, I guess what this all boils down to is that you aren't going to get a lot of controversy from me this week because I can't tell you that you're doing it wrong when I don't know what the hell I'm doing to begin with. I just know that discipline is important and necessary, despite what some parenting theories might tell you. In fact, don't exclusively parent according to any theory. Just...don't. Have a philosophy, sure. But, know your child and what works for them, and be willing to adapt and flex to meet their unique needs. As long as you're parenting with love, knowledge, and with the utmost desire to do right by your child, you should be fine.

Then again, who am I to give advice? I'm the one screwing it all up.

Fess Up Friday!

2010-08-13T08:43:00.000-07:00

I realize I haven't done this in a while; in fact, I've sort of fallen off the blogging wagon completely, but I'm trying to get back on track.

So, what do I have to confess? Well, remember how desperate I was to wean? I haven't done it yet. I've hardly tried. It just seems so impossible sometimes, and some nights it doesn't seem necessary, while other nights it seems like the most imperative thing ever that she be weaned right NOW. What exactly am I confessing? I'm not sure. That I'm lazy? Indecisive? Have no follow-through? I guess all of the above.

My next confession is noise related. Ever since we moved into the apartment, I've been on edge about the increase in noise outside Charlotte's window when she's sleeping or being put down for a nap or bed. We went from living in a house sandwiched between two little, old ladies, to living in an apartment complex with tons of people, their dogs, their visiting friends, their ridiculously loud children...

I get so annoyed when the kids are playing in the parking lot (I know, sad), and they're screaming past eight o'clock. My blood pressure goes up when the little, yappy dogs start up while I'm placing Charlotte in her crib for the night. And, I get SUPER pissed when some douche bags start talking about break dancing outside our windows at 1 A.M. I turn into this crochety old lady, mumbling to myself about how those damn kids need to go back to school, how I wish those dogs would run away (Oh, I'm kidding. Settle down, crazy dog lovers), and how I should go out there and give those wippersnappers a piece of my mind!

This irritability makes me a little uncool and uptight, but it also makes me a hypocrite. Because thinking back over my early and mid-twenties, I realize that I have been a total jerk about noise. I've had noise complaints lodged against my friends and me when we've moved a party from the bar to a hotel room in the wee hours of the morning. I've had karaoke parties at my house that those poor little, old ladies on either side of me were unfortunately privy to. And, I'm sure I've talked outside many windows at 1 A.M., though, hopefully not about break dancing.

I've always been a people pleaser, and I usually try to be polite and respectful. But, what can I say? Alcohol can make even the most decent of people total assholes. I try to keep these past transgressions in mind when I start to daydream about pummeling some noisy people's faces. I guess I had it coming to me. If I believed in karma, I would, indeed, be calling her a bitch.

And, finally, I have to confess that I am really struggling with the t.v. thing. I try really hard to limit the amount that Charlotte watches. I've even tried cutting it out altogether, but that is just a joke. I don't know what's wrong with me. I mean, I don't sit her in front of the television for hours, or even half an hour. But, I know the fifteen minute sessions add up. We're working on getting her to play by herself more, but she's just so damn clingy lately that I seriously can't pour myself a cup of coffee without her grabbing my leg and crying. So, yeah, I try to distract her with some Elmo when all else fails.

That's not even the worst part. The worst part is that she LIKES t.v. She ASKS to watch it. We usually don't comply, but, sometimes we do. And I feel like crap every time we do.

Speaking of which, I should stop writing and go collect Charlotte. She's in Grouchland with Elmo as we speak.

Oh, and don't forget to go visit Brooke. She IS the Fess Up Friday host, after all! This week she's talking about discipline.

Wonderful Wednesdays: The Vacation Edition

2010-08-11T11:33:00.000-07:00

Have you met Ginger? She does this thing called Wonderful Wednesdays every week, and I decided it's high time I joined her! I think it's so important to stop and think about the good in our lives, especially when we're bogged down with sick kids, long days at work, family problems, you name it.

So, what is wonderful in my world today? Well, lots of things. But, I'm still on a high from my mini vacation to Santa Barbara. Chris got some time off work so we decided to get away for a couple days.

We headed up to Santa Barbara to the Hotel Oceana.
It was a beautiful place with a little courtyard outside the rooms, complete with a fountain and a few tables where you could sit and look at the ocean. We're used to the hotels that are completely enclosed, so I thought it was a nice change of pace to have the grass and flowers outside our door, as opposed to the hallway of doors. Here's what we saw out our window.

And, it would have been nice. EXCEPT.

I've always suspected that when we check into hotels with the baby the staff usually place us by the elevator on purpose. Maybe so there's only one room of people for us to annoy, instead of one on either side? In this case, the hotel staff had arranged a sort of Kid Row. EVERYONE in our courtyard had small children. Totally makes sense. That way we don't annoy people on their honeymoon or the retired couple spending their hard-earned savings on a beach vacation. I'm totally on board with this, and it really takes the pressure off when Charlotte wakes up screaming at 5 A.M. They get it. They've been there. Or maybe they're right there with us.

But, just because we should all expect a little extra noise being in Kid Row, doesn't, in my mind, mean we should not try to have ANY respect for our neighbors. Apparently, there is a certain French family that begs to differ. They were perfectly friendly and sweet. They had a baby around Charlotte's age in addition to two older girls, and Charlotte loved running around with them in the grass. But, holy hell were they loud at night! I wasn't able to get Charlotte down before ten either night because the kids were running in and out of their room yelling (no, really, YELLING) to one another or their parents who were drinking wine in the courtyard.

The first night was miserable because I was so stressed about getting Charlotte to sleep so she'd be rested for the zoo the next day. And, I was getting so angry that this family was being loud and inconsiderate. Then, when we tried to put Charlotte down for a nap the next day, it was the same thing with a different family. I decided right then to accept that these were the circumstances and deal with them. So, we threw Charlotte into the car, drove her around for an hour so she could nap and went to the zoo when she woke up. This is basically the only way she napped for three days straight.

We had a great time showing her the animals. The weather was beautiful (nice and cool, just the way I like it), she got to ride the train, which is her new obsession, and she looked freakin' adorable in her ponytail and overalls. It was, shall I say, wonderful.

That night I decided if we couldn't beat the French (ha!), we'd join them. So, we took our wine out to the courtyard and let the baby run around with the kids. And now I want to learn French just so I can teach it to Charlotte. There is nothing cuter than little kids speaking French, except maybe little kids with British accents. They say everything so much prettier than us!

You know how babies are obsessed with other babies? So, Charlotte and the baby, whose name is Eleanor, basically just pointed at one another and announced that they were pointing at a baby. So, for Charlotte that meant saying "Bab? Bab?" over and over, while Eleanor repeated the much more eloquent "Le bébé? Le bébé?" to her much older sisters. They quickly lost patience with their baby sister's fascination with Charlotte and would brush her off with a "Oui, le bébé" and try to distract her attention.

Then all the girls started doing somersaults, and our "Good job!" sounded so inadequate next to the "Bravo!" of the French parents. I spent an inordinate amount of time on this trip daydreaming about having a superpower that enabled me to speak any language fluently at will. Wouldn't that be awesome?!

Chris and I also spent some time wistfully declaring all the things we would be doing if we were travelling without a toddler. Midnight walks on the beach, dinner at a place without high chairs and changing tables, lunch at a pub before heading home without a cranky kid needing a nap.

But, you know, that will come later. One day we'll be able to ditch her with her grandparents for the weekend and do all the drinking and sleeping in we want. In the meantime, I had a wonderful trip with my two favorite people and wouldn't trade the aimless nap-inducing driving, bedsharing with a travel-weary toddler, zoo escapades, the constant pleas to see the train (Tain? Tain?), eating dinner at El Torito because it's the only kid-friendly place in sight, and spinning with Charlotte on the lawn, for any vacation in the world.

Well, mostly, anyway. I mean, you could probably tempt me with Hawaii if you really tried.

Hey, Look! A Bunch of New Projects to Ignore!

2010-08-02T12:23:00.000-07:00

Every couple of years I go through a sort of...awakening. I get all excited about a bunch of different things. I start projects, start reading books, start taking lessons, start writing, start working out. I'm sure by now you've deciphered the pattern. You're quite shrewd, aren't you?

I start on these goals and projects, but I don't actually finish any of them. I suppose part of my problem could be that I rarely get excited about one endeavor at a time. I go from watching reruns of "Friends" and screwing around on Facebook every night to writing a novel, becoming a wine expert, learning to play the guitar, reading every book I never read, taking up hiking, beginning a gym routine, and coming up with a cure for cancer, all at once. And then, predictably, I'm hanging out with Ross and Rachel again, not having accomplished any of the things that were so important to me last week.

Well, except for the cancer thing. I totally did that.

As you might have guessed (you clever thing), it's happening again. It started with an interest in food and sort of snowballed. If you read this post you can see where it all began. Since then I've (mostly) stopped eating meat, joined a CSA (We DO have them here! I'll blog about it in a day or so), decided to grow my own organic herb garden, make my own compost (which is looking unlikely for apartment living unless I can afford a hideously expensive device or want to live with an offensive odor pervading the air), and the list goes on.

For the first time, I think I finally have a passion that's going to stick. I'm having fun getting my random box of produce and figuring out what to do with it, hitting up the farmer's markets, trying to figure out what to do with all the peaches we got this week (Jam? Pie?), and getting creative in the kitchen. I still believe I will slip up on occasion, but I know that my dedication to feeding my family well will not disappear like the unwritten novels of the past.

I wish I could be as confident that my other present projects will receive the same kind of devotion and follow-through, but I know how these things usually go. Just for fun (and so you can laugh at me when I'm tweeting about television from the couch in a month) here are some of the things I'm working on, in no particular order:

1. My herb garden- I know I mentioned this, but since I haven't done it yet, it belongs on the to-do list. I'm probably giving up on the compost idea, but I'm working on getting the pots, seeds, soil, etc. that I need for this project. It's a small investment, which is pretty much the only hold-up at this point.

2. I'm writing a screenplay with a friend- We've only met once to work on it, and we don't technically have an idea yet, so this is high on the "Doesn't Look Promising" list, but I hope it works out because I think I would like to do more creative writing, and I think he and I might work well together.

3. Learning to play my guitar- The guitar was an amazingly generous gift from my father-in-law, and also one that meant a lot to me. I took lessons for a while, and then infertility took over my life and bank account, and I stopped. I'm not expecting anything ground-breaking here since I'll be teaching myself, but I'm hoping to at least re-master some chords and perhaps string them together in a recognizable way? Hopefully?

4. Obtain and regularly ride a bike- Don't hold your breath. I can't afford a bike. But, it's my new dream. In the meantime, I will have to be satisfied with any exercise I manage to do. Which brings me to...

5. Exercise!- I know, how very typical. I've been trying to get to the gym for weeks now, and it hasn't happened. I'm hoping when the weather cools down, I'll be able to get out for walks, which will turn into jogs, and maybe even runs, someday.

6. AIDS walk- I'm signed up. I just need sponsors.

I guess that's it. I'd like to say that this time I'll stick with it and accomplish these goals, but only time will tell. Especially since this is all on top of being a parent, a wife, and an aspiring writer. Oh, and there's that Master's degree I still need to finish...

I think I'm going to go lie down for a minute. Now where are those "Friends" DVD's?

Ode to a Crappy Day

2010-07-26T19:08:00.001-07:00

What a weird day.

This is one of those days where I want to say it was awful, but I kind of...can't. Because when you compare it to lesser days in lesser phases in my life, or (God forbid) to the days of people with real problems, it was actually a glorious day.

I guess we'll just say that today did not go as planned.

A few months ago, when I was still in school and hating life, I distinctly remember leaving the house once or twice a week and leaving Charlotte with Chris, so that I could go write. Usually, that meant blogging, so I updated this site much more frequently. I really enjoyed my time by myself, slurping my iced coffee, pecking away at my keyboard, and coming home feeling accomplished. I also found that I liked what I wrote better when I did it this way, as opposed to trying to bang out a blog post after a day of toddler-wrangling, when said toddler was finally in bed for the night.

For whatever reason, during the last few months, my laptop and I have not hit the coffee shop scene quite as often as I'd like (or, ever). So, today, due to the slow-down plan, I had no prior engagements, and Chris was ready and willing to take care of Charlotte so I could go out. I was so excited!

Those plans were completely derailed by a certain 16-month-old, who by the end of the day, was being referred to as "The Beast."

It isn't her fault, really. She hasn't been feeling well. Originally we thought a cold, but now we think The Worst Case of Teething Ever, complete with a runny nose and runny poop. She hasn't been sleeping well. In fact, I went to check the fan in her room a few minutes after I had nursed her back to sleep in the middle of the night(Yes, I'm supposed to be weaning. Don't ask.) and she was sitting up in her crib. Just sitting there. In the dark. Being creepy. As soon as she saw me, she was all like "Hi!", along with some baby babbling, and I knew it was going to be a rough morning.

The plan was that after she went down for a nap, Chris would also nap (he had gotten up with her this morning. Another reason, I can't technically *complain*), and I would leave. Well, she never napped. Chris ALWAYS puts her down for naps because he's freakishly good at it and so I don't end up nursing her, and he tried repeatedly throughout the day. She screamed and screamed. In desperation, I offered to nurse her. She declined.

Because of the sleep-deprivation and generally not feeling well, Charlotte was also a huge pain in the ass today. Throwing tantrums because she wanted to put her shoes on herself, but couldn't. Tantrums because I tried to help her put on her shoes (BECAUSE SHE ASKED ME TO!) Tantrums because I blinked or moved or breathed in a way that was obviously offensive to her.

I couldn't leave Chris in the trenches like this for the comforts of a Starbucks with its glorious iced coffee, plentiful wall outlets, and crumbly pastries. Oh, how I wanted to...but, no. That would have been wrong.

So, I stayed, and we toughed it out together. Riding through the storm and enjoying the calms of laughing and book reading, while always anticipating the next torrent of screaming, jerking backwards, and some hitting. Okay, I think I've taken this storm metaphor far enough.

I'm really not complaining, though it may seem like it. Not that I don't have a right to complain. I don't like the idea that because we are more fortunate than others may be, we aren't allowed to bitch and moan once in a while. But, I do believe in keeping things in perspective.

I'm sitting here in my apartment, which I love. So, even though it's trashed right now, I'm happy to be here. There are books and shoes and sand and food crumbs and toys all over the place. The kitchen is a mess, but it's because I was able to cook three nutritious meals for my family, both because my husband is able to provide for us and because he is home during the day to help me with Charlotte so I can cook while they play with the cups and plates on the counter.

I have blankets and pillows all over the floor because Charlotte and I watched some weird Swedish penguin show on T.V. while we rested, and I got to hear her little chuckle every time he did something funny. I feel guilty about the screen time, but tomorrow is a new day.

I didn't get to escape to write, but she's finally asleep, and I'm able to get it done now (though, she did already wake once since I put her to bed). The day didn't go the way I thought it would, and it was frustrating at times, but I won't call it a bad day.

Now, if Charlotte wakes up again, I might have to amend that.