Chubbs & Co.

Aoife, Underwhelmed

2011-09-03T21:42:00.001-06:00

A few weeks ago we started Aoife with solid food. I was in no hurry, because breastfeeding is so easy and starting solids just complicates things. Because then you have to remember to bring food with you when you go places, whereas with breastfeeding you don't have to worry about accidentally leaving your boobs at home.

We began with rice cereal, like "They" say you're supposed to do. Let's just say that Aoife did not appreciate the flavor. Or texture. Or really anything about the rice cereal. On the contrary, she was angry. Like, "This is what I've been waiting for? You have GOT to be @^$#% kidding me." I gave her a few days to cool down and tried the rice cereal again, this time with a little more breast milk mixed in. I think she started screaming at me before the spoon even touched her lips.

So then we tried bananas, because what kid doesn't like bananas? Mine, apparently. She was much less angry, but no less convinced that we were trying to poison her. But she continued to be interested in the food that we were eating, so I figured maybe she just wants to be able to do it herself. When Chris made pancakes this morning, we made a small one just for Aoife so that she'd be able to have her very own breakfast to do with as she liked. This is what happened. I thought about adding captions, but they're really not needed.

Yeah. She's totally giving Chris a dirty look in that last one.

I'm not really sure where to go from here. We've tried rice cereal, bananas, pears, pancakes, teething biscuits, and avocado on numerous occasions, with breast milk, without breast milk, in varied consistencies, and with different spoons. Nothing strikes her fancy. I can't decide if we should risk a throng of PETA picketers in our yard by continuing to beat a dead horse with the bananas, or if I should keep trying new things until I find something that she'll actually swallow. I don't know. She's going to need solids eventually though, because as much as I love and support breastfeeding, I will totally not be coming to school to give her a snack on her first day in Kindergarten.

Independence

2011-07-04T21:19:00.006-06:00

Yesterday Cormac figured out how to ride his tricycle mostly by himself so, at his insistence and our backs' misgivings, we took the adult-push handlebar off. He practiced riding around our porch and was very proud of himself.

And as it would happen, today was the 4th of July parade in our neighborhood, where kids decorate their bikes and ride around the park. So Cormac rode his bike around the park. Sort of. His trajectory is what I imagine it would be like if I had several tequila shots and tried to ride his trike blindfolded. And maybe even naked. It's hard to say what would happen after several tequila shots. Anyway.

He would get going really fast, then become interested in what people around us were doing and promptly veer off into the grass or someone's heel. Everyone was very understanding, though, as their children were doing essentially the same thing. And all participants got a popsicle for their trouble, so who could complain? Rocket pops make everything better.

My slightly more dependent child did not participate in the parade because she had to nap, but she was properly attired for the Fourth and very cute at that.

Happy Fourth of July!

Crazy

2011-06-30T21:05:00.001-06:00

Sooo....two kids is a lot of work. Having that second kid doesn't just double your work, it increases it exponentially. Like, to the 112th power. All of a sudden you go from two-on-one to man-to-man defense. Or even zone when you're by yourself. Because now you have two dependents who are remarkably good at tag-teaming in the needs department. Take nap time, for example. I put Aoife down for a nap, then move on to Cormac. He takes for-freaking-ever to calm down, and by the time I get him somewhat settled Aoife has woken up angry because she has rolled to the other side of the crib and can't get her pacifier and lovey since her arms are pinned to her sides by the darn blanket. So then I get her back to sleep, and by that time Cormac has thrown all the toys out of the bins on his bookshelf and is using them to climb up higher on the bookshelf in order to fling more stuff off.

Or sometimes in the car, Aoife gets annoyed that she's still in her carseat because it's been, like, five whole minutes. So she starts fussing, which annoys Cormac, so he yells, which bugs Aoife so she cries louder, which makes Cormac cry, and so on. The situation deteriorates very rapidly.

And then try traveling with both of them. We did it a few weekends ago when we went to a wedding in Seattle. Thank God my parents were on the same flight with us, because otherwise one of our children would still be lost in the airport, and I would still be knocked out from all the Ativan. Here's the craziest thing, though: we're planning a trip in the beginning of November with just Chris, me, and the kids. To England. I know. We clearly did not have our thinking caps on when we made that decision. But the tickets are already booked, so across the pond we go. But it will be fine as long as no one loses anything too important, like an eye or a limb.

I had originally planned on making this post longer, but I've been working on it for, like, three days now, and I can't really remember what else I wanted to say. Because I have two kids. So I'm just gonna post what I've got, because, hey, it's something, right?

Conversations With Cormac. And Aoife. And Inanimate Objects.

2011-04-19T17:07:00.007-06:00

While driving in the car, I hear voices in the backseat. At a stoplight I turn to look at Cormac.

Cormac: I'm talking to Aoife.

Me: Oh yeah? What's she saying?

Cormac: Ah.

***

Cormac: Hi!

Chris: Hey, Kiddo! What are you coming over here for?

Cormac: I'm coming to eat ice cream!

Chris: Oh, you want some ice cream, huh?

Cormac: Ok!

***

Cormac to his stuffed bunny: No, no. I don't like this. I need some space... Ow! Don't kick! That hurts.

***

I'm taking Morris for a walk with Aoife in the Moby wrap. As I cross the street, I pass a woman who asks, "Is that a little baby in there?"

Me: Yup!

No, I have a ten-pound tumor on my torso that I like to decorate with scarves.

Kites: A Story In Pictures

2011-03-26T21:23:00.004-06:00

A few weeks ago, we bought a kite to fly at the park across the street from our house, because it's almost always windy. For some reason, though, every time we planned to go use the kite for the first time, something came up and we had to postpone. But yesterday we finally made it over to the park with said kite in hand... only to find that there was almost no wind to speak of. There was enough of a breeze to get it in the air for a short time, so we made the best of it.

Cormac flying the kite mostly by himself.

A small amount of assistance,

And now on his own.

This is about as high as we got it.

A rainbow in the sky

Short range kite flying

Time to head home.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

2011-03-17T17:40:00.003-06:00

Although the real celebration with family, corned beef and cabbage, and car bombs is on Saturday, we celebrated on a smaller scale today; everyone wore green, we listened to Irish music all day, and we made colcannon for dinner. Cormac also informed us that he really likes beer, and he would like to drink some, too. I told him he has to be at least eight before he has any beer.

Colcannon is really easy to make, and it's delicious. Here's a recipe. Make sure you use plenty of butter and salt. And if you feel the need, you can add some cooked thick-cut bacon or ham.

Colcannon

1 1/4 pounds (about 2 large) russet (baking) potatoes

3 cups thinly sliced cabbage

1/2 cup milk, scalded

2 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into bits and softened

Peel the potatoes and cut them into 1-inch pieces. In a saucepan cover the potatoes with salted water and simmer them, covered, for 15 minutes, or until they are tender. While the potatoes are simmering, in a steamer set over boiling water steam the cabbage for 5 minutes, or until it is tender. Drain the potatoes in a colander, force them through a ricer or the medium disk of a food mill into a bowl, and stir in the milk, the butter, the cabbage, and salt and pepper to taste.

Slàinte!

Making Do

2011-03-12T14:55:00.003-07:00

What, your kid doesn't sleep in a laundry basket?

Welcome, Little One

2011-02-23T12:26:00.003-07:00

Aoife finally decided to join us on February 9, a week late, thus carrying on the family tradition of never being able to get anywhere on time. She decided to follow in her brother's footsteps by arriving at 41 weeks exactly and was pretty much the same size as her brother, at 7 lbs and 20 inches (Cormac was 7 lbs 1 oz, and 19 inches). Actually, Aoife even looked almost exactly like her brother when he was born. When it comes to cooking my babies, I am nothing if not consistent.

The only downside to the similarities between my two children is that I sometimes forget that Aoife is a girl, especially since we dress her in the same clothes that Cormac wore.

Things we have learned about Aoife so far: she is feisty, loud, and has very large feet. She also sleeps quite well at night and is often content to lay by herself and look around at the world during the day.

Welcome to the world, little one.

Go To Sleep

2011-02-04T15:32:00.004-07:00

Cormac is currently upstairs refusing to nap. I know he's tired because he fell asleep in the car right before we got home, and his cheeks are rosy, but now he's just throwing stuff over the gate we use to keep him contained in his room. This wouldn't be the end of the world, except that I'm exhausted and overly pregnant and want to nap. I'm trying to be patient with him, but this is what I really want to say:

Remind me again why we're having another one.

Captain Planet; Planet Mo

2011-01-06T21:03:00.002-07:00

Cormac has recently discovered that he is tall enough to turn off the light switches around the house. Only off. He hasn't quite made it to on. So we spend a lot of time with most of the lights off. At least we're saving money on electricity, I suppose.

For my part, I have discovered that wearing pants with any sort of a drawstring while you're pregnant is not advisable. Because when you accidentally pull it wrong, which is easy to do when you can't see what you're doing, you create a knot that you can't untie. BECAUSE YOU CAN'T SEE WHAT YOU'RE DOING. Especially if the lights are off. At least I'm saving money on laundry.

New Year, New Experience

2011-01-02T21:25:00.010-07:00

We celebrated the new year by taking Cormac sledding for the first time, since it also happened to be the first time this season that Denver has seen some actual snow. As expected, he enjoyed himself thoroughly, and he was pretty irritated with us when we declared it was time to leave. Like, full on tantrum irritated. But before that all went down, we had a lot of fun.

Happy New Year, everyone!

Lightning Can Totally Hit The Same Place Twice

2010-12-14T16:23:00.003-07:00

You might want to look around for any oncoming storms before standing next to me these days. Because who wants to get struck by lightning around the holidays? In other words, I have not had the greatest of luck these days.

It all started Thursday evening when I managed to sprain my ankle by walking around my car. No obstacles in my way. I wasn't carrying anything. Just walking. And as I was laying on the pavement I had three thoughts, in this order: 1) I can feel my ankle swelling under my hand. This is not going to be good; 2) Come on, endorphins! Kick in!; 3) I can't even take any ibuprofen. Damn. Once the endorphins kicked in I was able to hobble inside and grab a bag of ice, which did not do much to decrease the swelling. My ankle looked like a flesh-colored orange. Eewww. So I had to stay home from work the next day because, you know, a nurse in a wheelchair doesn't inspire much confidence.

Then Sunday morning I was gently awakened by my son yakking all over me. My thoughts: 1) Oh great, now we have a stomach bug in our house; 2) Poor little guy; 3) Why does it always have to be all over me? I'm all for saving the furniture, but seriously. So I tempted fate by taking Cormac in the bathtub with me, but all that happened was that he felt better, and I smelled better. Success. And although he was low energy, he didn't yak for the rest of the day so I figured we were in the clear. And by Sunday night my ankle was feeling fairly OK, in that I could walk on it and a sock fit over it, so I figured no problem for going to work the next day. Hah.

I woke up Monday morning feeling rather nauseous, and I was like, really? Because I'm totally in my third trimester and this should be loooong gone by now. And then the diarrhea hit. You probably didn't want to know that, but we are all about full disclosure at this blog. It was way too late to call in at work, and after I yakked I felt a lot better, so I went on my way. At work I drank some water, and while I didn't feel top notch, I figured I could rally and maybe eat a granola bar or something. I went and saw my patient (don't worry, I am neurotic about washing my hands at work) and got the day going. But then that water started to feel not-so-good in my stomach.

And then I was back in the bathroom hugging the toilet. It's never fun to yak, but especially not so when it's not your own bathroom. Although to be honest with you, the bathroom at work is probably way cleaner than my bathroom anyway. Again, you probably didn't want to know that.

That's when the contractions started. Every three minutes. I didn't say anything about them at first, but when you work in Labor & Delivery people are very attuned to these sorts of things. They peer-pressured me into going down the the OB Screening Room to get it checked out. Honestly, it's probably good that they did, because I'm terrible about going to the doctor appropriately. Example: I was pretty sure Cormac had an ear infection, but I decided to wait a couple days to see if it would get better on its own. It didn't. He ended up on antibiotics anyway. (In my defense, the American Academy of Pediatrics recommends that antibiotics not be prescribed right away because the majority of ear infections clear up on their own).

Anyway, I hadn't been able to keep anything down for about 12 hours, so I figured I was just dehydrated and that if I could just get some IV fluids in me, the contractions would stop. So I went down to the screening room where they hooked me up to the monitors (to watch baby and contractions) and started an IV. It was the first time I had ever been hooked up to the fetal monitors, and let me just say that I cannot imagine laboring while hooked up to those; they are majorly uncomfortable. I'm really glad I'm having a home birth. Plus the beds were more like dentist chairs, so trying to get comfortable was impossible.

After the first liter of saline went in, the contractions were still coming every three minutes. And as much as I didn't want to have any medicine, 32 weeks was waaaay to early for this baby to be coming so I got some terbutaline. It's really effective at stopping contractions, but it also makes you feel like you just snorted three lines of cocaine. Not that I would know, I just assume. So the contractions petered out while I got another liter of fluid and felt like my heart was going to explode out of my chest, and baby had a dance party.

My cervix wasn't dilated at all, so I was sent home with strict instructions to come back if I had any more contractions. And I haven't for the past 24 hours. Recently I've even been able to keep down some Gatorade, two pieces of toast, and some chicken broth with noodles. Rock on. Heck, maybe this will slow down the ridiculous weight gain.

So both my stomach and ankle are on the mend, and I'm hoping I've used up any bad Karma for the next few months. But really, as long as Baby Fozzy is OK, I'm a happy Momma.

Cookie Monsters

2010-12-05T13:57:00.006-07:00

Every year around this time, we get together with my family and spend a day making a massive amount of cookies. Then we split them up between all of us and enjoy them the rest of the holiday season. Depending on how fast you eat them. And being pregnant this year might have a serious effect on the cookie disappearance rate.

Cormac had fun cutting out cookies in the shape of Christmas trees, stars, and Santas, and just dropping random lumps of dough on the cookie sheet. Because as long as it tastes good, who cares what it looks like, right? Especially if you're gonna put frosting on them anyway.

My favorite cookies are are the Coconut-Cranberry Chews. They are little balls of cranberry-orange-coconut-butter deliciousness. The recipe is from Sunset magazine. I usually double the recipe because I don't mess around when it comes to these cookies. The resulting dough barely fit in my professional grade Kitchenaide mixer, but that actually turned out to be a good thing because then I got to thoroughly sample the dough. And there are no eggs in this recipe, so thorough sampling is actually encouraged.

Coconut-Cranberry Chews

Ingredients

About 1 1/2 cups (3/4 lb.) butter or margarine, at room temperature
2 cups sugar
1 tablespoon grated orange peel
2 teaspoons vanilla
3 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 cups dried cranberries
1 1/2 cups sweetened flaked dried coconut

Preparation

1. In a large bowl, with a mixer on medium speed, beat 1 1/2 cups butter, sugar, orange peel, and vanilla until smooth.

2. In a medium bowl, mix flour, baking powder, and salt. Add to butter mixture, stir to mix, then beat on low speed until dough comes together, about 5 minutes. Mix in cranberries and coconut.

3. Shape dough into 1-inch balls and place about 2 inches apart on buttered 12- by 15-inch baking sheets.

4. Bake in a 350° regular or convection oven until cookie edges just begin to brown, 8 to 11 minutes (shorter baking time will yield a chewier cookie; longer baking time will yield a crispier cookie). If baking two sheets at once in one oven, switch their positions halfway through baking. Let cookies cool on sheets for 5 minutes, then use a wide spatula to transfer to racks to cool completely

The well-meaning people at Sunset included the nutritional information for each cookie, which I have chosen not to publish here for obvious reasons. Just enjoy the cookies.

Here is a photo of our work (notice Cormac in the background):

Conversations With Cormac

2010-11-28T19:26:00.007-07:00

At the Bronco's game today:

Me: Look, Cormac! What are they doing down on the field?

Cormac: Sleeping.

Chris: Yup, one of the teams is sleeping.

After the game:

Me: What should we make for dinner?

Cormac: Like, umm, food.

A little later:

Me: What do you want for dinner, Cormac?

Cormac: Food.

Me: What kind of food?

Cormac: Umm, dinner food.

So helpful.

Thankful

2010-11-25T20:53:00.004-07:00

This Thanksgiving, Cormac ate his weight in cranberry sauce. Seriously.

We finally scaled back our Thanksgiving plans this year, which made it a far more enjoyable day. Both Chris's family and mine live in Denver, and every year we have always gone to both dinners. Which does have its good points: you get two Thanksgiving dinners, and you get to celebrate with both families. On the other hand, you can't really enjoy either dinner because you know you have to go eat another one, or you're really full from the previous one. And you can't spend as much time as you'd like with either family. Plus, now that we have a kid, we have to plan around nap time. Actually, I feel like life should be planned around nap time, no matter if you have kids or not. But that's neither here nor there.

So this year we celebrated with Chris's family. It was nice and small, only eight people total. Unfortunately, we didn't end up with any leftovers, but it was because the food was that good. Luckily, my parents always make enough for three times the actual number of guests, so we ended up with some Thanksgiving leftovers. And let's be honest, it wouldn't be Thanksgiving without leftovers, because why would you only want to stuff yourself once, when you could do it several more times over the next few days?

I am thankful for a wonderful husband and son who never fail to make me laugh; that we will be adding to our little family in a few short months; that we still have a few months before the chaos in our house increases by 247%; that I have a fabulous new job working with pregnant mama's and sweet little babies; and that we have a roof over our heads and food in the pantry.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Aloha!

2010-11-18T19:37:00.009-07:00

We just got back from a really wonderful trip to Hawaii. We stayed on the island of Kauai, which is my favorite because it's like Colorado in Hawaii. You have mountains, canyons, and lots of outdoorsy things to do, plus gorgeous beaches and weather to die for. There's too much to write about here, so I'm just gonna let the pictures do most of the talking.

Halloween!

2010-11-02T14:26:00.003-06:00

This was Cormac's first year trick-or-treating. Last year, we walked around and looked at the decorations and costumes in our neighborhood, but we didn't do any trick-or-treating because no one in the house needed any candy. Not that anyone needed any candy this year, but we figured Cormac would actually understand the concept of trick-or-treating, and he might even have fun.

I originally planned to do maybe five houses, because that's how long I thought Cormac's attention span would last, but he quickly made it clear that we would be doing as many houses as possible, thank you very much. At first, he was a bit reluctant to go up to someone's door and say, "Trick-or-treat!" The first attempt involved a lot of "No." But then when he got that first piece of candy, something clicked in his brain, and he was hooked. We heard a lot of "Again!" after that.

The only slight problem was that he kept trying to go in people's houses. I had to go in after him a few times. Apparently if someone gives you candy, that means you can walk right on into their house. We're probably gonna have to work on that, otherwise this kid is gonna get himself abducted.

I wasn't able to take any pictures on Halloween night, because Cormac was waaaaay too excited by all the costumes and decorations and pumpkins and candy candy candy to be bothered to hold still for a picture. But he put on his costume the next day so I was able to snap a few. He even humored me by pretending to fly around the porch.

Happy Autumn!

2010-10-17T14:50:00.003-06:00

Today was the last day of the farmers' market in our neighborhood, which meant that it was also the day of the annual pumpkin patch. Every time you spend a certain amount at each of the vendors' tents, you get tickets, and then you use those tickets to "buy" pumpkins. We got a few with our breakfast of biscuits and gravy from the biscuit bus, and then one more because Fozzy decided he/she wanted a cinnamon roll. We got two from Gramps, and a very nice lady gave us two more because she decided Cormac looked like he needed some pumpkins (even though he had his finger up his nose at the time. Or perhaps because of it).

Here are some pictures of our morning:

A Little Taste Of Our Day

2010-10-14T20:54:00.002-06:00

I set Cormac's breakfast plate down in front of him this morning.

Cormac: Mud!

Me: That's peanut butter toast, buddy.

Cormac: Mud!

Me: I like the way you think, though.

***

Other than the peanut butter toast for breakfast, Cormac's menu for the day revolved around cheese. I really didn't intend for it to be that way, but it's just sort of how the day's meals turned out. Snack was a piece of string cheese eaten on our way to the zoo. Lunch was a grilled cheese sandwich at the zoo. Grilled cheese is my go-to meal for Cormac when we're out and about because I know he'll eat it even though he may be distracted by Birds flying! or Bee bzzzz! or Baby crying! At this point, it did occur to me that there had already been a lot of cheese involved in the day, but there was still a lot of time left to add some other food groups.

His afternoon snack was part of a graham cracker, so that was good, but then dinner was cauliflower smothered in......cheese. Cormac gobbled it right up, which I found interesting because I've made roasted cauliflower a few times lately (we have a plethora of cauliflower these days thanks to our CSA), and Cormac doesn't seem to be a fan. Personally, I think roasting is just about one of the most delicious things one can do with cauliflower, but apparently Cormac doesn't agree with me. You should try it though; just toss cauliflower florets with olive oil and sea salt and roast at 425 degrees until it starts to turn golden. The best part is the little crispy bits.

I feel like I should have a problem with all the cheese consumed today, but I really don't. Cheese has protein and calcium. And, hey, it got Cormac to eat cauliflower. Plus, cheese is delicious. We should all eat more cheese.

Alarm Clock

2010-10-07T14:30:00.005-06:00

We recently switched Cormac out of his crib and into a twin bed. Not necessarily because he was ready, but because Babies R Us was having a trade-in sale for cribs (bring your old, used one in, and we'll give you 25% off a new one). And since our old crib was apparently a death trap (read: dropside crib), we decided to take advantage of the sale. I mean, Cormac survived, but he's scrappy and has no fear. And he slept with us for the first six months of his life, which is likely what this next baby is going to do anyway, but still. Death Trap.

The transition was fairly smooth, especially considering that we did absolutely no prep work beforehand. Mostly it was, "Oh! Look! A big-boy bed!" And when Cormac discovered that he could jump around more wildly on this one, he never looked back.

The first few mornings, he didn't realize that he wasn't confined to his bed, and would lay there and moan until we came to get him. But then a little light went on in his head, and at 6:30 one morning we heard: click, pitter-patter-pitter-patter, "Oh wow! Hi, Momma! Hi, Daddy!" I'm not sure why the realization of freedom had to coincide with an hour-earlier wake up time, but sometimes the universe is cruel that way.

Then one night I had gotten up to pee for the third time, when I thought I heard a little voice outside our room. I looked out in the hallway, but there was no one there. A glance toward Cormac's room told me his door was open and his room was empty. Huh. And then I heard the sound of little feet on hardwood floor, and I realized that Cormac had gone downstairs. By himself. At 2:00 in the morning.

I came downstairs to find him holding his stuffed rabbit while looking at a book and drinking some water. Like you do at 2:00 am. It took awhile to convince him that it was, in fact, night-night time, but eventually he went back to sleep in his big-boy bed, and I went back to sleep in my pillow-infested bed. Only to be woken up at 6:30 am by, "HI!"

We are currently reconfiguring the baby gate layout.

Exploding Heads

2010-09-20T15:44:00.002-06:00

Yowza. We have been busy.

When I was little, my dad was a Certified Public Accountant who did other people's taxes. This meant that for the entire month of March and half of April, we didn't see him. Literally. September is kind of like that for Chris; it's his tax season. The membership year at his tennis club begins October 1, so September is filled with trying to get people to renew their memberships by appreciating them with Member Appreciation Month, which basically means that he works at least 70 hours every week.

Meanwhile, I struggle to be both a part time Registered Nurse and a full time Mom/Housekeeper/Cook/Incubator. What this means in layman's terms is that I am treading water while slowly being carried out to sea. A sea of guitars, stuffed monkeys, dump trucks, and blocks, with a little dirty laundry and a lot of dog hair mixed in. Plus, for some reason I had the fabulous idea to pick up some extra shifts at work. It always seems like a good idea at the time, and then when those extra days roll around, I'm like, "What the hell was I thinking?" Extra money is NOT worth it. Well, it's kind of worth it, but it would be a lot easier if someone would just give me that extra money for free.

I am sure other mothers handle this much better than I do. But all I can do is grit my teeth and tell myself that maybe I'll get to sleep in October.

10 more days...

Trudging Through Mud

2010-08-12T20:29:00.003-06:00

I promise that I meant to post more often. But, well, obviously that's not happening. I'm just so freaking tired; this pregnancy is really taking it out of me. And now that I'm in the second trimester, it's gotten better, so that's really saying something about how tired I was before. It was like everyday I did a full Ironman, retiled the bathroom, chased a half-naked monkey-child around the house, and wrestled a giant squid into leather pants. Only one of those actually happened. I'll let you guess which one.

Like I said, it's gotten better (sometimes I don't even need a nap during the day!), but by the time I put Cormac to bed, all I want to do is collapse on the couch, shovel some Ben & Jerry's into my mouth, and watch HGTV. It's not so much the physical exhaustion as the mental exhaustion. I can't even think anymore. Like, I have trouble remembering the English language: is it unproductive or nonproductive? That's a real example from this morning. I've thought about posting, but I always end up deciding that it would take waaaay too much energy to type, much less use proper grammar.

I also feel like I have a pretty darned good excuse for not posting for the last two weeks, at least. I woke up one friday morning at 2 am with excruciating tooth pain, while we happened to be camping. And while I'm on the subject of camping, let me just say that camping while pregnant is not something I'd really recommend. Don't get me wrong, I love camping. I just don't love getting up 2-3 times in the middle of the night to stumble through the forest, drop trou, and try not to pee on my shoes. Anyway, the tooth pain. It was bad. And of course it happened on a Friday, so I got to deal with it all weekend, with nothing to do about it but take Tylenol. Which is a placebo drug, but the way. Pure sugar.

Basically, my tooth had gotten infected and required a root canal. Everybody cringes when you tell them you have to have a root canal. And it does sound pretty intimidating. But I've got to say, it's really just a huge filling that requires several looooong drills. And it wouldn't have been all that bad, except that the local anesthetic wore off halfway through the procedure. Yeah. I would give birth any day before doing that again.

It doesn't end there, though. I thought the root canal would solve the pain problems, but the pain just kept getting worse. It had turned into an almighty sinus infection. So two days after having an inch-long piece of metal all up in my tooth's business (a week after all the pain started in the first place), I said, "BRING ON THE DRUGS!" I filled the prescriptions for percocet and penicillin that had been sitting in my purse for 5 days. And I have to say, I still felt really bad about taking them. I had been avoiding any pills (besides my placebo pills) because I didn't want the baby to have anything unnecessary, especially narcotics. But it had gotten to the point where I couldn't actually function. I couldn't even eat. I felt like it was a lose-lose situation, but the benefits finally outweighed the risks for me. Hopefully I didn't screw up this kid too much yet.

I have now emerged on the other side of The Great Tooth-scapade, and I'm sorry to say that I'm not better for it. It did not build any character. Mostly it just made me crabby.

My brain has now turned into complete mush, and I can't write anything else coherent. Also, I still haven't found the camera.

Long Time, No See

2010-07-02T21:21:00.006-06:00

I was waiting to post this until I found the camera and could post some pictures of our vacation, but as of yet, I have only found the camera case. Once I find the actual camera, I'll add some pictures.

Yeah, I realize I've been MIA for a while. Highlights of the past couple months in brief: we took a really wonderful family trip to South Padre Island, TX, then I worked a lot (which was not wonderful), then I was just lazy (semi-wonderful), then Chris totally screwed up his back (wonderful, in the most sarcastic way possible). The last item meant that I was really busy doing everything around the house, and Chris was monopolizing the computer (and the TV. At the same time. What a multi-tasker!).

We had a ton of fun in South Padre Island. Chris has family down there, and they were kind and generous enough to let us stay in one of the houses they own down there, a house that just happens to be half a block away from the beach (yeah, it's about as plush as it sounds). Cormac absolutely LOVED the beach, other than the taste of sand, which he tried not once, but twice, for good measure. The waves were a little bigger than they usually are (so I was told), but Cormac thought they were just about the best thing ever. Actually, the bigger the wave, the more excited he got, and he would quite literally run straight into the waves. And he would just keep going deeper and deeper until someone grabbed him before he was pulled under, which annoyed him. The kid has no fear.

I'm not going to go into detail about working a lot because it's mostly boring. Other than the old, naked guy running down the hall while trying to escape. He was pretty fast.

And finally, Chris's back is a lot better, thank goodness. Turns out he has a bulging disc, and I know all about that sort of pain. Not fun. But the nice thing about the bulging disc (as opposed to a herniated disc, like I had) is that the body will reabsorb it, and the pain goes away. I mean, he still has to be careful not to bend and twist at the same time, or lift heavy things incorrectly, but, really, everyone should be doing that anyway.

Ok, I'm gonna try hard to post more often, but I'm not promising anything.

Le Artiste

2010-05-02T17:20:00.004-06:00

We recently got Cormac a table and chairs set that's sized for him and doesn't necessitate a combination of climbing, contorting, and balancing to climb into one, as our regular dining chairs do. Also, these pint-sized chairs don't allow him to climb onto the dining room table. Yet. That isn't to say that Cormac will stop climbing from the dining chairs onto the table, but I'm hoping a table and chairs of his own will at least limit the adrenalin pumping through my circulatory system on a daily basis. (As I write this he is standing on one of our dining chairs, alternating between bouncing and rocking back and forth. And now he's licking the chair.)

We also got him a box of crayons and some paper, and he's been having fun drawing at his table. The problem is, he doesn't understand (or chooses to ignore) the We Only Draw On Paper policy, and so his drawing has been confined to neither the paper, nor the crayons. In fact, the kid managed to find the only permanent marker in the house that had not been confiscated, and proceeded to expand his definition of "paper."

Boot Couture

2010-04-19T21:59:00.003-06:00

Chris and I don't really get out much anymore. Not that we really got out all that much before having a child, but I like to think we were a fairly fun, hip, young couple. You could find us at the neighborhood bar for happy hour on the patio on a spring afternoon. We kept up with the openings of hot, new restaurants. We knew about what was going on, you know, in the real world.

Now? Not so much. I only know about new music if I happen to hear something I haven't heard before on the radio, and then happen to remember who they said the artist was. I now totally understand why my mom has NO idea who any '80s bands are, or really what happened during the '80s in general.

I mean, we try to do date night on occasion, but it's usually not anywhere terribly exciting. Which is why I don't often get to wear any of my fancy shoes. Luckily for me, my son is extremely gifted at repurposing items around the house. What? You thought that was a dump truck? No, it's really more of a step stool. And this eraser? He prefers to think of it more as a snack.

And as for Momma's fancy shoes?

A great alternative to a pantry.

So Here's a Random Thought:

2010-03-15T14:32:00.002-06:00

I was thinking about the word hepatomegaly, like you do, and it occurred to me that if you add an “r” it becomes herpetomegaly. So, like, giant lizards or something. And then I realized that the suffixes hepa- and herpe- are very similar and when used interchangeably can create a great amount of amusement (for dorks like me). Observe: hepatology, herpetitis, herpes. Wait, I don’t think that last one works. Actually, though, it does make you realize that maybe herpes is a pretty darned good moniker (see attributes of a lizard, below).

Also, the words liver and lizard are pretty darn similar as well. The two things don’t really seem to have all that much in common: livers are soft and squishy, and they bleed a lot if you smack them too hard. Lizards are scaly and bony, and they like to lie in the sun. I’ve never smacked a lizard though, so I don’t know how much they bleed. On the other hand, if you cut off part of a liver it will regenerate, and if you cut off part of a lizard’s tail it will grow back. So maybe they’re more similar than I thought.

Houdini

2010-02-11T19:17:00.003-07:00

In the mornings, Chubbs usually wakes up around 7:15, yells until he wakes me up, and then I bring him into our bedroom where he runs around finding books and demanding to be read to. This buys me an extra 15 minutes in bed, and even though I'm not sleeping, any little bit helps. This morning was no different. We read The Mitten, Alexander And The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, and The Velveteen Rabbit before I dragged myself out of bed.

I was hunting for my slippers when Chubbs went running by and I noticed something weird about his left ankle. It seemed padded. And for the life of me, I couldn't figure out why or how he had stuffed some sort of cloth, or maybe a sock, into his pajamas. As he turned to run the other direction, I noticed his butt looked decidedly less padded (read: he no longer had a butt, for which he has his father to thank). Do you understand what happened?

The kid had somehow managed to take off his diaper INSIDE HIS ZIP-UP PAJAMAS, and it was hanging out around his left ankle. After brief visions of a high school graduation streaking debacle, I scooped him up and remedied the situation. At least he didn't pee everywhere while he was free as a bird. However, for full disclosure, I feel I ought to mention that it was a poopy one.

Busybodies

2010-02-05T14:42:00.007-07:00

So it's been awhile. Not because things have been terribly busy, but because I've just been doing other things. I've started a few knitting projects (and bought enough yarn for several).

I'm half way through a really good book (Let The Great World Spin by Colum McCann), and I've been trying, mostly unsuccessfully, to keep the house clean. Not so much the whole house, because that would be overly ambitious, as the floors and the kitchen. These are the two things that have to be clean in order for me to not feel totally crazy-stressed-out. I don't know why this is. Anything and everything else in the house can be messy, but as long as the floors are clean and the kitchen is tidy, I'm OK.

But even keeping those two things clean is a serious challenge while also trying to keep track of a busybusybusy Chubbs. He is quite practiced at opening doors and will be around the corner and through the laundry room door before you can say wheredoyouthinkyou'regoing?! Plus, after he goes in the laundry room he closes the door behind him, so unless you're practicing good listening skills you sometimes have no idea where he's gone. And this wouldn't be so much of a problem if the access to the basement weren't through the laundry room, and if Cormac didn't keep trying to climb into the washing machine. So we've ordered a gate to keep him in the living room/dining room/kitchen. Because it's too cold right now to stick him on a bungee cord on the porch.

The cold has not stopped us from going to the park, though. If this kid doesn't get his outside time everyday, there is inevitably a meltdown. We were actually in the process of getting ready to go to the park today, and he cried big, fat crocodile tears until we got outside. Like, "My life is totally ruined because we aren't outside, and if we don't go outside this instant I am going to dissolve into a boneless baby mass of tears!" But once we were outside everything was right with the world once again. Even though the wind was blowing at about 25 mph.

In fact, we were the only people at the park, because everyone else had sense enough to stay inside. I think looking out the window to see street lights shaking like jello may have encouraged others to scramble for paper, glue, and glitter. But they weren't facing the possibility of spending an afternoon with Mr. Crabbypants. So we stayed at the park until I was freezing, and then we went back inside like normal people.

So, yeah. In the midst of all this running around and trying to appease the master of the house, I've been trying to do things I like to do. But I've found that I can only choose two of my things per day; I do one while Cormac is napping in the morning, and then I do one after he has gone to bed. If I try to do more than one thing during either time, it all just seems very frantic, and that totally defeats the purpose of doing something I like. And so my blog has been neglected, because I've been having fun knitting.

Ooh, ooh! And guess what? Cormac is sleeping through the night!!!!! But now that I've said that the sky is going to come crashing down and we are all going to suffer mightily. Sweet.

Merry Christmas!

2009-12-27T19:25:00.005-07:00

As expected, Cormac got a lot of gifts. We actually haven't even opened all of them. It just got to a point when I was getting a little overwhelmed by all the toys and Cormac was more interested in the dog's toys. Santa did bring a pretty cool wagon, though, and Cormac really enjoyed being pulled around the house in it (There's too much snow outside right now). This morning, in fact, Cormac threw a fit when we took him out of his wagon, where he had been sitting happily, throwing blocks over the sides.

I know people always say that kids like the boxes better than the presents, but on Christmas, this was Cormac's favorite gift:

Merry Christmas!

I'm too tired to even think of a title...

2009-12-01T20:30:00.003-07:00

Wow. I am exhausted. Chubbs really took it to me today.

We started out the day at 6:10 am when Chubbs popped up in bed, stuck his finger up my nose, and attempted to dive headfirst off the bed. No sooner had I caught him around the ankle and lowered him to the ground a little slower than he would've gone by himself, when he popped up again (Chubbs doesn't understand yet that popping isn't really acceptable until at least 9 am) and ran out of our room and down the hall. Which meant that I had to jump out of bed and run after him lest he decide to also go headfirst down the stairs. And in my not-so-awake state I ran into the door jamb on my way out of the room. Hypothesis: running anywhere when you have just woken up is hazardous to your health. (Did you hear that, Chubbs? Wait, where'd you go?)

So after I had managed to wrestle him into some clothes while he scanned The Very Hungry Caterpillar and threw Crinkly-Fish into the bathtub, we went downstairs to have some breakfast. Chubbs lasted about 7 minutes in his high chair, during which time I was able to get some yogurt and Cheerios down his throat, before he twisted himself around entirely and demanded to be let loose.

Chubbs ran around the living room/kitchen/dining room arranging furniture and throwing blocks, while I sort of wandered about foggily and tried to drink my coffee as fast as possible. Through a combination of sheer luck and Yo Gabba Gabba, we managed to make it to nap time without serious injury to the dog or the Christmas tree. I gladly lay the sleeping Chubbs down in his crib (vaguely wondering how he manages to look so peaceful when he's asleep) and chose to shower instead of having another cup of coffee. In retrospect, this was my downfall.

It was fabulously hot shower, and I even managed to shave, although I cut myself twice while doing so, reminding me why I don't shave as a general rule. I took a pretty good chunk out of my ankle... Anyway, I was barely able to get dressed before Chubbs woke up early from his nap and would only continue to sleep if I was holding him. This was rather inconvenient as I was starving and had to pee. The third time trying to put Chubbs back in his crib seemed to be the last straw for him, and he dissolved into tears and screams of anger. The tantrum lasted a few minutes, and then he suddenly stopped crying, grinned at me, gave me a big, wet kiss, and slid off my lap to go play. It was 10:30 am.

Through some merciful act of who-knows-what, Chris came home early, arriving right after we had finished lunch and just in time to take the crazy dog for a walk. (Where do these dependents get their energy?) About halfway through the walk Chubbs decided he was no longer content in his stroller (imagine that), and he yelled and squirmed until we reached the playground and let him out. He ran around, climbed the cool purple hills made out of recycled tires, spun the spinny things, went down the slide and then did it all again. Keep in mind that the kid is 13 months old, so I had to run around behind him making sure he didn't tumble down the cool purple hills made out of recycled tires. Yeesh.

Chris put Chubbs down for his afternoon nap so that I could actually sit down for one second, and thankfully he ended up sleeping for a good hour and a half. He certainly needed it. But when he woke up he was ready to go again. The afternoon passed in much the same way as the morning did, with a few more measuring cups and pot holders amid the chaos. The highlight was Chris spending 20 minutes making a block tower, which Chubbs then destroyed in less than 2 minutes.

Dinner was sort of the Grande Finale to the day. Chubbs ate about 5 bites of dinner before once again protesting at the confinement of his highchair. In order to get him to eat any dinner, I literally had to chase him around the room with a spoon full of vegetable-beef pilaf and quickly shove bites into his mouth in between the blocks. He was happy to eat, but only as long as he was running while doing so. After the obstacle course dinner, Chubbs immersed himself in the baking cabinet; and when I tried to get him to come help me put away his blocks, he waved me off. The kid waved me off with a little flip of his hand and a glance over his shoulder, like, "Mom, can't you see I'm busy?"

Given the day, I thought an early bedtime was justified, and I put Chubbs down a full half-hour early. But I really hope that course of action doesn't come back to bite me tomorrow morning.

And people wonder how I lost the baby weight so fast.

Liars!

2009-11-10T20:52:00.002-07:00

I just made some "beet chips." But the people in the magazine said they would crisp up as they cooled off. Well, they're cool and decidedly floppy. Rather un-chip-like. I'm gonna try the broiler.

And tomorrow, I'm gonna make some kale chips. I have a feeling those will work out better. But you never know.

I really need to use up these veggies.

Cormac's Birth Story

2009-10-27T20:40:00.005-06:00

Cormac was a week late. It was the longest week of my life. I wanted to stab forks in my eyes. Seriously. I stopped working a couple days before my due date, and so there was a week in there where I had nothing to do. If nursing weren't so freaking physically demanding, I probably would've asked if I could keep working until I went into labor, but I was way too tired. So I had nothing to do other than sit around the house and be angry. The only thing I could watch on TV without getting annoyed was sports, which wasn't a huge problem because the World Series was on. All my friends were trying to be supportive, but I only wanted to talk to and be around people who had kids, because if you haven't experienced pregnancy (and being ready to have that baby), then you just don't get it, no matter how empathetic you are.

So when I woke up with contractions that Sunday morning at 3:30 am, I was mostly annoyed. I figured there was no way I was in labor, and so I was mad that I wasn't sleeping. I think I managed to doze on and off until about 8:00 am when I finally just got out of bed. (And had I known that staying in bed until 8 am would never happen again, I might have tried to enjoy it a little more). I kept having contractions every 10-15 minutes throughout the morning, but didn't want to say anything because, again, why would I be in labor? At that point I was hoping this kid would come sometime before Thanksgiving.

But, if I was in fact in labor, I wanted to keep it going (dear god, please just keep having contractions!) so we went for a long walk. And when we got home, I was still having contractions! And they were closer together! So I did some laundry (I know, weird, huh?). As I was putting clothes away, it started getting hard to talk/concentrate/fold clothes during contractions, and I finally decided that I must be in labor. Finally.

But I had a long way to go. We gave our midwife a heads-up call (her biggest fear was that we wouldn't call her early enough), let my mom know that she should make her way over, and sat down to watch game 4 of the World Series. Well, I alternately sat and stood, as it was rather uncomfortable to have a contraction while sitting. Everyone got there at about 8 pm, and after some initial excitement/shock (wait, seriously? You're in labor?) we settled in for a long night.

The next several hours are a bit of a blur; I went from the tub, to the bed, back to the tub, to the birthing stool, all the while watching a chicken with its head cut off running around my head.

I look at the clock. It's 2 am. I decide not to look at the clock anymore.

I'm in the tub. I finish a contraction and start to relax into the warm water, when suddenly another one starts. "Oh for f*@$k's sake!" Everyone laughs. I'm not sure what was so funny.

I'm on the bed, feeling nauseous. "Grab that bowl," I say to Chris. He quickly picks it up off the floor and holds it up to my head. I yak. "That's another centimeter," says the midwife. Excellent.

I'm 9 centimeters dilated. And I really want an epidural. Which I realize is ridiculous because we're at home, getting into a car to go to the hospital at this point would feel terrible, I wouldn't be able to get an epidural even if we were at the hospital because I'm too far dilated, and I don't really want an epidural. But I want one a little bit.

I'm on the birthing stool with a towel around my shoulders. I'm almost ready to push, and I'm feeling totally overwhelmed. I pull hard on the towel to channel some of that anxiety. RIIIP! "Oh, geez. I ripped the towel." "You're a strong lady," the midwife says.

I'm almost done. I'm lying on the bed with Chris behind me. Cormac is halfway out and I reach down to grab him. "Just a second," says the midwife, "we've got a cord around the neck." "Oops," I say. She slips the cord over his head and I bring Cormac up on to my stomach. He looks around for half a second and starts to scream. He is pissed.

It's pretty amazing how quickly this year went by. I can't believe that the screaming, squirming, slimy little man I held on my stomach a year ago is now a laughing, babbling, toddling, little man. He is no longer slimy, but sometimes he does scream and squirm, mostly around nap time. And now I'm torn between wanting to see what he's going to do next and wanting him to stop growing immediately and stay my baby forever. However, the former is winning, as I would really like some freaking sleep.

Bacon Flu

2009-10-18T11:01:00.004-06:00

It's all Chris's fault.

The man came home last Tuesday complaining of feeling "gross." By Saturday, the entire family was passed out on the couch, coughing up lungs left and right, and moaning to no one in particular. Actually, it wasn't technically the entire family; Morris spent all day Saturday prancing around the house with his toy trying to get someone, anyone, to play with him. His attempts ended in failure, so he channeled his energy into harrumphing around the house, every now and then joining us in a collective moan.

Saturday morning started off with a bang. Chris and I felt like death, and according to Cormac's wails, so did he. To try making one of us happy (I won't say who), we went downstairs to watch some visual baby-crack aka Noggin aka Nick jr. (as it's now called, apparently). No sooner had we come downstairs to begin our malingering, than Cormac vomited all over himself and me. You'll be happy to know, however, that nothing got on the couch, making cleanup immensely easier. As for the rest of the mess, I decided to multitask by filling up our big tub so that Cormac and I could wash off at the same time.

I guess for Cormac a bath is also a form of baby-crack because he was suddenly happy the second he got in. He even started to splash. The bath relaxed him so much, in fact, that he pooped. In the tub. With me in it. And it wasn't just a regular-size poop; it was a monstrous, ginormous, I-can't-believe-my-kid's-intestines-could-contain-that-much poop. So, yeah. How do you clean up massive amounts of poop from a tub, you may ask? With a sieve. Yes, you heard me. Chris fished around with a sieve to get all the big chunks out, we drained the rest of the water, and then the tub got a good, hard scrub. And so did Cormac and I.

There were no other fireworks that day, besides the occasional sound of barking seals coming from our living room (who let those in?). We just napped on the couch and watched a combination of football and Yo Gabba Gabba all day. Cormac actually perked up a little bit that afternoon, and in addition to his usual path of destruction, found great delight in the kleenex box and a tube of chapstick. So now it looks like a kleenex box with chapped lips and a penchant for baking spewed all over our main floor. And it's probably gonna stay that way for awhile because no one has any energy around here. Except Cormac. Curse you, child.

So the Guxton family has survived the swine flu of '09. We're not too much worse for the wear, which is more than I can say for our tub.

P.S. Any future dinner guests can rest assured that the sieve used to fish poop out of the tub now has a bright future in the garbage.

We Now Return To Our Regularly Scheduled Programming

2009-09-09T14:26:00.007-06:00

And we're back. Finally. We have just gone a week and a half without internet at our house. You never realize how much you depend on the internet to stay connected to the world until you have to be without it. I mean, I had to restrict my facebook time to when I was at work. Seriously, how am I supposed to stay connected to my "friends" when I can only read their status updates at work? Alright, I could have picked up the phone and called people, but where's the weird, voyeuristic anonymity in that?

And to make matters worse, it stopped working this morning. After a measly 12 hours online, we were once again cut off from the world. It was like, here, have a taste. Delicious, isn't it? Go ahead, have a little more. So sweet... Now NO SOUP FOR YOU!!! Mwahahaha!

So I called Qwest and was connected to a very nice man named Antonio who assured me that we would "go through several steps and diagnose your problem, ma'am, do not worry." And sure enough, several steps later, we had, indeed, diagnosed my problem. In order to dispel any lingering doubt, Antonio then recapped the exact course of events that led to the diagnosis.

And so here I am, happily reading facebook status updates of people I haven't talked to in 10 years. I have to admit, it is a bit sad that in order to feel connected, no, more than that, complete, I have to have internet. I mean, I could probably survive without it, but it would be a sad, meager life filled with angst and tears.

And now I need to go to bed so that I can get 45 minutes of sleep before Chubbs wakes up. Ugh.

Chicken With Its Head Cut Off

2009-08-24T20:19:00.005-06:00

There's this song by The Magnetic Fields that goes "My heart's runnin' 'round like a chicken with its head cut off. All around the barn yard fallin' in and out of love. Poor thing's blind as a bat, gettin' up, fallin' down, gettin' uuuuuup. Who'd fall in love with a chicken with its head cut off?" It's as great song, and it's fun to listen to, but it gets stuck in my head rather easily. In fact, I had this song stuck in my head the entire time I was in labor with Chubbs. All. 27. Hours.

Not so much the whole chorus, as the "gettin' up, fallin' down, gettin' uuuuuup" part. As annoying as it got (especially after the 18-hour mark), it was how I got myself to keep "getting up" after every contraction, something that got harder and harder the longer I labored. My midwife was of the mind that in some ways a long labor isn't necessarily a bad thing: it helps you keep things in perspective later on when your child won't, oh, let's say, sleep.

Let me pause here and say that I hate lessons. They really irk me. It's like the Universe is saying, "I told you so. I told you there's a reason for certain life experiences." I'd like to give the Universe a good, swift kick in the shins. But sometimes the Universe is right. Grumble, grumble. So there you are Universe; you were right. Let's not make a habit out of it.

Anyway, I often think of my long labor (as well as the week leading up to the long labor when Chubbs was overdue and I wanted to stab forks in my eyes and Chris feared for his life) when I'm having a particularly rough time with Chubbs. Like today. I spent, count 'em, 73 minutes - that's an hour and thirteen minutes - trying to get Chubbs back to sleep after he woke up in the middle of a nap.

Ok, lemme clarify. I had no trouble getting him back to sleep. What I did have trouble with was getting him back into his crib to continue his nap. I tried five (yeah, you heard me) times to put him down, and every single time he immediately woke up and got upset. After the fifth time I just gave up, which came back to haunt me this evening when Chubbs got really crabby and started sounding like a constipated cat when he cried. One can only take so much.

Anyone with a child knows how freaking annoying it is when said child won't sleep. Not only are they crabby because they're tired, but you have no time for yourself because you spend all your time trying to get them to sleep. This has been going on for a few weeks for Chubbs and me, and I'm really ready for it to be over. I need sleep. And as exasperating as it is to continually have to pick him up, get him back to sleep, put him in his crib, and repeat, I know (hope?) that it will eventually come to an end, and in a few years I will wish that my little boy would let me hold him while he sleeps. But in the meantime, I just keep reminding myself that I have to keep getting up.

Of Boxes and Bathrooms

2009-08-22T14:41:00.002-06:00

So apparently this is my first post for August, which is a little sad. But things have been a bit of a whirlwind lately, so I think I have a pretty good excuse. We sold our house (after only 9 days on the market, I might add) and bought a new one, and we move in a week. We started packing today. And packing with a little one around the house presents some fairly tricky obstacles. We found that we can get about 20 minutes of work done before Chubbs wakes up/is hungry/is tired of Noggin, which means you can really only pack about one box per hour. This is going to be a long week.

In the interest of being optimistic (only because I have just had a large bowl of ice cream to cheer me up), I am super-excited about our new house. We will have a big, gorgeous kitchen with cabinet space up the wazoo, a full, unfinished basement to do with as we please, and a master bathroom with...wait for it...two sinks and a separate tub and shower!!!! I am now drooling. I should mention that Chris's favorite part is having the toilet in its own, separate area with a door. He's really excited about this.

But in order to get there, we have to pack. Thank goodness my parents were able to come over today and help us out. We got a lot done, but now we're sort of at the random-crap phase, where you have all these extra bits that you can't really throw away, but you're not really sure how to pack them so that there is some semblance of order. I will probably end up just throwing them all in a box, and then avoid opening it until I absolutely have to.

Speaking of throwing stuff in boxes, we tried to get Chubbs to amuse himself with a few toys in a box today. Most kids love playing in boxes because it's a small, secure area that the have all to themselves. But Chubbs was not content unless he was standing in the box and rocking it back and forth, or hanging is upper body over the edge. He got a little taste of freedom when he jumped out of his crib earlier this week, and I think he's looking for another high. Good thing we didn't buy the house with the all-too-easily-accessible ledge overlooking the living room. Although the kid will probably just find something else to rappel down.

I hit mental gridlock at about midday, which is why I'm eating ice cream and messing around online instead of packing. So if anyone wants to come over and help me throw random crap in boxes, I would appreciate it. I pay in beer.

Mothership

2009-07-31T10:09:00.004-06:00

I'm not sure what it is about the Cherry Creek Whole Foods, but apparently crazy ladies flock there. Yesterday while we were in the checkout line an older lady eating Ben and Jerry's Karamel Sutra ice cream with a straw randomly came up to us and stuck her face rightupclose to Chubbs's face saying, "We have an eager shopper!" I don't even know what that means.

The Pits

2009-07-24T09:59:00.000-06:00

Chubbs has a thing for sticking his hands in my armpits. I’m not really sure what this is about. No matter how many times I remove his hands, or how hard I squeeze my arms to my torso, he always manages to worm his chubby little fingers into my armpit. And proceeds to scratch or pinch me. I’m not really sure which is worse: to have sharp, little baby nails digging into my skin, or to have a small portion of my skin rolled between his surprisingly strong thumb and forefinger. At least he has a good pincer grasp.

It seems to mostly be restricted to times when he wants to be comforted, like when we are nursing, when he is trying to fall asleep, or when he is nursing while asleep in the middle of the night. This last one is particularly annoying, as you might imagine. It’s fairly hard to sleep while you have a little fist opening and closing in your armpit.

Which begs the question, what is it about his hands in my armpits that is comforting? My deodorant is “energizing citrus and lemongrass,” which doesn’t seem exceptionally comforting. And I’m pretty sure he’s never heard of Mary Katherine Gallagher.

Temporarily Evicted

2009-07-06T21:10:00.005-06:00

Because our house is on the market, we have to spend a good portion of everyday out and about so that random people can come wander through our house and hopefully decide that it is totally worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. This can get a bit tricky with an 8-month-old little guy who gets very cranky when he doesn't nap well/long enough/when he wants.

Moreover, the dog has to come with us, which puts some restrictions on where we can go. This afternoon, I decided we should walk around Cherry Creek (a local shopping area) so that I could deposit some checks I had been carrying around and make a quick trip to the grocery store. Before all that, we walked around a little bit so that Morris could get some exercise, and I took the opportunity to catch up with a friend via phone.

Right after we finished our conversation, the booking agency for home showings called, and then our realtor called, followed by the booking agency again. All in all I spent about 4o minutes with the phone to my ear while wandering aimlessly about Cherry Creek with a baby and a dog in 85 degree weather. Toward the end I had sweat dripping from my armpit down the back of my arm. It was as gross as it sounds. And I never went to the bank. Or the grocery store.

Later in the evening, we had another showing, so I figured we could do the grocery shopping. I got the diaper bag, the baby, and the dog in the car and set off. That's when I realized I had the dog in the car, and grocery shopping maybe wasn't the best idea. But we really needed some food basics, and what else was I going to do?

I parked in the parking structure so the car would stay cool, and left the windows rolled down. Plus, it had just rained, so Morris was fine. In the store, I managed to restrict myself to only one impulse purchase (I even put back the other item I had grabbed), and the only other things not on the list were snacks for Chubbs and myself; it was dinner time, after all.

After paying for our items, Chubbs and I sat down to eat. Sort of. Trying to feed myself while feeding Chubbs in his sling with no bib made it more like a circus act. And then Crazy Lady sat down next to us.

Crazy Lady: What's his name?

Me: Cormac

Crazy Lady: (wrinkling her nose) Oh.

Pause, at which point I glance over at her and notice she has spilled her carton of milk everywhere.

Crazy Lady: I got my prescriptions filled today and they were $32 dollars. Can you believe that?

Me: Wow. That's expensive. Thinking: maybe if I were at work I would be ok having this conversation, but I'm totally not getting paid right now.

Crazy Lady: How much are your prescriptions?

Me: Ummm, I don't really have any.

Crazy Lady: That's good. I thought my Medicare would pay for mine, but it didn't.

Me: Medicare can be tough.

Crazy Lady: If you have AIDS you don't have to pay for your prescriptions.

Me: Wow, Cormac! You are messy! Let's go wipe you off.

This all took place at the Cherry Creek Whole Foods.

I actually remembered to get my parking validated before leaving the store, and as I pushed the cart toward the parking garage, the wheels locked up. Apparently Whole Foods has a problem hanging on to their carts because they installed one of those invisible lines that makes the wheels on the cart lock up when you go past it. It was half way to the parking garage. Whoever thought it would be a good idea to put the invisible line before the garage needs to be kicked in the shins. So I had to carry a baby, a diaper bag, and groceries the rest of the way to the garage and up three levels to our car.

And I still needed to go to the bank. So I put the diaper bag and groceries in the car, got the dog out, put his leash on, and shut and locked the car. Then I remembered my wallet was still inside the car. Curses!

Finally armed with my wallet, we made it to the bank and I was able to deposit the checks with some help from Chubbs. Hopefully the teller can read the total amount on the envelope (the "5" looked more like a "b"); if nothing else I'm pretty sure they know how to add.

We' better get an offer soon.

Roughing It

2009-07-01T13:11:00.004-06:00

This past weekend, we took Chubbs on his first camping trip. Since this was my first camping trip as a Mother With a Small Child, I searched around on the internet for some tips for camping with babies. The results yielded two opinions on the matter: 1) It's awesome! Just make sure you bring lots of clothes; and 2) You're crazy.

Since I already know that I'm crazy, I decided to pay more attention to the first opinion. I followed the clothes advice and brought 2+ outfits per day for Chubbs, as well as several jackets and hats, a few blankets, and lots of bibs and burp cloths. I also packed the car with three baby carriers - a sling, a front carrier, and a backpack (all of which were used during our trip, I might add). For such small beings, babies need a lot of stuff. I remembered everything we needed for Chubbs, but somehow packed myself four pairs of pants and no rain jacket. Way to go, Brain.

My biggest curiosity was where would the baby sleep? I am forever worrying about how warm my boys are (I have been known to cover the dog with a blanket on particularly cold camping nights. Surprisingly, Morris doesn't like this), so naturally I wanted to make sure Chubbs had a warm and cozy sleeping arrangement. I decided on a sleeping bag of sorts; there was no way I was buying an actual sleeping bag for an 8-month-old, so my mom sewed together the sides of a piece of fleece to make a little bag. My plan was for Chubbs to sleep in his sleeping bag in between Chris and me in our zipped-together sleeping bags.

On our first night, I put Chubbs down for the night in his sleeping bag, and a few hours later, we joined him in the tent. On a side note, getting ready for bed in a semi-dark tent while simultaneously trying to get the dog to lay down, attempting not to fall over, and avoiding waking the baby is no small feat. Anyway, after we were finally in our sleeping bags with the baby in between us in his little bag, we drifted off to sleep to the sound of the creek near our tent.

I awoke two hours later to a squirmy, sweaty, hot baby. Apparently, Chubbs is a roasty-toasty little fellow who was not terribly pleased by my attempts to wrap him in several layers of fleece. So I took him out of his fleece bag and he slept quite comfortably between Chris and me in our sleeping bags, occasionally kicking off the portion covering him. I was the only one who was cold. The next two nights we removed Chubbs from his bag before going to sleep.

Chubbs loved pretty much everything about camping: waking up to the dog's nose in his face, hanging out in the tent (to a point), being outside the majority of the time, watching the trees sway in the wind, playing with sticks four times his size, eating pancakes, and being held most of the time. The only thing he did not like? Not having his bouncer there. But there was no way I was packing that monstrosity in the already crammed-full car. Besides, this way everyone got a great arm workout.

Thinking of going camping with your kiddo? Here are my tips:

1) Bring lots of clothes

2) Bring extra wipes - camping is dirty

3) Don't wrap your kid in enough layers to keep him warm in sub-zero conditions. Unless, of course, you are camping in sub-zero conditions, in which case I say, You're crazy.

4) Go with friends to increase the adult-to-child ratio. This ensures that there is always someone to hold the baby when you need to pee.

5) Just go! It's really not as hard as you think it might be.

Hooray for Tuesday!

2009-06-16T10:54:00.004-06:00

Oh, how I love summer! It's wonderful to be able to go to and from work with the sun still out, and I adore the hot weather (especially since we have AC). Best of all, it means CSA time! Today is the first pick-up day for our CSA, and I'm super excited. CSA stands for Community Supported Agriculture, and it works like this: we buy a share from a local farm (we get ours from Grant Family Farms) for the season, and every week we get a huge box of veggies and fruits, as well as a dozen farm-fresh eggs. Obviously, the produce we get is seasonal, and so the contents of the box vary each week. This week, we'll probably get a lot of lettuce, other leafy greens like kale and spinach, and some dill.

Because you never know what you're going to get, it's always a fun challenge to figure out what to make with all the veggies. It can be overwhelming sometimes, especially when you get no fewer than four heads of lettuce each week. Last year was the first year we participated, and we sometimes had trouble using all the veggies in a timely matter; one can only eat so much salad, you know. But this year, we know what to expect for the most part, and I have armed myself with lots and lots of recipes that incorporate the veggies we are likely to get.

I'm also especially excited for our CSA this year because it means Chubbs will get to try a wide assortment of vegetables, and he will be another avenue to use up the copious amounts of summer squash (among other things) we will get. This is because I make all of Chubbs's baby food; I cook a big batch of whatever veggie happens to interest me, blend it up, and then I freeze it in ice-cube trays. The only foreseeable problem is that we will run out of freezer space. (Hopefully we are in a new house in the near future, and we can put a big freezer out in our new garage. So send me some good house-selling vibes.)

I will have to see what our box offers, but I think tonight we will have portobello mushroom burgers with arugula-walnut pesto, and a side salad of spinach with a lemon-garlic dressing.

If you'd like to learn more about community supported agriculture or other ways to get local produce, go to www.localharvest.org. You can search your area for CSA's, farmers markets, farms, and restaurants using local produce.

Scrubbin'

2009-06-15T14:32:00.005-06:00

We're getting our house ready to put on the market, and all the cleaning involved has made it very apparent to me just how dirty our house was. You never really think about washing things like baseboards and trim (well, I never think about it). And I didn't really realize how dirty they were until I started washing them. There were little spatters from the Tom & Jerry I spilled two Christmases ago and the glass of red wine from three years ago. Note to self: don't drink and walk up stairs. But now that three and a half year's worth of dust is gone, all the trim looks really good.

I also just finished scrubbing the bathroom floor - on my hands and knees, with a scrub brush and some 20 Mule Team borax (that's seriously what it's called). First, and best, of all, I don't need to go to the gym anymore. And the bathroom actually looks pretty spiffy now. I mean, there's only so much you can do with old grout, but at least it doesn't look brownish-black anymore. By the way, borax is awesome; it's not bad for the environment, you can use it to clean pretty much anything, and you can use it in the laundry to give your clothes a little extra cleaning oomph. I'm not sure where the "20 Mule Team" thing comes from, but I'm pretty sure having a team of 20 mules in my house would not make it very clean.

I have decided that in our new house, we should make sure to do a deep cleaning twice a year, so that we don't end up with alcohol-spattered baseboards. I am not making any promises, though, and so we are considering buying a house made completely of stainless steel that will clean itself while I walk the dog.

Update: I just went on Wikipedia, and apparently the "20 Mule Team" refers to the twenty mule teams that were used to move borax out of Death Valley, CA to the nearest rail spur between 1883 and 1889. I love random trivia.

You probably shouldn't stand near us...

2009-06-05T15:40:00.003-06:00

Apparently someone somewhere is trying to tell us something. And to that someone I say, "Ok, Ok. We get the freaking point!"

Let me tell you a little bit about our day. Cormac woke up several times last night crying for no apparent reason, so the day started out a little off. Chris got out of bed early to put the garbage and recycling out for pick-up, only to discover that his scooter had been stolen. This means that the only form of transportation we have is one car. And our good friend Richard T. Davis.

So the count stands at no sleep and a stolen scooter. What else could go wrong, you ask? Lots. During breakfast Chris went downstairs to get some paper towels (which we are apparently out of) and found that the basement had flooded. With sewage. Again. We had almost finished refinishing it from the last time it flooded. And now it will all have to come out again.

And just to add a little insult to injury, the under-the-sink soap holder broke into several pieces.

All of this happened before noon. I think the day should just be over at this point.

(Richard T. Davis = RTD = the bus)

Snip Snip

2009-06-04T15:09:00.005-06:00

I just got my hair cut. Short. Really short. I mean, it hasn't been this short in 12 or 13 years. Apparently, about four months after you give birth, your hair starts falling out in massive quantities. It is somewhat miraculous that I am not bald. Seriously. So I decided to cut my losses (quite literally) and chop it all off. And as long as I was getting rid of it, I figured I might as well donate my hair, so hopefully whoever receives it will appreciate it a lot more than I did.

Just so you know, it looks awesome; Dani did a fabulous job. And the bonus is I don't think I'm going to have to do anything to it for it to look good down. Which is nice, because I haven't worn my hair down since Chubbs was born. But it is short.

It made me realize, though, how much being a mother changes one's perspective on oneself. Before, I think I probably would have worried about what others would think of my new haircut, whether they would like it. But now, I could care less. If the baby is diapered, clothed, and fed, if the diaper bag is packed, and if I have clothes and shoes on, we are good to go. Although as a general rule I try not to leave the house wearing anything that is covered in dog slobber, baby slobber, or peanut butter.

I've never really lacked self-confidence (maybe I've had a little too much of it...), but I think becoming a mother has changed where my confidence is rooted. Instead of being tied to more appearance-oriented things, I feel much more intrinsically confident. I think part of that comes from the fact that as a mother, I am doing something much more significant and far-reaching than anything else I could possible do. Which isn't to say that other things I do are insignificant. Being a nurse and caring for very ill people is a valuable thing. It just doesn't quite compare to the huge responsibility of raising a child.

And that, my friends, is why you see so many mothers out and about in ratty, old t-shirts and sweatpants. Because we are confident. Or exhausted, have no clean laundry, been peed on several times already that day, and really need some groceries. Whatever.

Squeaky Clean

2009-05-28T21:32:00.002-06:00

I went grocery shopping with Chubbs today. I didn't bring a list because we needed so many things that I figured I'd just go up and down the aisles and grab whatever looked good. This is a dangerous strategy, by the way, and we often end up with several kinds of cookies when I employ this shopping method. Anyway, we walked by the personal care aisle, and I remembered that we needed some hand soap and lotion for the kitchen sink area.

I prefer to buy natural and/or organic products because I feel better about not having random chemicals that may do weird things as they absorb into my skin. So I read the labels on a few different kinds of soap, looked at the prices, smelled them, and decided on a Hugo Naturals soap. I looked around for some corresponding lotion, but a couple trips up and down the aisle proved fruitless. So instead I decided to go with the Burt's Bees hand soap because there was a bottle of lotion right next to it. Very convenient.

We finished our shopping with much yelling from Chubbs and a bit of shock on my part in regards to how much the bill was.

When we got home, I put all the groceries away, washed my hands with the new soap (grapefruit ginger!), and rubbed some of the new lotion (shea butter and milk) into my hands. It was a little sticky, but it eventually absorbed and felt pretty nice.

That evening when Chris got home, he noticed my purchase. "So you went ahead and made an executive decision on the soap? It had better smell good." To test it he washed his hands and approved of the grapefruit ginger smell.

"But why'd you get two kinds of soap?"

Oh. That would explain the stickiness. And why I thought Burt's Bees was the only one to have lotion right next to the hand soap.

Words Fail Me

2009-05-14T16:38:00.006-06:00

Before leaving the dog park today, I changed Chubb's diaper. We usually use cloth diapers, but I had to go with a disposable because that was all I had in the diaper bag. Plus, I think they were a size too small; this was my fatal error. I was starving when we got home, so I stuck Chubbs in his bouncer and scarfed a fake chicken sandwich.

After I ate, I picked him up and was carrying him into the kitchen when I noticed that my arm was feeling a bit damp. I moved my arm to find a huge poo stain on his back. Huge. I took him upstairs and started to change him, but this blowout was so big, I didn't even know where to start. It was a poonami. I finally just decided to take his clothes off and stick them in the washer right away and then stick the kid in the bath. While I was oxy-cleaning the heck out of the clothes, I stuck Chubbs on a blanket in the middle of the room.

I threw the clothes in the washer and went back to the room. I found him like this:

Notice the poo stains on his back. And he had peed all over the carpet. True story.

Momma's Day Part II: The Streak Has Ended

2009-05-13T11:04:00.005-06:00

The beautiful string of sleep-filled nights has ended. With a vengeance. Poor, little Chubbs had bad gas last night (totally my fault - I had to have chinese food) and was pretty unhappy, which he let me know about every couple hours. At least I have some sleep saved up.

I would also like to brag about the fabulous Mother's Day gifts that Chris got me. And it wouldn't be a present from Chris without some sort of twist; he didn't wrap the presents. Instead, he put these gifts away where the would normally go, and I had to wander around the house until I spotted them. The first one I found was a set of stainless steel storage containers for grains. This may seem like a weird gift, but I looove to organize things (thanks mom and dad), and I have been wanting something like this for awhile. The other present took me a long time to find, because it wasn't where I expected it would be. Downstairs in our office Chris hung up a bunch of pictures of Chubbs, him, and me - it was a great, personalized gift. Thank you, darling!

What's more, my wonderful in-laws gave me a rather delicious gift. I have already eaten almost all of it:

Yummm...

Momma's Day

2009-05-12T20:57:00.002-06:00

My first mother's day was both good and bad. I shouldn't say bad, just less fun than I would have hoped. I had to work, because some people have the audacity to get sick on holidays. So we celebrated a day early at my parents' house with a delicious dinner of crab cakes, sweet potatoes, black beans, and salad. There was also bacon-wrapped filet mignon for the carnivores (everyone but me). I love it when my father cooks.

I celebrated the occasion by wrapping Cormac in a much too heavy blanket for his nap, and then not hearing him when he cried because he was too hot. Poor little guy cried for awhile before Gran went to check on him and heard him. Way to go, Momma. Luckily he's resilient, and in the end I was the only one who was upset.

I think Cormac forgave me, though, because he gave me the best Mother's Day present ever: a full night's sleep! He went to bed at 8:00 pm and didn't wake up until 6:15 the next morning, when I was already up before work. It was heavenly. And then he outdid himself. He slept all night both Sunday and Monday night. I am flabbergasted. But I am not holding my breath. I am just going to be thankful for every extra hour of sleep I get, because odds are it won't last. Sigh...

In all seriousness, though, I want to say the being a mother is the most wonderful, most difficult, most mind-boggling thing I have ever done and will ever do. Nothing can prepare you for how much you will love this funny, little person. Or how much you will worry about whether you are reading him the right books, putting him in the right diapers, feeding him the right food, and other seemingly trivial things. Because once you become a mother, you put the majority of your self into making sure that this funny, little person grows up to become a happy, big person. And my guess is that it doesn't even end there; I will continue to worry, just a little, until the day I die.

And one more thing, to my Momma: thanks for not screwing me up too much, and showing me by example how to be an amazing mother. I love you.

When Babies Attack!

2009-04-29T10:10:00.003-06:00

To the casual observer, they appear to be cute, little things, incapable of much else other than cooing and rolling over. But those that have experienced an attack know all too well what happens when one comes too close to those sharp little teeth and fingernails. There is rarely a warning, and injuries can be serious. Follow along and see what happens when babies attack!

On Sunday afternoon at approximately 3:30 pm, I was the victim of a baby attack. Cormac was sitting on my lap, happy as can be, when all of a sudden, Bam! His finger went straight into my eye. There was no warning. I couldn't see, and tears were pouring from my eye just as fast as expletives were pouring from my mouth.

Ok, so maybe I'm being a little dramatic, but this seriously hurt. I mean, I can stand a whole lot of pain; when one of my lumbar discs herniated two years ago, I dealt with the pain for four days before I went into see a doctor (not necessarily a great decision). Heck, I had a baby! But this eye pain was bad enough that I called Chris to come home from work so that I could go to the urgent care clinic.

And then I sat in the urgent care exam room for four hours. Not that they weren't doing their job, it's just that as far as injury triage goes, I was at the low end of the totem poll. So I sat in the exam room with my eyes closed and tried not to think about how long I had been there. After a couple hours I turned off the lights and curled up on the padded bench. Sleep was not an option, however. Imagine a piece of sand paper being held on the center of your eye - it hurts even when your eye isn't moving, but with even slight movement, like your pupil dilating or constricting with changes in the light, there is intense pain.

Finally, after I had been there about three hours, I just started crying. I was hungry, tired, thirsty, and in pain. And then the doctor came in. So that was embarassing. But he put in these numbing drops and within seconds I had no pain. Hallelujah! That lasted for about an hour - enough time for them to do an eye exam, diagnose me with a corneal abrasion, write me a few prescriptions for vicodin and eye drops, and send me out the door. Then the pain came back, but this time I was armed with vicodin. And while that only took some of the pain away, it also made me not care so much. I love narcotics.

I am still on the road to recovery today (Wednesday). My eye is still pretty sensitive to light and my vision is definitely blurred. On the other hand, my eye is not swollen shut, I can actually keep it open for an extended period of time, and the pain is pretty well controlled with periodic doses of ibuprofen.

So the next time you're around a baby, be a bit more weary. Injuries usually occur quickly and without warning. You never know what the outcome will be when babies attack!

If by 4 you mean 4-ish, then, yes, we'll be there

2009-04-26T07:20:00.003-06:00

We suck at being on time. Case in point: We went to a wedding yesterday that started at 4 pm. What time did we show up? 4:10. We had to sneak in a side door between between when the bridesmaids made their entrance and the bride's walk down the aisle. We actually saw the bride out in front of the church before we went in. (Sorry, Joanna.) But she did look very beautiful.

Another example: my good friend Kate's wedding (maybe people shouldn't be inviting us to weddings). The event took place up at Peaceful Valley Ranch in the mountains, and the ceremony was up above the complex in a pretty, little outdoor area, to which you had to take a shuttle. We got there so late that we actually had to ride up to the ceremony with the bride. (Sorry, Kate.) She also looked very beautiful.

I remember a conversation Chris and I had one night (before Chubbs was born) as we were driving to meet friends at a bar, and we were late as usual:
Me: I think we're just doomed to be that family that always shows up late to everything.
Chris: Don't be so pessimistic; maybe we can change. We should work on that.
Me: Yeah, maybe, but I'm really not seeing it.
Chris: We could make sure we schedule things really well and start leaving early for things.
Me: uncontrollable laughter. Umm, sure.

Nope, we're doomed.

I think I'm being played

2009-04-22T09:55:00.003-06:00

Why is it that every time I put Chubbs down for a nap, he sleeps for an hour, tops, and then wakes up and wants to eat? When Chris puts him down, he'll sleep for two to three hours without a peep. This morning he slept for an hour, then woke up all big-eyed and ready to go. Maybe he senses that I'm a sucker and will go get him the moment he makes a noise. I should probably stop doing that.

Oh well. At least we can go grocery shopping before the store gets crazy.

Gross, both outside and inside

2009-04-18T15:39:00.002-06:00

It is snowing/sleeting/raining outside today, and there are big piles of slush/snow everywhere, which means I will, under no circumstances, be heading out for a walk today. Luckily, Morris had a long day at doggie daycare (yes, doggie daycare) yesterday, and is currently passed out in his bed. Cormac is also passed out in his bed after a long morning of trying out convertible carseats (on which we spent waaaay too much money).

So, since I had a little time on my hands, I thought I'd clean out the fridge. Here is a sampling of what I found:

A container with a few baby carrots and two cherry tomatoes, with a sell-by date of 2/24/08. Covered in mold.

A small bowl of chipotle chiles in adobo sauce from who knows when. I think these may still be OK.

A yogurt container with some unidentifiable leftovers that look vaguely like cole slaw. Covered in mold.

The heels from three loaves of bread.

Two half-used bottles of teriyaki sauce.

And, drumroll please, some cut up winter squash from December of 08. Covered in mold that looks like blue cheese.

I took all of this, and more, out of the fridge, got overwhelmed, and put it all back in. My reasoning was that since it is snowing/sleeting/raining outside, I wouldn't be able to take the garbage out right away, and I didn't want the squash with blue cheese mold stinking up the house. So everything is still in the fridge, and I am online.

Easter

2009-04-16T09:16:00.005-06:00

Because we are lucky enough to have both Chris's and my family close by, holidays are always very busy and filled with massive amounts of food. This year we had brunch at my parents' house with all the Denver family; there were 16 people there, a small fraction of the many, many relatives I have. The food was, as always, delicious. Cormac, however, was interested in something else:

Champagne - my kinda kid!

At least he had some water, too.

After Cormac woke up from a long nap (no, he didn't actually get any champagne) we headed over to Chris's Grandma's place for dinner. Cormac got to meet some of Oma's friends and munch on a bunny.

Happy Easter!

Someone get me a pin before my head floats away...

2009-04-02T21:42:00.002-06:00

I'm feeling pretty proud of myself this evening. I successfully accomplished several necessary and not-so-necessary-but-interesting things today. I say successfully because sometimes I accomplish things, but they're not terribly successful. For an example, see the previous post about laundry.

Here are today's achievements:

1. Chubbs slept until 7:15 this morning, which means I accomplished some extra sleep.

2. Combined a walk for Morris with a nap for Chubbs and a trip to the local bike store for a tire patching kit. I love multitasking.

3. Fixed the tire on our stroller with said tire patching kit. This also required getting the tire off the wheel, which was no small feat.

4. Figured out how to make this blog look way more interesting. Html=confusing.

5. Chubbs napped in his crib for both his morning and afternoon naps, with only one minor awakening. Hallelujah! Apparently the kid just wanted to be swaddled. Although now he looks like a mini sarcophagus.

6. And last, but not least, I wore real clothes (read: not sweatpants) for four whole hours!

I totally rock.

Laundry

2009-03-29T18:32:00.004-06:00

Laundry is a never-ending problem at our house. Not so much the lack of clean clothes as the abundance of them. In the wrong place. I don't mind doing laundry because I can put a load in and go do other things; it makes me feel very productive. But I hate putting laundry away, which is how we end up with situations like this:

Houdini Mice

2009-03-03T18:24:00.005-07:00

If you live in an old house, you probably have mice. And since our house is almost 100 years old, this equals lots of mice. I promise we are not gross people; we don't leave food randomly about the house. Actually, that would be impossible because Chompy would get to it before any mouse. Anyway, we do, in fact, keep the house clean (messy, but clean).

At first, I thought the mice were cute, and I was rather upset when I came home one day to find a dead mouse floating in a bowl in the sink. Once I got over the sadness/grossed-out-ness, I disposed of the mouse using a glove, several paper towels, and two plastic bags. But how on earth did the mouse get into the bowl in the first place?

At first, I wanted to find a humane way of getting the mice out of our house. We tried these traps that just catch the mice but don't kill them. But then I realized that I would have to drive a ways away from the house in order to let the mouse go. Otherwise they would just come back. Plus, the day I brought the no-kill traps home, Chompy caught one in his mouth and squished it enough that I had to put the thing out of its misery. No-kill, not so much.

Once I stopped finding the mice cute (because they are hanta-virus-carrying little bastards that poop on my kitchen counter), we moved on to more serious methods of extermination. We tried the snap traps, but the results were just gross. Then Slim suggested the use of sticky traps, as he had had some success with them in his childhood. The problem is, the mice just stick to them; they don't die. So that means you have to pick up a trap with a still-wriggling mouse attached to it. And sometimes the mouse has managed to drag itself several feet while still attached to the trap, which makes the whole situation even more grim.

Even though I find the sticky traps unbearable to dispose of, I will admit that they work. So I put a couple in the basement to catch the mice that are too chicken to venture out on the kitchen counter. When I went to check on them the next day, I found one trap full. One. The other one had disappeared. Seriously. I looked everywhere - under piles of clothes, behind boxes, underneath the furnace. Nothing. I have no idea where the thing could have gone.

So we probably have a dead mouse rotting away in our basement. Awesome. Could explain the smell...

Bedtime

2009-02-21T21:29:00.003-07:00

Everyone says that in order to get a baby to sleep in his crib, you should put him down while he's still drowsy. This way he falls asleep in his crib and won't get upset when he wakes up and isn't in your arms anymore.

The problem is, there is nothing sweeter than rocking a baby to sleep. I love the short interlude after he totally relaxes, but before he has fallen asleep. He just lays there in my arms, looking at me through half-closed eyes with unwavering trust. I am always flooded with an overwhelming sense of responsibility and a desire to protect this child from anything and everything bad in this world. And even though I know I can't, and shouldn't, promise that, I can't help but want to.

When you become a mother, I think you shift a portion of your own sense of self-preservation to your child. As long as your baby is safe, everything is OK. You know that if it ever came down to it, you would give up everything in order to protect him.

All these thoughts swirl around in my head every time I rock Chubbs to sleep, and I know that he is the most wonderful thing I have ever created.

So to all the sleep experts: keep your theories to yourself. And even if you are right, that I should be putting Chubbs in his crib before he falls asleep, I am willing to deal with the consequences. Because nothing is sweeter than rocking a baby to sleep.

La Casa Nostra

2008-12-09T07:48:00.005-07:00

We are a 1920s crime family. By name, anyway. There's Chubbs, of course, who got his name long before he was born because Chris was mumbling, and I thought he suggested Chubbs for a nickname instead of something a bit more conventional. However, once I revealed what I thought I heard, Chubbs stuck, much to my initial dismay and eventual amusement. It's even funnier now since there's absolutely nothing chubby about him; this is one long, skinny baby.

Then there's Slim. This obviously refers to Chris, who is 6'3" and 170 lbs. I figure Slim is nicer than Stringbean. He was the one who liked to remind me that I outweighed him when I was pregnant.

My name has a bit of a background. Slim and I like to play a version of Scrabble in which you cannot use any real words; all words have to be made up, but they have to make sense phonetically (no "jqxy," even if you can put it on a triple word score). After placing the word on the board, you have to give a definition and use the word in a sentence. I highly recommend this version of Scrabble - it's more fun than the original version, and it goes faster because you don't have to spend 15 minutes each turn trying to figure out how to make a real word with no vowels. One of the best words we have come up with so far is jugsy, meaning a large-breasted woman. And ever since Chubbs came along, I am the full embodiment of that word. So I am Jugsy.

The dog is Chompy, since he has a most bizarre habit of randomly chomping at the air. I think he's trying to tell me that we don't feed him enough. Suck it up, Chompy.