Halloweenie

Ugh. It's been hard to get a post up. I've started a couple, don't finish them and then they're outdated just like that. I've been too tired, too. And it seems like, somehow, daylight savings has taken an hour or more out of my day. Maybe it seems that way because it gets dark so dang early. There's not enough time to get everything done and like I said, I've been tired. Pooped. Worn out when I finally leave the salt mine. By 10 p.m. I'm sawing logs. Maybe I'm doing something wrong. Maybe I'm not budgeting my time well. Maybe getting up at 5:39 a.m. just isn’t early enough (this is what time W decided to get his Halloween day started…yeay for me!).

I have committed to exercising at least three times a week and this morning I walked good and hard for thirty minutes around the 'hood. I got a stitch in my side 20 minutes in but I pressed to finish the walk at a steady pace. Yeah, so I was only walking but it's been over a year and a half (or more) since I got my heart rate up over 30 bpm. I'm starting out slow so I don’t scare myself away. It felt good though…walking in the sunshine, taking in the window of time to myself. What sucked about it was the catcalling from construction workers (who must all be seriously lonely because I was wearing a t-shirt with my kid’s face plastered as big as a billboard on it), the cars trying to run me over, the bus exhaust, the demons in my head that won’t shut up for one damn minute and let me just mentally coast. Exercising is hard.

And no, I didn’t get W a Halloween costume this year. How could I top this? This was last year.























Instead I dressed him in his short black pants (girls section at Old Navy) and a black t-shirt that says, “I do my own stunts” with a stick figure falling over so if anyone one asks, he’s a stunt man for Halloween. Yeah.

W is FINALLY getting over the daycare disease he absorbed over 3 weeks ago. It raced through the family (and then some) like wild fire but we are all on the mend (knocking on wood). He’s still ingesting that sugary, thick pink liquid amoxicillin so I’m guaranteed a few more days of a healthy child ‘till it runs out. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to keep this kid healthy. Anything. Seriously.

This is W texting some hot baby he met on the internet..."Yeah, baby, yeah!"
















Grabbing the remote because Elmo's World is about to come on...
















"What? You're interested in some other baby? Aww, baby!"
















Our Halloween porch. Real World plastic chairs gone good.
















Baby in lights.

Junebugger

Dearest Junebug (that was your name before you were born),

Today you are thirteen months, one week and four days old. I am compelled to write to you because the internet is down at work and when mommy doesn’t have much to do at the office, she thinks about her life with you.

Now let’s see…your latest talents are blowing on things and dancing fever. You blow out any candles that are lit and you blow on anything that I tell you is hot. If the oven is hot, you blow on it. If the bath water is hot, you blow on that, too, and all the food you eat gets a puff of your breath as well.

Uncle Joey and Aunt Misty got you a refrigerator DJ and you punch it every morning like the Fonz at the jukebox in Al’s Diner. I get to hear the first two seconds of all the songs before you randomly decide on one for us to dance to in our Pjs. Lately, you’ve found rhythm in the choo-choo sound your train table makes and your high chair dancing is the BEST! It’s like watching an inchworm move in place. Lately you’ve actually been moving to the beat which is a big deal to your papa.

You also enjoy jumping on the bed which is actually more like just the idea of jumping instead of actual jumping but I know what your intentions are. You’ll get there soon enough.

For the past week or so, you’ve loathed bath time. I thought I had changed your mindset when I bought you Elmo watermelon scented bubble bath but I think the idea of washing up in what is the equivalent of sugarless Kool-Aid made us both sick to our stomachs. The sweet stench is a tad overwhelming. Two nights ago I bathed with you but you just thought it was an all you can nurse buffet with bubble accents.

Last night I was calculating the few hours a day I get to spend with you when, in the beginning, I was with you 24/7. Now this cherished time has been whittled down to only 4.5 hours a day Monday through Friday and 48 on the weekends. It just doesn’t seem fair but we have to make money to pay for all of my diamonds and furs. That was a joke, son. Hopefully, someday soon our time spent together won’t be so abbreviated. Mommy and daddy dream real big.

Love you,
Mommy

Bogger

It’s a “bog you down” kinda week, folks. Days and nights are filled to the brim with family, work and friends so I guess I’m bogged in a good way, just no time to blog about the bog. Plus we’re all still reeling from the bug that W brought into our lives almost 3 weeks ago. Keeps our energy levels on the low end of the gas tank and at night we all fall into bed completely expended. Is this madness ever going to end? I’ve heard that all of the other classes in W school are down to very few little people as they swap and share the scourge. Might be a vicious cycle for many months to come. I could go home right now and call it a day already.

Went to see the Rolling Stones last Sunday with 42,000 other people and it was a great show. My sis-in-law (who is also trying to kick W’s bug) lives close to the park where they performed so we were able to hike the short distance instead of dealing with the traffic and parking nightmares. The Hubs, his drummer (who flew in from Boulder, CO on his day off on another tour in progress with Edie Brickell & the New Bohemians), and I stood within yards of the stage for some great perspectives on the aging rock star royalty. I encountered a couple who were Nazis about the crowd behind them slowly ebbing closer to the stage like their soiled blanket that’s been on the ground for five hours and consequently considered to be their valuable piece of real estate is their license to bitch. News flash…when the headliner hits the stage, all bets are off. My back and legs ached as I stood there mesmerized by the energy and stamina of Mick. There were plenty of tasteful pyrotechnics and fireworks and at the very end of it all Mr. Jagger muttered into the mic, “No expense spared” in his delicious British accent.

On another rock n roll note, the Hubs’ new record is done and we’re now looking for a label to take it to the platinum level. It is AMAZING and a recorded testament of his incredible talent as a musician and songwriter. This gem is going to get us that little chateau in the south of France. Oh, yes, it is.

On the office front, we’re already kicking some serious ass for the next conference season. Last year (which is technically this year, just last March) we executed 68 parties in 9 days. We’re already up to 52 parties booked and it’s only October. How are we going to do it, you query? Crystal meth and lots of it.

Bobble Head

I was just looking at some of the pics of W that I've posted of him recently and I was wondering, does it look to you like his huge noggin' has been superimposed on a tiny shrunken body 'cause it looks like that to me. Seriously, it just looks weird.

Eycarumba

Date night didn’t go so well last night. I’ve learned that having date night the same evening that the Hubs has a gig is a bad idea. His cell phone rang off the hook (or does that description even apply since cell phones don’t have hooks or cradles or base units, do they?…maybe I should say his cell phone rang out of his pants), he was obviously distracted by a cerebral set list or guest list or wine list and he was dressed as his alter-stage dominating-ego. This means a bright blue pinstriped polyester suit, blinding white shirt and brown shoes with heels taller than mine. I love the suit but it certainly has its place and that place is not in an intimate setting on date night. I mean, the lapels are dangerously huge and could put out an eye when necking occurs and the fabric is like cozying up to a Brillo pad. Did I mention this thing is exceedingly flammable? A candlelit table for two was out.

We eventually got to the gig location after a painful detour to a local Mexican restaurant to see a friend play in the midst of what seemed to be the last hoorah on the dance floor for a busload of the elderly. The Peacock (venue for said gig) was filled with foxy youngin’s ready for an alcohol enduced dance party and upon crossing the threshold of the place, the Hubs immediately checked out of date night and assumed his rock star personae. Total bummer but wifey understands. Better luck next week.

Man Child

W is just beyond the thirteenth month mark of life but in just the last few weeks, he has grown into what hints more of a young man than a toddler. Some moments he’s as stoic as Abe Lincoln and will sit completely still with a serene expression on his face despite one’s arm flapping efforts to get a rise out of him. His reaction (or lack thereof) makes you feel silly for trying.

He pushes his walking toys around the house like a wheelbarrow racing champion, arms stiffly extended, head down while taking long, determined steps.

He calmly sits in the Hubs’ lap for chunks of time pointing at things around the room and asking questions about them in babble-speak. Of course the Hubs doesn’t speak babble but he pretends to. It’s a sweet dialogue between father and son.

W curls up on the couch with at least two baby blankets and quietly drives the TV channels to locations we didn’t know existed. We’re waiting for the cable bill to arrive. I’m afraid he has purchased some programming (Elmo Does Sesame Street) on his own.

He’s also grown a macho pair side burns and a rockin’ mop that some days is straight as a board and others, crazy curly depending on how much daycare sand is embedded in the follicles.

He’s now a perfect candidate for a Wal-Mart greeter with his 4-toothy grin and waving abilities. All he needs now is a blue vest.

He’s a freak for semi trucks, dump trucks, trains and his favorite, airplanes. Never mind the toy ones, give him the real thing. Driving down the highway is as great to him as is 75% off at Neiman Marcus for momma. Planes fly over and he freezes, looks up and silently points like he’s summoning the mother ship to take him back to Planet Zornkin.

He changes and evolves daily and the Hubs and I have lately found ourselves spellbound by his transformations. Of course not everything has changed (fits on the changing table, pacifier usage, the breastfeeding) but that’s okay with us.

Yes, No, Maybe

Lately W has been using two words in sign language, basically the only two words I consistently taught him. Okay, I didn't really consistently teach him but somehow he's picked it up in the few times I showed him. One of his teachers told me that he had been signing the word "more" and asked me if we had been practicing at home (like good parents) and I immediately said "Oh, yes!" I'll take all of the positive parenting credit I can get. His other sign is "all done". My heart leaps with joy when he uses them because I know that he's actually trying to say something, specific communication without screaming. He does a modified version of "more" by touching his two index fingertips together instead of using all of his fingers. "All done" is more like parade waving at me but it's awesome...until he gets schizo and starts signing "More, all done, more, all done, more, all done" in rapid succession. Suddenly he's doing the hand jive and I'm simultaneously giving him food and taking it away like a malfunctioning robot. W finds this sort of manipulation amusing. Mommy does not.

Queen For About Six Hours

Willem woke up at 4:30 this morning and I just slid the upstairs door closed and crawled back in to bed with a guilty conscience. I just couldn’t deal with the super early a.m. drama...and it made me feel like a crappy mom. He seemed unscathed when I got him out of bed at 7 a.m. except he was pounding on his aquarium like a crazy person, his toys were tossed out of the crib and his PJ bottoms were off. I removed him from his own private hell and the morning routine began.

The Hubs returned from his trip to the land of saline and botox Saturday night and I can’t even remember what we did that night because yesterday ruled like winning the lottery. After spending so much time with W and catching his cold which made me feel like H-E-double L, I really felt like our little relationship was being compromised. We were seriously tired of each other. I handed him off like Peyton Manning to his daddy and headed out with no real destination in mind but here’s how my lottery-like day played out…

-Solo brunch at El Chile with a thigh high boot sized Bloody Mary (okay, I kid, I kid, it wasn't that big).
-$35 manicure/pedicure at Nails of America. No more cheap looking french manicure courtesy of Desitin under my nails. They were showing the movie Click.
-Shopped for shampoo, conditioner, and reading glasses (yes, my vision is finally going).
-Met Holly, the artist and confidant, for a movie and we went to see The Departed. It was great but I’m deaf in both ears from all of the gunfire.

And then I went home and rounded up the boys for some punk rock pizza at the Parlor. Mama was feelin’ fine. Later we watched a DVR’d version of The Last Days of The San Jose directed by our friend Liz Lambert. Great documentary but we can’t help but wonder how she got the rights to some of the songs in the film. Must investigate.

Willem is going to be a Flesh Eating Monster for Halloween..."I eat your face."
















Can you say "Bath time?"...

He Who Wears Me Out

I pissed off my little drama king this morning by changing his clothes again before we left for school. He was already in an emotional state and the switching of his mismatched outfit was the straw that broke his baby camel’s back but I had to. It was cold out. C-O-L-D. So I dressed him in a warmer mismatched version and dropped his fussy self at school. The past two mornings (the Hubs has been out of town since Wed.), W has awoken at 5:22 a.m. (Thursday a.m.) and 2:27 a.m. (today). I have tried to thwart his ribcage rattling cough with meds but the situation persists. It’s hard on the little guy and, consequently, hard on momma. This restlessness has been going on a week now. We roam the house in the dark as I try to console his spirit and encourage sleep again. Memories of his early days on this planet come tumbling back. Oh, how I don’t miss those sleepless nights but here we are again. Two nights ago, I ended up on the couch and W finished the night on his miniature sofa. Last night, after much rocking and back patting, we collapsed on the couch together. It’s amazing how such a small person can take up so much space. Add to that the mutual fatigue, the perpetual crankiness, the “I will cry like you are beating me if you put me down” mood, and the “the water feels like acid on my skin” at bath time spectacle and it makes for some exhausting mornings and evenings during the work week. TGIF. When the Hubs returns tomorrow, I’m making the baby hand off and checking in to a hotel…or an asylum. Wherever I can get some uninterrupted sleep.

Someone Else's Kid

Read the latest entry of the following blog. I'm a big fan of Neal Pollack's writing and when I recently discovered he had a blog (I'm slow like that) I did seven backflips in a row. Seven. Enjoy.

The Maelstrom

Chianti

Hello interneters! Can I just tell you how much the Marfa trip for Chinati Weekend was so much like riding a rollercoaster without a seat belt? Well, it was and here’s how it went…

Thursday awoke with an interesting sensation in/on my right eye. Fast forward to Friday and I’m sporting the gnarliest case of eye sty ever. My ball was like a giant red hot encased in a pudgy hot dog bun. Daycare strikes again! Yeay for me and I had a lot of networking to do. Thank God I packed my giant Mia-Farrowesque sunglasses.

Drive to Marfa one way, seven hours. "Hello, flat ass."

Passengers included hubby, baby, my sis-in-law and her fiancé.

How did baby do in the car? Basically he did everything he normally does but did it all in the car seat. He was a good sport. It probably helped that I had put whiskey in his sippy cup.

Friday via the Marfa Chamber of Commerce I secured a sitter who was a housekeeper at the Paisano Hotel. Score! I hook up with Holly, the decorator of my mansion, who has shown up to sell t-shirts that say “Chianti” on them. Again, this is Chinati weekend, a huge art event and soon her t-shirts are all over town.

Dandy Warhols are in from Portland. We drink adult bevies at the Thunderbird Hotel bar and the DJ spins us all into the night. Good times.

Return to the casita. Hubby says he’s always wondered what it would be like to live in an apartment in NYC with eldest sister. Lodging is very small but comfortable. Baby has a fever that is rocking his world. The deep chest coughs only make it worse. Long night.

Saturday Papa prepares for his gig in Alpine only to find that 3 of the five members of his band are ill. One of them makes the trip anyway. Papa scouts for a drummer and lands a local alternate and Fran Christine of the Fab Thunderbirds. Gig is great, so I hear. There is a street dance and dinner in Marfa. Food is retched, mariachis are great, baby is feeling fine. I hit the town with friends and leave baby with the sitter. Home at one and baby is in bad shape. We roll through another long night.

Sunday is a day of decompression. We drive, we eat, we stroller, we nap. It rains a trace and it’s beautiful. In the evening, we nosh as a little fam outside the casita and cobble together a nice meal with odds and ends we’ve all brought. Later I hang with friends for a while and return to an upset baby and a concerned daddy. We curl up together and sleep.

Drive back to Austin, another seven hours.

Monday is the long drive home. It all goes fairly well except for the last hour when baby had reached his limit. We finally make it home and W just about jumps out of my arms and races around the house to all of his toys like it’s Christmas morning. He’s a new kid and so happy to be back. So are we.

Soft Core For Breakfast, Please

This morning I nominated Papa as school bus driver for W since I would be picking him up later today. I got up with the little rooster and went through the motions of the morning…nursing (I don’t know how to wean the boy…he throws a heartbreaking fit when I deny him the boobage), eggs and waffles, shorts and shirt, etc., etc. then I shook the hubs from his slumber and got them quickly out the door. By 8:30 a.m., I had the dishwasher unloaded, the kitchen clean, two loads of laundry started, one folded and some stuff pulled out for our trip to MARFA! this weekend. Afterwards, I hiked up the stairs to crawl between the sheets and ingested a chill pill. I switched on the tube and channel surfed before settling on a shirtless Spanish-speaking yoga instructor with caramel-colored gluteus sexiness just below his belly button. He cooed and breathed in Latin tones and slowly stretched his well-honed parts. I was riveted. Soft-core porn for stay-at-home moms! Too bad I couldn’t make a day of it so I drug my muffin soft parts out of bed and headed in the direction of the salt mine. Bummer.

Buffet Baby

For a tiny guy (all 19 pounds of him), Willem can put away some vittles. This is what he consumed yesterday…
- Cheerios he found in his dwarf-sized couch cushions
- Three bites of a bagel
- A box of juice
- Half of a slice of quiche
- An entire veggie corn dog
- 8 grapes
- A quarter of a giant Belgian waffle at Hyde Park Grill
- A dried apricot
- 2 animal crackers
- A bite of my peanut butter sandwich
- One veggie chicken nugget
- A handful of corn
- Apple yogurt with cereal
- Container of applesauce
- Gallons of water

Oh yeah, he nursed twice.

W knows where the nibbles are and lets it be known with an outside voice that rattles glass window panes that he’s feeling peckish. As a result, he walks around led by a round ball of a belly, back arched and shoulders back for support of said belly. Seriously cute.

Today was the first day of full-time daycare and again W could’ve given a rat’s ass that I was there or leaving. Malcontent Mama made a good point stating that at his age, babies want to be social and as a mama wearing W’s velvet handcuffs for the past year, it’s nice to break free of the chains and get into my own groove. That groove would consist of getting my southbound buns into the nearby gym but, ugh, I don’t look forward to that at all. I’m the kind of person that works out for a while and then pays the monthly dues out of guilt because I can’t stand to go in there and engage in a monotonous workout any longer. And then there’s the gym/sweat/disinfectant odor that attacks my nostrils like allergy season. Perhaps I’ll consider yoga, a perfect opportunity to bend myself into a public pooting machine. Seriously, I’m terrified of breaking wind while relaxing my inner sphincter. Besides, I get too giggly when I try to relax and stretch and be quiet all at once. I’ve never done well in-group exercise settings because my own buffooness makes me laugh like a banshee. Once I took a step class and nearly killed myself and the girl next to me. I flapped my arms and legs like a wounded seagull because the steppers expect you to just know the moves and they just keep on moving. For me, it was a bad idea all the way around.

Oh, remember when I wrote a few days ago about the onset of autumn? Well, the chilly days I so eagerly embraced are gone, gone like a jilted lover. Back to tank tops and shorts. I’m so over this.