It’s been a week and a half since the breastfeeding tour of duty ended but it hasn’t gone without its repercussions. Instead of W making his “time to nurse” throat clearing sounds to cue me in advance, he just blatantly reaches down my shirt like it’s a bag of candy, grabs a hold of flesh and squeezes it like the bulb the RN uses to take my blood pressure. His eyes sort of glaze over as if he’s just come off of a huge bong hit and he goes limp with the satisfaction of connection. Sometimes just looking at my mini rack as I dress in the morning is enough to make him go weak in the knees. He yearns silently, wistfully. I can see it in his eyes.
The absence of breastfeeding in the morning has had its mixed blessings. Now most mornings I either have to wake W up or I find him playing quietly in his crib without a trace of urgency on his face. The fact that I need to sometimes wake him means that I’m not getting up any earlier either which translates in to not enough time to get to the gym and out again. Yeah, so I guess I could start setting my alarm and getting my a.m. act together but dammit, I’ve been waking up at the ass crack of dawn for what seems like forever and the last thing I want to do is be jolted awake by anything other than my kiddo. Just doesn’t seem fair but neither is the hit you take on the bod after growing a person in your person.
In other news...W is finally sprouting a few more teeth which is another reason to be grateful that the boob trough is permanently closed for business. Interestingly enough though, his new teeth are all on one side of his mouth and it's looking pretty weird, folks.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
All Part Of The Plan
I married a wonderful man but a very messy man, he is. This defect of character is a learned one and was instilled at an early age. He is number nine of ten children and as you can imagine by the ninth child, a parent could give a rats ass about a trail of destruction left in a youth’s wake. Besides, that’s when the maid earned her keep. Then there was college and who in their right mind cleaned up after themselves in college, especially if you were a dude? Add to that a few other messy roommates and you’ve got a situation for OSHA. Since I have full knowledge of this condition, I have begun grooming Willem in a different direction and I’ll be damned if it’s not working! W and I practice putting things back when he’s done with them and that’s gone rather smoothly. He’s a big help when unloading the dishwasher and dryer (little guy practically crawls in there to retrieve socks), too. Just the other day, he returned about 50 multi-colored straws to the plastic container they came in and tried to reach the countertop to put it back. Two more feet in height and he would’ve succeeded. This morning while the Hubs and I were getting ready to leave the house, W started pulling things off of the bedside table on dada’s side and handing them to him…a guitar pic, a pen, eye drops, etc. This was a little trying for the Hubs who doesn’t like to put things away on his own and was being forced by a 16.5 month old to do so. His thank yous grew from genuine appreciation to more and more stern. W picked up a dirty black sock and offered it up. It was then that the Hubs figured out how to make this little exercise work in his favor. He showed W the dirty clothes hamper and the rest is toddler history. Before long, dada’s side of the room was clear of clothing debris and the Hubs didn’t have to pick up a stitch. W did the work for him so guess what? My side of the bed is next!
In other news, the Hubs is making it harder and harder for me and some of my parental friends to watch certain children’s programming. His interpretations of them are concerning, to say the least. Although I have never watched Clifford the Big Red Dog, I’m certain that I will never do so, thanks to the Hubs. He pointed out that this little red puppy becomes a giant red dog when a little girl climbs up on its back. Envision…interpret…retreat!
"Dear Hubs, Step away from the PBS."
In other news, the Hubs is making it harder and harder for me and some of my parental friends to watch certain children’s programming. His interpretations of them are concerning, to say the least. Although I have never watched Clifford the Big Red Dog, I’m certain that I will never do so, thanks to the Hubs. He pointed out that this little red puppy becomes a giant red dog when a little girl climbs up on its back. Envision…interpret…retreat!
"Dear Hubs, Step away from the PBS."
Monday, January 29, 2007
The Pictorial Issue
Not enough time to post much these days. When I get a moment to sit and relax, I try to do just that. In the meantime, here's W being busy.
This W's tent. This is what we do when the weather keeps us indoors indefintely. This is W's tent...in the kitchen.
"What are you wearing..."
"Let's talk about options..."
Chillin', watching Melma and eating a whaffu.
This W's tent. This is what we do when the weather keeps us indoors indefintely. This is W's tent...in the kitchen.
"What are you wearing..."
"Let's talk about options..."
Chillin', watching Melma and eating a whaffu.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Nurse Nurse No More
A weekend in LA was exactly what I needed more than I could’ve ever imagined. After many days of ice, rain, cabin fever, not to mention16 months of raising W, a flight headed west to hook up with the Hubs couldn’t have come at a better time. Like a CODA candidate, I sat by myself at the airport coffee shop wrestling with feelings of child abandonment and unwelcomed inactivity. I imagined my son’s busy little body running between the tables and chairs of the groggy coffee campers awaiting their flights. I missed his energy and smiles already. He would be in the safe arms of his Gogo at the end of the day and I really had nothing to worry about. It was our first time apart with great distance in between and I wasn’t dealing with it too well. It probably didn’t help that I was reading Alternadad by Neal Pollack, a hilariously raw writer whose blog I read on a regular basis. The chapters were filled with the trials and tribulations of raising a youngin’ and many things hit home. On the plane, I sped through the pages, Bloody Mary in hand. No one sat on my row. I was completely alone and was quickly beginning to love it.
Laurie plucked me from the airport and we caught up on the details of her life…filmmaking, dating, living in LA and missing Austin... while we drove to Santa Monica. She took the scenic route to the beach (translation: sorta lost), which she apologized for, but I completely enjoyed the extra girlie time. We met the Hubs poolside at the hotel and dined on overpriced nibbles while soaking up sunshine. It was wonderfully warm and somewhere other than home. In a word…awesome.
That evening Laurie and I went to see the Hubs play at the Mint. They opened for the kick ass band, the Mother Truckers. I barely made it to the end of the Small Stars set before I was begging a cabbie to drive me back to the hotel as fast as he could. I had been feeling nauseous and it wasn’t letting up. Work-related stress, fatigue (of course W had to get up at 5:30 a.m. this morning…3:30 a.m. LA time), and the anxiety of leaving W behind had caught up with me. I barely made it to the hotel room before arfing in the loo. I curled up in bed in the fetal position and passed out with relief.
Saturday the Hubs and I walked down to the beach for some breakfast. He rented roller blades and I chose to sit on my duff and chill. Dolphins swam in the distance, surfers negotiated small waves and sailboats silently outlined the horizon. A sense of complete calmness easily washed over me, an unfamiliar sensation in the hustle bustle world of parenting, event planning, penny pinching and so forth. I wanted to just sink into the sand and disappear. Bliss.
We attended an amazing private party at a recording studio that evening. The Small Stars knocked the soiree out of the park. Guy Fantasy made every off color joke about LA that he could and made some new friends despite his salty rants. Jackson Brown was there. So was Lisa Loeb. The guy who wrote “Let’s Get Physical” was there, too. We mingled our minglers off and headed back to the hotel. We had an 8 a.m. lobby call. Yuck.
When we got home, W had just gone down for a nap so of course I woke him up. He looked at me squinty-eyed as if to say “Oh yeah, you’ve been missing, haven’t you?” When he finally came to, he repeated “Mama” over and over again and pointed at my face. It was so heart-warming. The rest of the evening was “Mama, Dada, Mama, Dada,” as if he had just learned how to say it. We could’ve eaten him with a spoon. I was concerned about how the next morning would go. In the past, that was the nursing hour. Leaving him for the weekend was dubbed “Project Cold Turkey” and, surprisingly, it worked. After retrieving him from a cozy night’s sleep the next day, we sat on the couch in preparation for “Melmo’s Wurd” as W calls it. He looked at my boobs and patted one of them as if to say “Thanks for all of the good times, old buddy, but your work here is done.” He then turned to watch his show and that was the end of that. 16.5 months later and the nursing is over. My nips are mine again! And the angels sang.
I’m back to the wildest time of year at work and it’s the best we can do to maintain a safe level of sanity that still borders on manic. The postings will be sporadic but I will do my best to get something in here daily.
Onward!
Laurie plucked me from the airport and we caught up on the details of her life…filmmaking, dating, living in LA and missing Austin... while we drove to Santa Monica. She took the scenic route to the beach (translation: sorta lost), which she apologized for, but I completely enjoyed the extra girlie time. We met the Hubs poolside at the hotel and dined on overpriced nibbles while soaking up sunshine. It was wonderfully warm and somewhere other than home. In a word…awesome.
That evening Laurie and I went to see the Hubs play at the Mint. They opened for the kick ass band, the Mother Truckers. I barely made it to the end of the Small Stars set before I was begging a cabbie to drive me back to the hotel as fast as he could. I had been feeling nauseous and it wasn’t letting up. Work-related stress, fatigue (of course W had to get up at 5:30 a.m. this morning…3:30 a.m. LA time), and the anxiety of leaving W behind had caught up with me. I barely made it to the hotel room before arfing in the loo. I curled up in bed in the fetal position and passed out with relief.
Saturday the Hubs and I walked down to the beach for some breakfast. He rented roller blades and I chose to sit on my duff and chill. Dolphins swam in the distance, surfers negotiated small waves and sailboats silently outlined the horizon. A sense of complete calmness easily washed over me, an unfamiliar sensation in the hustle bustle world of parenting, event planning, penny pinching and so forth. I wanted to just sink into the sand and disappear. Bliss.
We attended an amazing private party at a recording studio that evening. The Small Stars knocked the soiree out of the park. Guy Fantasy made every off color joke about LA that he could and made some new friends despite his salty rants. Jackson Brown was there. So was Lisa Loeb. The guy who wrote “Let’s Get Physical” was there, too. We mingled our minglers off and headed back to the hotel. We had an 8 a.m. lobby call. Yuck.
When we got home, W had just gone down for a nap so of course I woke him up. He looked at me squinty-eyed as if to say “Oh yeah, you’ve been missing, haven’t you?” When he finally came to, he repeated “Mama” over and over again and pointed at my face. It was so heart-warming. The rest of the evening was “Mama, Dada, Mama, Dada,” as if he had just learned how to say it. We could’ve eaten him with a spoon. I was concerned about how the next morning would go. In the past, that was the nursing hour. Leaving him for the weekend was dubbed “Project Cold Turkey” and, surprisingly, it worked. After retrieving him from a cozy night’s sleep the next day, we sat on the couch in preparation for “Melmo’s Wurd” as W calls it. He looked at my boobs and patted one of them as if to say “Thanks for all of the good times, old buddy, but your work here is done.” He then turned to watch his show and that was the end of that. 16.5 months later and the nursing is over. My nips are mine again! And the angels sang.
I’m back to the wildest time of year at work and it’s the best we can do to maintain a safe level of sanity that still borders on manic. The postings will be sporadic but I will do my best to get something in here daily.
Onward!
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Angel VS Devil
It’s snowing today. You didn’t read that wrong. It’s snowing here in Austin, Texas...big, fluffy, marshmallowy flakes. The icy tree branches creak and pop ominously in the silent breeze. No work at the office but modern technology allows for no time off. I have a conference call in the next hour. All work and no play makes momma a dull momma. This weekend will be a reprieve though as I will be heading to sunny L.A. for the weekend to see the Hubs play a couple of shows, see my good friend, Laurie, and do some shopping(!). This is all sans the child as Gogo is kind enough to drive down and hang with him. I am putting together a meticulous list of W’s world and its requirements that I’m sure mom will use to wipe W’s snot with cause it’s not like she didn’t raise three of her own. Speaking of snot, I have a protective layer of it on my clothes. I’m sure I could escape frostbite in the winter storm with it.
W is going through the most intense passive/aggressive stage ever. It’s an extreme case of Jekyll & Hyde. Yesterday morning, after following my gentle orders not to lose or eat the Hubs’ wedding ring, W slid down the stairs feet first the way he does like it’s a waterslide and delicately handed it over to him, no muss, no fuss. On the other hand, when I refused to put W on the shelf in my closet because I’m trying to get dressed for work and this does not include hanging out in the closet for chunks of time while he fondles my garments and teeters on the edge of falling in a mountain of shoes, he pouts and stomps and throws things, anything he can get his angry mitts on. What’s really funny is when he goes for something that weighs as much as I do and tries to heave-ho it in my direction. It’s hard not to laugh at him when he’s feeling especially spicy. He’s really a sweet little guy but he’s certainly giving the exploration of “how fitful can I be before I injure myself or others” a good run.
Santa brought him a wooden train track with 4 magnetic cars. He choo-choos his way through about 2 minutes of solo play before the bliss becomes diss and the train cars are airborne with the track pieces soon to follow. He is blessed with a high level of concentrated effort and will intently work on a project to master it as it was shown to him. “This tiny stick fits in this hole and then the whole thing fits in here and this button spins it and this one stops it.” He repeats the task beginning to end as shown but if something in the sequence goes amiss, insert major drama. He gets it from his father, there’s no doubt, as I am the calm, collected one and the Hubs is a wild bull in search of an “Ole’!” It’s yet another stage in W’s development, one we all have to grow through with him.
Them icicles is reals! Not some leftover Christmas decorations, peoples! For reals!
W headed out into the wintery morning, mitts and all. He thought they were puppets and did a mime act with them.
Totally tuckered out (he doesn't ALWAYS have that pacifer in his mouth, promise...we let him talk once in a while).
W is going through the most intense passive/aggressive stage ever. It’s an extreme case of Jekyll & Hyde. Yesterday morning, after following my gentle orders not to lose or eat the Hubs’ wedding ring, W slid down the stairs feet first the way he does like it’s a waterslide and delicately handed it over to him, no muss, no fuss. On the other hand, when I refused to put W on the shelf in my closet because I’m trying to get dressed for work and this does not include hanging out in the closet for chunks of time while he fondles my garments and teeters on the edge of falling in a mountain of shoes, he pouts and stomps and throws things, anything he can get his angry mitts on. What’s really funny is when he goes for something that weighs as much as I do and tries to heave-ho it in my direction. It’s hard not to laugh at him when he’s feeling especially spicy. He’s really a sweet little guy but he’s certainly giving the exploration of “how fitful can I be before I injure myself or others” a good run.
Santa brought him a wooden train track with 4 magnetic cars. He choo-choos his way through about 2 minutes of solo play before the bliss becomes diss and the train cars are airborne with the track pieces soon to follow. He is blessed with a high level of concentrated effort and will intently work on a project to master it as it was shown to him. “This tiny stick fits in this hole and then the whole thing fits in here and this button spins it and this one stops it.” He repeats the task beginning to end as shown but if something in the sequence goes amiss, insert major drama. He gets it from his father, there’s no doubt, as I am the calm, collected one and the Hubs is a wild bull in search of an “Ole’!” It’s yet another stage in W’s development, one we all have to grow through with him.
Them icicles is reals! Not some leftover Christmas decorations, peoples! For reals!
W headed out into the wintery morning, mitts and all. He thought they were puppets and did a mime act with them.
Totally tuckered out (he doesn't ALWAYS have that pacifer in his mouth, promise...we let him talk once in a while).
Friday, January 12, 2007
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Tardy, Tardy, Tardy
It's been over a week since the last post. The last time I took a break was when I had just given birth to the spawn. It's not my intention to be breaking now but I barely have time to write. Schedules have changed since the first of the year. Work loads have increased but that will only last until March 20. Between now and then let's just say I'm fucked. All is well in W's household 'tho. Well, mostly. W is sprouting the rest of his teeth which is the equivalent to all of them. He gnaws his fist constantly, moans in agony hourly and wears a 99.8 fever like a woolly sweater. Uncomfortable. The Hubs is working on a record release scheduled for early next month and me, well, let's just say I am sprouting an average of 3 grey hairs a day. It's the time of year when I am my busiest and such is the nature of the beast that is my job. I will write more maybe tonight, or tomorrow, or Saturday. Definitely by Saturday. Much to tell. Pictures to post. I miss reading everyone else's blobs.
Besos.
Besos.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Holiday Week In Review
I’m going to write this one in reverse. It’s easier to pry out the historical content in the crevasses of my holiday soaked brain that way.
Today, I went to the gym. Day one. The beginning of the reversal of all that is baby fat. I slogged through a 30-minute cardio workout of make believe snowshoeing in Snoqualmie Pass on the elliptical machine. I barely made it and was disappointed that I couldn’t do the intended 40 minutes but at least I was there getting the heart rate above 20 BPM. I had an hour to myself at home to shower, dress and eat breakfast before work and, folks, it was TOTAL BLISS. Earlier, the Hubs had left the house to take W to school so I was completely alone. Alone, as in my hot tea stayed hot ‘til the bottom of the cup, I was able to put on all pieces of clothing at once without staggering around the house in single items during infantile interruptions, and I even had time to make the bed so tonight, I get to turn down the covers like a lady instead of burrowing my way in like a badger. This will be a four times a week event and I feel like I have won the lottery…sorta.
Yesterday, I went to the outlet mall in San Marcos. Bad idea. Bad, bad idea. The last time I was there, you could experience the whole retail raping in just a matter of hours. Then it was just a handful of shops but now it’s larger than several football fields and the loot is crap. And wasn’t I supposed to save some major dough on said crap? I also found that designers like Giorgio Armani would probably change their name if they saw the condition of their stores and the crap on the shelves. Surely this stuff was never on his drawing board or even part of a frustrated doodle he penned. Ugh. I had a list of shops to visit but after having to walk what seemed like miles and periodically move my car so it didn’t feel like I was hiking to Japan, I decided I’d had enough. Nobody should put themselves through that much retail H-E-double L. Never again.
New Years Eve. I stayed home while the Hubs played a gig. I tried to live vicariously through the gay duo that live in the townhouse behind us. They were throwing a little shindig. Every so often I’d peek out the window in hopes of spying some wild chandelier swinging in the buff but the whole thing was as boring as a Catholic mass. Buzz killers.
The always fun and painfully talented Small Stars opened for the legendary Joe Ely at Gruene Hall last Saturday. I enlisted Miss Jo to take care of W so I could partner up with my old college roomie and her fab husband for a night out of town for a few hours. Jen, the roomie, has kept her wonderfully sassy spirit despite being married for 10 years and raising a 4 and 5-year-old. She cusses like a sailor and drinks like a fish while maintaining a certain girlish poise and femininity. Oh, and she’s quite the Martha Stewart in the crafts department. Martha with a piping bag in one hand and a bottle of vino in the other.
We spent some of the holidays in Laredo with the mom-in-law. Thankfully she lives nowhere near El Chapo and his drug cartel. We stayed close to home and soaked up the extended fam. The Hubs and I ventured out briefly one day to get a coffee and go to the bookstore but when you ask someone where the bookstore is, they look at you suspiciously and tell you there is no bookstore. No, wait…there’s one at the mall. Evidently there’s not much reading going on in that border town and in her all knowing, blunt way, the mom-in-law confirmed it to be true.
Santa left some gifts for W under the tree and we got the whole scene of confusion and surprise on video. Santa knew the little sprout was wild about cars, trucks, and construction vehicles so now our house looks like a miniature impounding lot and it’s only a matter of time before one of us breaks our necks.
Speaking of W, he’s still growing too fast. He’s talking up a storm, understanding all we say and amazing us with his problem solving skills and when those fail, replacing them with some mad tantrums skilz. Thankfully, they usually only erupt when he’s trying to do something with a car or train or truck and we don’t have anything to do with it. Occasionally, a vehicle goes soaring through the air and we just juke and jive to avoid injury. On the super duper plus side, he’s totally in to giving major hugs and open-mouthed kisses all the time lately. He grips you like a sumo wrestler on the face or head and comes at you like a hungry animal, mouth agape. It’s the best milestone yet.
Well, that’s all I can remember for now. Seemed difficult trying to blog with so much family stuff going on but now that the routine is back, so am I.
Happy New Year all!
Today, I went to the gym. Day one. The beginning of the reversal of all that is baby fat. I slogged through a 30-minute cardio workout of make believe snowshoeing in Snoqualmie Pass on the elliptical machine. I barely made it and was disappointed that I couldn’t do the intended 40 minutes but at least I was there getting the heart rate above 20 BPM. I had an hour to myself at home to shower, dress and eat breakfast before work and, folks, it was TOTAL BLISS. Earlier, the Hubs had left the house to take W to school so I was completely alone. Alone, as in my hot tea stayed hot ‘til the bottom of the cup, I was able to put on all pieces of clothing at once without staggering around the house in single items during infantile interruptions, and I even had time to make the bed so tonight, I get to turn down the covers like a lady instead of burrowing my way in like a badger. This will be a four times a week event and I feel like I have won the lottery…sorta.
Yesterday, I went to the outlet mall in San Marcos. Bad idea. Bad, bad idea. The last time I was there, you could experience the whole retail raping in just a matter of hours. Then it was just a handful of shops but now it’s larger than several football fields and the loot is crap. And wasn’t I supposed to save some major dough on said crap? I also found that designers like Giorgio Armani would probably change their name if they saw the condition of their stores and the crap on the shelves. Surely this stuff was never on his drawing board or even part of a frustrated doodle he penned. Ugh. I had a list of shops to visit but after having to walk what seemed like miles and periodically move my car so it didn’t feel like I was hiking to Japan, I decided I’d had enough. Nobody should put themselves through that much retail H-E-double L. Never again.
New Years Eve. I stayed home while the Hubs played a gig. I tried to live vicariously through the gay duo that live in the townhouse behind us. They were throwing a little shindig. Every so often I’d peek out the window in hopes of spying some wild chandelier swinging in the buff but the whole thing was as boring as a Catholic mass. Buzz killers.
The always fun and painfully talented Small Stars opened for the legendary Joe Ely at Gruene Hall last Saturday. I enlisted Miss Jo to take care of W so I could partner up with my old college roomie and her fab husband for a night out of town for a few hours. Jen, the roomie, has kept her wonderfully sassy spirit despite being married for 10 years and raising a 4 and 5-year-old. She cusses like a sailor and drinks like a fish while maintaining a certain girlish poise and femininity. Oh, and she’s quite the Martha Stewart in the crafts department. Martha with a piping bag in one hand and a bottle of vino in the other.
We spent some of the holidays in Laredo with the mom-in-law. Thankfully she lives nowhere near El Chapo and his drug cartel. We stayed close to home and soaked up the extended fam. The Hubs and I ventured out briefly one day to get a coffee and go to the bookstore but when you ask someone where the bookstore is, they look at you suspiciously and tell you there is no bookstore. No, wait…there’s one at the mall. Evidently there’s not much reading going on in that border town and in her all knowing, blunt way, the mom-in-law confirmed it to be true.
Santa left some gifts for W under the tree and we got the whole scene of confusion and surprise on video. Santa knew the little sprout was wild about cars, trucks, and construction vehicles so now our house looks like a miniature impounding lot and it’s only a matter of time before one of us breaks our necks.
Speaking of W, he’s still growing too fast. He’s talking up a storm, understanding all we say and amazing us with his problem solving skills and when those fail, replacing them with some mad tantrums skilz. Thankfully, they usually only erupt when he’s trying to do something with a car or train or truck and we don’t have anything to do with it. Occasionally, a vehicle goes soaring through the air and we just juke and jive to avoid injury. On the super duper plus side, he’s totally in to giving major hugs and open-mouthed kisses all the time lately. He grips you like a sumo wrestler on the face or head and comes at you like a hungry animal, mouth agape. It’s the best milestone yet.
Well, that’s all I can remember for now. Seemed difficult trying to blog with so much family stuff going on but now that the routine is back, so am I.
Happy New Year all!
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