Hubs

W and I went to Fredericksburg to see Pop Pop, Wella and W's aunt and uncle over the weekend. It's a lovely and quick drive out, an hour and half of Elmo on the laptop and before you know it, we're there. As you can see, W was completely worn out by the good times. He was so tired, he put his paci in backwards and conked right out in his car seat...





















W sending an email to his daddy who is still in Italy. He misses you and so do I.

B Cups, Please

A spring storm is blowing in from the west. It ruffles the leaves of a large palm tree outside the door in such a way that it seems to say “Shhhhh…” incessantly. Speaking of “Shhhhh,” that’s exactly what I wanted to tell the sales lady at Victoria’s Secret yesterday when she told me I was an “A” cup. Actually, what I really wanted to say was “Take that tape measure and all of your overpriced bras and dental floss for underwear and shove them up your pahtootie!”

Thankfully, VS is all about vanity sizing with tons of padding and after much trying on and tugging and stuffing, I managed to walk out of there with 3 “B” cup size bras, just like the old days. There was no way in hell they could sell me that other smaller size and, honestly, I really couldn’t wear it anyway. The cups are the size of eyeglass lenses and since breastfeeding W for like 16 months in a row everything is all mushy and pokey-outie and so I pointed this out to the sales lady (I said, “Hey, my girls are poking out the sides here.” She said, “They’re supposed to do that. Nobody sees that.” And I said, “Well, my husband will and I will and this isn’t going to work so bring me the bigger cup size, damn you!”). So for way more money than padded foam could possibly be worth, the Hubs bought me 3 new bras and a lovely little nightie. Thank you Hubs! Oh, and it will be like 168 more miles on the AMEX card, just so you know.

Here's one from the camera phone.

A Complete Sentence

“Bird eat cookie.” This is W’s first real sentence put together on his own without any prompting from his mama. Landmark moment. I threw a half eaten piece of cookie out into the yard as I lifted him into his carseat this morning and that was his narration. I was proud, proud, proud and thankful that I could document him saying something sweet and innocent and not snarky and in bad taste, a definite possibility in our colorful little household.

While W has nearly mended from last week’s health deficiencies, I didn’t escape the wrath unscathed. As I write, I sniffle, sneeze, cough and wheeze into tissue after tissue. I honk like a goose in heat and people around me cringe in subtle horror. I have absorbed a milder version of W’s bronchial issue but it’s enough to make me want to scratch the inside of my throat for hours with a round hairbrush and hide under the covers for the rest of the day. Totally stinks.

Say Yeah!

I awoke to the sweetness of normalcy this morning. The Hubs was flopped on my side of the bed, the birds were practically sitting on our windowsill singing directly in to our bedroom and W was shouting “Mahma! Mahma!” from his crib downstairs. Earlier in the week I was holed up with baby in the guest bed delirious with fatigue and fear as he fought his horrible viruses. Those were turbulent nights/days/hours/minutes, my friends, but all is well now.

After the Hubs climbed into the taxi this morning and headed to the airport, (an event that thrilled the diapers off of W, I mean, a real taxi was at the front door!) I finished the morning routine of getting us dressed and headed out the door. Behind our house is what used to be our studio/guest/rehearsal space/doghouse for the Hubs. It’s now been rented by a friend of mine who is quickly becoming a friend of W’s. While I was upstairs getting the last of our things together, I heard W's friendly little voice call out from the balcony, “Hi Hee-ewe!” as H was leaving for work. This is a first since W usually runs in the other direction when he comes through the back gate. As charming as the moment seemed, I flashed forward to a vision of a modern day Dennis the Menace bothering Mr. Wilson. I already have to keep him from looking in his windows like a minature Peeping Tom. There could be a rental discount in H's future.

Lovely weekend ahead. A good friend from back home is coming to spend the weekend with us. I’ve also secured a sitter for tomorrow night so I can be “just me” with my friends for a few hours and no one's mama or spouse. I got a manicure this morning after dropping W at school just to feel extra feminine and sassy but it took all of my wits to stay awake throughout. Still pretty frayed around the edges and I think I'm feeling something suspiciously tickly in my throat but I'm sure I can beat it with lots of vitamin C and vino. It’s been a very long and spooky week but, thankfully, we made it through and the weekend is looking really good.

Clap Your Hands

Thank you to everyone who commented on my last post or wrote to me directly. W is doing much better today which means he wanted macaroni and cheese for breakfast, danced on the bar to the Arcade Fire and asked to “Whash paci?” when I was at the sink doing my makeup before work. While we were enduring the worst moments of the illnesses, all I could do was wonder how other parents did it, too. Single parents, those with several children, or those without much money. My heart went out to them in understanding and empathy. You have to walk a mile in someone’s shoes to get it, huh? I do know that as a parent something inside of you kicks in, a tremendous will, a determination to fight for whatever your child needs at all cost, and you just do it. You stay up all night every night, you cuddle for hours on end, you respond to every whimper, and you try to keep serenity in the home despite the unfamiliar horror of it all. And then you cry with relief in the shower when it’s all finally over. I never thought I’d be taking my son to the ER at nineteen months of age but I am so grateful it wasn’t more serious than it was.

The Hubs leaves on a trip in the morning to Italy for 12 days and returns on my birthday. I am green with envy but more happy that he has the opportunity to go song write in such an amazing place. This is what he should be doing and it’s been a long time coming. Bring us home a number one single, darling.

Muy Enfermo

It’s been a rollercoaster ride the last two days, folks. Remember that supremely undesirable disease that W picked up that made everyone run in the opposite direction? The one that should’ve been treated by the neighborhood veternarian? Well, he took it to the next level Monday evening and not just any level, my friends, but the level of pneumonia. Tis’ true.

On Monday after returning from a rather bland day at the office, I found a calmer, quieter version of my normally active W chillin’ on the couch. I didn’t expect any significant changes since he was already under viral attack but I thought he was on the mend. What I found was his small chest cavity straining for breath, each contraction a push for air. To look at his face, you wouldn’t have been able to tell anything was going on but his tiny frame moved with effort in a dramatic way. I called the after hours nurse and she said to medicate his fever (which was taking hold yet again) and to watch him. If he didn’t improve then the ER needed to check him out. Now I’m the kind of person who waits a bit to make sure a trip to the ER is absolutely necessary. The wait is long, the tests painful and the place totally scary. The Hubs, on the other hand, would go to the ER if he had a hangnail.

W and I snuggled up in the guest bedroom and we drifted in and out of sleep for a couple of hours before I decided that the situation was too much to bear. At 3:30 a.m., I startled the Hubs out of a deep sleep and off we went. Four hours we spent in the ER. Four hours of very kind nurses holding my frightened child down to insert an IV, to give him shots, to take pictures of his chest. The whole time W looked at me wild eyed, pleaded with tears to make it stop. After the IV had been removed and I sat him up, he immediately began signing “All done” and saying the words simultaneously in a hopeful, eager tone. Totally heartbreaking. The x-ray revealed pneumonia in his left lung so we did a round with the nebulizer which helped enormously. We were given a script to be filled and told to see his pediatrician so he could determine if W needed to be admitted to Children’s Hospital. Gasp! The next morning (we had all slept an hour and a half), W was almost entirely his regular, happy self and put on a very friendly but misleading show for Dr. G. He was chatty and charming and a little gentleman. Thankfully Dr. G knew the smoke and mirrors were a result of the meds and said to keep an eye on him for changes. Thank goodness we weren't bound for the Children's Hospital!

Last night was better except for the fact that I had given W a dose of some medication for his cough that according to the pharmacist “might make him a little hyper.” A little? He was practically break dancing off the walls when Miss Jo came over. Freak out. I won’t be administering that med anymore. Too dangerous for all of us.

W and I almost got a full night’s sleep last night so that’s a good sign. Fingers crossed that all will be well and back to normal very soon.

Enfermo

Who’s up for another episode of Sick Baby In The Big Purple House? This time we are home to the dreaded hand, foot, and mouth virus. I wrote last week or so about the fact that this little number was tearing through the members of the older classroom at W’s school. I knew W was doomed to get it when I was told he had been playing lately with the older kids in an effort to ease his upcoming transition in June to the 18+ month-old sect. Now switch to this past Saturday morning. W and I enjoyed breakfast with Miss Jo on the east side and then we went to see a friend who was prepping for a garage sale. Things seemed relatively normal with the kiddo. W was his predictable shy, clingy self, but when we went to Toys R Us, I realized I had an emerging situation on my hands. We all know how overly stimulating that place is with its giant plastic toy displays, it’s hyper-active birthday parties with sugar amped kids yelling “Happy Birthday So and So!” at the tops of their screeching lungs over and over as they move through the store like a pack of wild wolf pups, and how every aisle has at least two children “trying out” a toy while a parent is pleading for them to stop or watch out or I’m leaving you here (which is exactly what they want to happen). W just sat there like a wilted flower in the cart, a package of monster truck cars in his lap, his grip slack as the fever slowly took hold. It wasn’t until we got home and were sitting on the couch talking about where our eyes, nose and teeth were when I saw that his tiny tongue had reddish spots on it. “Oh no!” I yelled in my head as I looked closely at his hands and feet. Like an image coming in to focus under a microscope, I realized the stigmata on each limb, blisters, clear signs of the attack on his immune system.

So we spent the rest of the beautiful weekend doing nothing. W became Velcro Baby, preferring contact with me to the Hubs. The pain of the ulcers in his mouth and most likely a sore throat made eating agonizing for him. At night he and I shared the guest bed so I could be there to offer him water from his favorite Elmo sippy cup when needed (W has decided that water is now called “Pi” so he repeats “Pi peas, pi peas.”). We tossed and turned like a dingy in stormy waters through the wee hours of the mornings, W insisting on sleeping directly on top of me. Poor little guy, every other week it’s some sort of battle with a daycare bug. It’s frustrating and sad to see him so puny so often. Is this really part of the deal? Can I make a new deal?

Such A Scream

Last weekend, while lounging with W on the sofa (translation: I lay there while W climbs up on the arm of the couch, supporting himself by holding on to the piano and then leaps like Spiderbaby on to my legs and cushions over and over and over), he managed to smack his giant noggin’ on my nose not once but twice. The first time I saw stars and wanted to cry. The second time I saw the man in the moon. It was like being whacked with a baseball thrown by Roberto Clemente (I didn’t know who that was until I Googled “baseball star”). And then he did it again. Oh my freakin’ hello dolly, it hurt! At that point, actual lounging on the sofa was out of the question as I waited for a gush of blood to spill forth. A few days later, the Hubs was tossing W around and he had a similar experience except W’s foot smacked him in the nose. The Hubs had to take a time out and headed in the other direction in anticipation of his nose falling off in his hands. I could totally relate.

Three days in the gym so far this week. I’m an exercising fool but I just cringe from the sweaty armpit smell that owns the place and the glossy residue of other exercisers creeping me out on all of the equipment. I’m still reacquainting myself with the machines. It’s been a while. I’m the type of person that sips her water bottle while nonchalantly glancing at the instructions on how not to maim yourself while pretending I’m just rehydrating and about to do some serious reps. I hate to look like I don’t know what I’m doing. I’d laugh at me if I saw me working out. I also don’t walk around the locker room totally naked like most of the women do. My towel cuts off my circulation it’s on so tight. This morning a woman was practically dressing in the actual workout area she was so close to the door. I do most of my dressing still bearing my towel which results in my underwear being totally bunched in my crack, my bra twisted around my torso like barbed wire, and my clothes spilling haphazardly out of the locker. Yeah, I need to get a grip.

Spring Flinger

I’ve had to take a couple of days to get my blogging brain back on course. It had been brought to my attention that I had offended a few family members with something I had written a while back and for that, I am regretful. Since I write for my own self-absorbed pleasure, I have a tendency to forget there is an audience out there and that this blog serves as a channel of familial info for some of its readers. And speaking of readers, did you know I know who you are? Thanks to certain Big Brother aspects of blogging, I am able to see where you live. What’s so amazing about this is I’m able to note that some readers are from across the pond, in Canada, and several in California, among other places. Truly awesome.

Life has been going at a clip and spring is spreading out before us like a huge welcome mat. I anxiously await the warmer days to swim in icy cold pools with W, slurp juicy raspas in the park and visit with friends over tangy, homemade margaritas. The trees have suddenly burst with brand new bright green leaves and the length of the grass in our yard has doubled in length after being dormant over the winter. Last night, we grilled salmon and asparagus on the patio (well, not literally ON the patio). W and the Hubs played ball or what really translates to W running willy-nilly, laughing wildly, and throwing the ball directly behind his petite frame. We sipped white wine, smooched and gave thanks for all that we have. And we meant it.

I received news last night that my boss has graciously given me two months off this summer, totally unpaid, but off nonetheless. I did six backhand springs and two toe touches in slow motion when I got the email. What does this mean? Ohhhhh, so many things! It means W and I can go see family and really start building a foundation for his roots to take hold, to know where he comes from. First order of business is to get to Kentucky to see my brother and his family (this means a night or two in Nashville, Wendielu!). They live on the edge of a beautiful pond perfect for fishing and swimming. There are horses to ride just down the road. His two toe headed daughters flank W in age, one is a tad older and one is a bit younger. Perfect ages to torment him as little girls can. Here they are…














The Hubs is off this evening and tomorrow night opening for the Old 97’s. If you’re in Houston tonight, go see ‘em. If you’re in Austin tomorrow night go see ‘em at Stubb’s. Buy some merch, drink a few and enjoy yourself.

Dramatic W

Can You See The Real Me?

We had a wildly successful wine-O event but W and I didn’t make it to the family reunion. It had nothing to do with the hangover that flirted with the edges of my brain and stomach lining and never really took hold but had everything to do with the fact that it was 37 degrees and raining out. Oh, and W took a glorious 4 hour nap. The Hubs made it out to see the kin but texted me to say “Dont come out.” Thankfully, due to one unexpected drop-in and one planned dinner, I got to see a couple of the family members in the flesh.

Yesterday was pure bliss. Sorta seemed like someone had added a couple of extra bonus hours to the day. We ventured out to Central Market for some vittles but found it closed. We headed, instead, to Whole Foods, a place I was putting off visiting for as long as possible because I knew I would walk in the door and pass out from the wonderfulness of it in front of everyone. I wasn’t so sure the place would be open but the Hubs reminded me that they are a publicly traded company and they’ve got a bottom line to eyeball. It was buzzing with people and when I say “buzzing” I mean like a pissed off hive of them. W and I were overwhelmed and over stimulated. I felt like I was at a gourmet food convention and there was no way I was gonna see all the sights in one visit. I suggested to the Hubs that we come back on date night sometime to graze at all of the feeding troughs and drink some major vino.

Does anyone really know how to do those damned Sudoku puzzles? I have tried and had to look in the back of the book for the stupid solutions every time. Most frustrating part is that the ones I’ve been attempting to do are the easy ones. I’m totally screwed.

So I did something this morning I have never done in my life…showered at the gym. I tripled the normal amount of gear I schlepped to the car (work clothes, personal items, towels, hairdryer, lotion, so on and so on), took W to school, and got my tail in there for some cardio and ab work. After the workout, I begrudgingly went through a modified version of my at-home morning routine but quickly began to realize how much I was enjoying the moment. Why? Why was I okay with strange women coming in and seeing my blinding white arse? Because no one talked to me, no one needed anything from me, no one was calling me Mama, or asking for a “Waffu, pwease” or fake crying or hanging on my leg. I rediscovered what time to myself felt like and it effin’ ROCKED! I’m so there on Wednesday.

Baby Knows Best

Shorty has bounced back and is making up for lost time since that weird 24 hour illness he had. I’m glad he’s feeling like a rockstar. Taking care of a sick kid sucks and to top it off, the Hubs groans that he feels like he’s getting sick every single time the tot is under the weather.

W was screaming and yelling and running amok this morning in the best way. The Hubs and I happened to engage in a brief snit that raised our voices just below a shout and W jumped in, gesturing madly, pacing, and shaking his fists. That made us stop and watch and then we shut the hell up. Gotta be careful how we say things these days. He’s a good little reminder of how ridiculous we can be. He endeared me to him when he insisted I sit with his new Matchbox racecar at the breakfast nook table and say “Voom” over and over. “Mumma, sit dun pwease,” he’d ask every time I try to continue cleaning the kitchen. The kid has definitely realized that ‘please’ is the magic word around here and opens the door to all that he wants. Soon I’ll have to teach him that this really isn’t the case and that the world is completely unfair. Maybe that’s a good job for the Hubs.

TGIF, but it’s supposed to be effin’ cold tomorrow. Like 40-something degrees! With rain! That’s a lot of soggy in-laws at the reunion. The same thing happened 3 years ago when the event was held in San Antonio. Thunder, lightning, the tent was nearly lifted off its poles. At one point a prayer was being said to acknowledge all that had passed. The aggressive wind whipped up hair-dos and brightly colored skirts. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Hubs tear off like a freaked out cat and hide in a nearby house. The guy’s terrified of lightning and is certain that any bolt that hits the earth is headed for his noggin. If tomorrow is anything like that then we will have to miss the big day. And, of course, I just packed away all of my winter clothing into the attic.

Wine chugging, I mean, tasting tonight. I’ll have much to report. The cast of characters is a unique one. Should make things very interesting.

Wendielu, this is for you...

Family Affair

W is sick yet again. He seems to be sleeping through it completely. I think he’s been awake a total of an hour today. I stayed home till 2 but needed to head to the office to finish up unfinished business. I’m waiting for the little guy to surface so I can try to access what exactly is wrong. It’s fever-oriented and it comes and goes. Around 5 a.m. this morning he was all clammy and drenched. I gave him his Elmo sippy cup and he nearly drained the entire thing. In fact, he fell asleep while he was drinking it in my arms. Such a bummer to have him ill again. Daycare is the culprit, I’m sure.

*Note: I just got an email from another mommy whose little guy attends W’s school. Seems he’s got the “hand, foot, and mouth” virus. He’s in a different class but viruses know no boundaries. The virus is caused by contact with poop. Poop, people.

We have a huge weekend of family ahead of us. Saturday is a family reunion of massive proportions. The Hubs is Hispanic and so his extended family is rather enormous. We are taking over a park next to Lake Austin somewhere. There will be a silent auction, music, tons of food, and a family photo taken. I’m thinking panoramic here. My mother asked that I take many pictures. I told her that when she sees them she’ll think we are in Mexico.

Friday, the Hubs is hosting a small wine tasting at our house which seemed like a bad idea to me simply because getting somewhat sloshed the day before the reunion may have lingering adverse affects. Now W is illin’ so that adds a whole new layer to the bad idea pie. I also have no desire to clean the house or prepare some nibbles for this thing. I didn’t conjure this in to being, he did, so he can play Martha Stewart for once. I’m just going to sit back and enjoy myself and of course, I’ll clean the mess up in the morning.

Pimp My Blog

As you can see I have a brand spankin’ new masthead! It is the brainchild of Daddyshack who kindly offered to redo my page for free, for the experience. I think he did a wonderful job! If you are interested in having him do one for you, drop him a line.

Commited

A sickly sweet stench fills my truck. I can smell it each time I climb in. It’s origin is a mystery but I’m sure W has something to do with it…discarded fruit roll up, half emptied apple juice box, baggie of orange slices stuffed in a crease in the seat. Must dig around before it evolves into a homemade penicillin specimen.

Communication with the sprout has been so delightful lately. Seems like just overnight his infantile babbling has shifted to subject-verb or subject-direct object with real meaning and desire. “Larder (water), pwease.” “Hep up!” “Mumma big truck.” “Raycar fast, varoooom!” The other evening I was enjoying some soup that the Hubs had made earlier in the day and I was telling W that it was hot soup, yummy soup, that Dada made the soup, etc. W chimed in saying “Soup hot. Hot soup. Mama soup. Hot mama. Hot mama.” Fantastic!

Lately I’ve been more torn than usual between my responsibility to my job and to my son. I think all working moms go through this. It might have more to do with the longer daylight hours, that childhood sense that school will be out for the summer, and wanting to climb into a car or plane and go away with the family for a long while. Realistically though I feel like I’m missing out on so many small things that he’s doing now in leaps and bounds. Everything he does is like receiving a little gift, each one different and unique from the other. I want to be there for as much of it as possible. His teachers are the main recipients of said gifts and although they love and adore him, he’s not their child so they don’t reel with wonder and amazement at his small feats. Tearing myself away from him each morning is still just as heartbreaking as it was the first time I took him to daycare except now he says my name and runs to attach himself to my legs like a baby octopus or just flops in defeat into the lap of Miss Amy and sobs. In the mornings, I can hear his little voice calling out my name like an urgent request. He immediately heads upstairs to find me getting dressed for work. The sight of me is a relief to him. I can see it in his lit up expression but I hate knowing that his lovely squinty-eyed smile will soon be replaced with tears.

Then there’s the other side of the coin, the one that makes me wonder if I could actually spend all that time at home and surrender my professional self…and sanity. I go stir crazy when I don’t have projects of some magnitude on my plate. There’s only so many weeds, so much laundry, grocery shopping, tiding up and isolation one can experience before the mommy madness sets in.

I guess I’m looking for some flexibility but what I want to ask for I need to be committed to like a religion to make it work. It’s all a balancing act, a very complicated and stressful balancing act.