Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Spring Dun Sprung

Days at the office are very sloooooow now that the conference has left the building. We collectively fill the hours with tons of web surfing. Don’t know how many times I click on the “pets” link to see all of those unwanted animals…dogs, cats, geckos, horses, potbelly pigs…needing homes. I imagine adopting all of them and then I imagine divorce papers promptly arriving. I seek out toddler beds, patio umbrellas, black sling back flats and catch up on the news in Marfa. Oh, Marfa is my boyfriend. Soon we will be together (more on that another time).

Lately the Hubs has been locked away in his studio poking at the corners of his mind for song lyrics. The band will be recording again soon, an effort to wrap up the newest record, and he needs material. In the meantime, W and I bide our time bonding over Matchbox cars and books. Lots of books. It’s pretty awesome when he knows the words of a story and blurts them out along with me like he can read already. At night when he yells, “Nuggle time, mama. Wets go uptairs,” we huddle under the covers like giddy campers under the stars. He plays with his cars (“Okay! Nice to see you. Have a good weekend!”) while I sink deep in the pages of a book. Over the weekend, I finished Running With Scissors…totally too weird for me…and right now I’m reading a book I probably shouldn’t be…Deep End Of The Ocean by Jacquelyn Mitchard. It’s really good but about a 3-year-old boy who is kidnapped. I find it pleasing on a certain level to be able to relate to the mother character now that I have a son. The book is much more compelling this way. Next on the bedside table reading list is The Wonder Spot by Melissa Banks. I enjoyed her first book so I hope this one is on the same level.

Don’t want to forget to give some mad props to Mother Nature who has very recently decided to turn our formerly shades of grey city into a Technicolor playground. Spring is definitely in the air and it sure looks purdy.

Thursday, March 20, 2008

This Is How We Parent

This morning W ate three bowls of peanut butter cereal. Yeah, I feed my 2.5 year-old all the Jiff flavored kernels he can stuff in his belly…but it’s the organic kind with panda bears on the box and the proceeds go to protect the furry creatures and the box is made of recycled paper and there are no harmful ingredients in the balls of peanut buttery goodness…so it’s totally okay, right?

The Hubs and I raise our tot with boundaries while letting him have the freedom to be himself, however painful that can sometimes be. We both are (sorta) cool with the fact he’s a night owl and rather than force him in to bed at an early hour, a task that proves hard and exhausting for everyone, we let him stay up to watch the Simpsons with us. Yep, that’s 10 p.m., folks, and quality programming, no? The theme song comes on and he sprints to the bed like a frat boy to the bar at last call. He laughs along with us at the jokes he can’t understand and then asks, “Whas happening, momma?” I can’t remember what I watched when I was 2.5 so I don’t think this will scar him in any way.

We’ve found ourselves with the issue of a tot who wakes in the middle of the night and is in the habit of climbing in to bed with us, which usually ends with the Hubs finishing his dreams in the downstairs bedroom. Bad. Bad. W wakes and sleepily asks for his monster truck and where his daddy is and then points with authority in the direction of the stairs, his eyes still closed. I was able to get him back to sleep in his own bed last night but he still somehow ended up in our bed. I don’t recall bringing him up but I’m sure I’m the guilty party.

W had an “accident” in the bath last night. As the two turd logs drifted to the bottom of the tub, he screamed, big tears filled his eyes and he scrambled up the walls of slippery porcelain like piranha were chewing off his toes. He was totally embarrassed and freaked. I felt bad for him and explained that everything was okay but he needed to tell me when he had to poop (oh how I loathe poop talk). We’re not at the potty training stage yet but it’s looming on the horizon of his upcoming summer. Joy. His school is initiating it so I guess we gotta hold up our end of the booty bargain. It will be nice to have him out of those expensive landfill cloggers but they’re sooooo convenient. Oh well.

It’s great to be back at home and handling the challenges of a growing child. It’s not unlike event planning actually. You can plan and prepare in advance all you want, hammer on details and get certain items in order but you never know what the client is really going to want until you’re actually together onsite. Such is the same with a toddler.

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Pushing The Reset Button

As the working like a dog fog of the past two weeks fades into the distance I am able to start thinking about all the “free” time I now have and how it will be consumed. I am a junkie freak for activity, the fighter of inertia and must keep up some sort of velocity. I'm a sicko.

The weeds in the flowerbeds taunt me as I walk by each morning with their little leaves waving in the breeze but soon I will be armed with long, silver tools to yank them out of the earth with more satisfaction than is considered normal. The shocking orange paint in the kitchen will be changed to something more digestible. Curtains will be made and furniture replaced. My truck, the one that went in for an oil change this morning and was diagnosed with pricy leaks here and there, will be traded in. CarMax here I come. There are yoga classes I have yet to attend. Oh, how I need them. And trips to Marfa to be made. So I look at the calendar and fill in the days with to dos and classes and trips and tasks. I really don’t know what it means to do nothing, to just sit and relax but I guess I could pencil that in on the calendar as well.

More pics of W in all his growing, growth spurt glory. He's already rockin' an awesome tan.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

La Vie en Chaos

Why did I ever stop blogging? How am I going to remember all of the details of W's last three months? Remember all of the ugly and beautiful minutiae of life leading up to now? I felt uninspired after Christmas, overwhelmed by my job, bored by the monotony of the week’s routine. But wonderful things happened and sad things happened and the hardest part of my job happened and here we are now.

The holidays. I have to look at my calendar to remember. Family came together for the celebration in my hometown. My granny surprised me with a visit from West Virginia, my father surprised me as well and I got to spend some time with my grandmother in her majestic home not knowing it would be the last time I’d see her.

New Years. The Hubs played a gig in Arkansas, outside, in 20-degree weather. I, very smartly, chose to stay home and watched the fireworks at midnight from my bedroom window.

January. Worked hard and prepared for the events that happened in March.

February. New York for Fashion Week with my sister-in-law. Backstage at the Diane Von Furstenberg show, front row for the Angel Sanchez show, gazed dreamily at the jaw-dropping collection designed by, crap, I can’t remember his name, and stood across from Tyra Banks and Nigel Barker (who is stunning in person, ladies, edible) at the Jill Stuart show. The month ended with hour-long conference calls and a workload from hell. And there was also a totally fun Oscar party, a Pillow Fight Club match at the Beauty Bar and Friday evenings at Salvation Pizza with the foxy collective of parents and tots from W’s school.

March. 98 parties in 9 days, high profile clients, low profile me, keeping my nose to the grindstone and my poor crippled feet under the faucet in the tub. Hotel living is for the birds, especially when you have to do it in the city you live in but it’s a necessary evil. Life gets in the way of work during this time. My deepest regards to all the family and friends that helped me, the Hubs, and W get through it all.

My dear grandmother passed away last Thursday morning. It was good I was the first warm body to the convention center office so I could grieve alone. She was an amazing, caring woman with a heart of gold. My fondest childhood memories are of her and the home she opened up to us and the neighborhood rugrats we brought to her door. Her last words were, “Where in the hell’s that orange juice?” Grandmother, you are truly missed.

So this weekend I am off with the fam to the beach. I need some serious RnR but I promise to keep blogging, to keep up with the details of W’s milestones and happenings in our little world because lord knows I can’t remember it all. Afterall, this is for him.