We All Live In A Yellow Submarine

In our household I try to make an effort to speak kindly, to add lilts in my voice to convey friendliness and interest because W is always listening and learning. When my nerves are frayed and I’m about to pack my bags and take advantage of one of those Southwest Airlines “Wanna get away?” promos I really have to make the effort to be nice. I grit my teeth and say the second thing that comes to mind, not the first because the first is cranky, mean, ugly. I have noticed lately since the little fam has been cohabitating in such close and frequent proximity that the Hubs has been expressing himself sweetly and adding the lilt, too, and no longer sounding like his interrupted, mildly interested self. I listen to him talking to W and smile to myself knowing we are all trying our best in this new and unfamiliar situation of constant family-ness. Score one for the home team.

On a daily basis I am entertained by W’s three-year-old dialogue and imagination. His little brain is currently being fed by his all time favorite movie Yellow Submarine. He started watching it on YouTube this summer and then Santa brought him a discontinued copy via Russia (totally pirated and copied it seems). He will watch it three times a day if I allow and there are many random moments where he breaks out in to a Beatles tune from the soundtrack. One recent morning on the way to school and while waiting at a light I hear a small voice in the backseat sing, “All the lonely people. Where do they all come from?” Was very poignant since it’s a corner where the homeless hang and people are waiting on the bus. He usually can’t go from one room to the other without a the soundtrack sung at the top of his lungs…All You Need Is Wub (complete with his hand shaped like a gun minus the trigger and waving around like in the film), Yellow Submarine and Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Cwub Band. He still sings Bad To The Bone, too, and it goes something like this…

“On the day I was born, a saw gadder ‘round, gage a white window, joy they bound, dista bow, see da (something, something), they could tell right away-yah I was bad to da bone, bbbbbbbaaauud…” and so on. It’s quite funny. Thank jeebus he’s forgotten about Who Let The Dogs Out. Loathe that song

His curiosities are what leave me completely in stitches. And he won’t let you get away without answering him. Interrogations usually go something like this…

“Mommy, do cats pee outside…yes or no?”
“Mommy, are cookies treats…yes or no?”

So you have to answer or the questioning never ends. The other day this was asked…

Him: “Mommy, what’s guff?”
Me: “Hmmmm…it means attitude” (I know! Lame answer but he caught me off guard.)
Him: “It means you’re wild.” (He has said in the past that Gogo, his grandma, gives him guff. Yep, she’s pretty wild.)

Good times in the Chaos household. It’s dang cold out today which really confuses things since it was in the 80’s on Sunday. Tonight’s menu is my favorite turkey chili recipe with unsweetened chocolate and cinnamon. Yes, it totally rules. The last batch of peanut butter “thigh thickening” cookies are in the oven, too. It smells like Mrs. Field’s up in here. Oh, and I’m on day 5 of the “no alcohol allowed” wagon ride. Yippee! Am going to totally blow it when I fall off on Jan. 11th at a formal little dinner we’re attending. Oh yes, I am.

Bring It On

Hello 2009. Sure am glad you’re here. I was just about fed up with 2008 already so good timing.

A photostream of some of our pics from 2008 have been added to the “W’s Work” link on the right. I couldn’t figure out how to make the 2008 pics their own little space. Oh well. BTW all of the images were taken with my iPhone. Damn thing is the shizzle.

I obviously didn’t resolve to blog everyday hence no January 1 or 2 write up so the pressure is off. I will however attempt to blog as often as possible and I’m sure there will be much to fuss about, much to applaud, and even more to drink to in the coming year. Since I’m not bringing home the bacon right now we’ve cut back on our snobby wine clubs and wine bar splurges so I’m considering stomping my own grapes in the clawfoot tub downstairs. Hell, the blackberry jelly many of you got for Christmas turned out fine, right? I do have a couple of irons in the fire though and some direction on a little personal endeavor so we’ll see how it all goes. I don’t think we’ll be in the poor house anytime soon. If it starts to look that way though will you all buy my homemade hooch? I think I’ll call it “Catherine The Grape” named after my toenail polish.

Sloth and Gluttony

I sit in the kitchen surfing the net and reading the New York Times online while the Hubs hovers in the soft glow of his laptop at the dining room table. W is on the couch watching Monster Jam clips on my iPhone. We are disgustingly high tech and fully engaged here. Jazz music plays in the background and heated dry air billows from the vents as it has once again gotten cold outside. We don’t have many plans today which is as a Sunday should be. Tuscan kale soup is on the lunch menu and tuna will be on our dinner plates later. All is well.

Leftovers

Last night's dinner: leftovers from Friday night which was Eggplant and Spinach Lasagne Spirals. I’ve been making these since the recipe came out in 2002. It’s very time consuming but well worth the effort and the presentation is unique for lasagne.



Today's money saving tip: shop at your neighborhood Goodwill. I spent about an hour there today combing through the kids clothes. Thank goodness the music they pipe in is decent because the place has the odor of neglect and abuse and makes it hard for me to breathe. I did find some great shirts and long johns for W for about two bones a piece and scored on a Junk Food brand “I’m A Pepper” t-shirt in my size and in great shape that would normally retail for about $20. Let me say that the young girls clothing selection is the best and so are the newborn options because infants wear their stuff for like 7 minutes before they’ve outgrown it so at Goodwill that stuff is in superb shape. Take some time on your lunch break, put on some scented lipgloss to mask the stale air there and dig in. I bet you’ll find something you can’t live without.

So since I’m not working and the Hubs is now home we’re getting to spend much more time together. This is both good and bad. This morning it was nice to drop off the tot at school together and then head to town lake to walk for about an hour with the dog but you would’ve never guessed the Hubs was going to be my athletic partner in crime. He was wearing his super skinny pencil leg jeans with Doc Martins as ankle weights and his rocker looking Ray Bans. I had to beg him to leave his bajillion dollar leather jacket behind because, seriously, I didn’t want to exercise with Johnny Cash. Towards the end of the hike I was certain his hiney was going to flame up from the friction he was complaining about back there. Good times with more to come.

Here are some pics from our days in Marfa...

Regrowth

Yesterday the Hubs picked up W from school and I had the chance to do whatever I wanted to do when I got off work (go to Target! shoe shopping! Sephora! read!) but instead I went home and pulled weeds until my fingers cramped. The early evening was cloudy, a bit breezy, perfect weather to hunker down in the beds and dig. But it was more than digging and tugging and cursing the gnarly roots. I was deep in thought, buried in curiosities, fears, excitement and responsibilities of the weeks to come. It was blissful and I look forward to my next adventure providing me the many opportunities to work and think, work and reflect, work and enjoy instead of being twisted up about a five mile traffic jam, a long line at the post office, or a person driving out of turn at my neighborhood 5-way stop. Yeah, that one really gets in my crawl. I will be forced to slow down and really smell the yucca (while keeping an eye out for snakes and loose dogs and scorpions). Really can’t wait.

On the home front we are trying to correct a wrong that we thought was oh so cute and convenient (i.e. we were being lazy) and get our son to sleep at a reasonable hour IN HIS OWN BED. It all happened by default, thanks to Miss Jo who came over last night bearing gifts. After dinner, the conversation spun to W’s sleeping habits and she very matter of factly said you need to put him to bed between 8 and 9 and Hubs why don’t you do it now or something like that. I cringed inside knowing W hadn’t really eaten his dinner but there’s no time like the present, right? Books were read, PJs were donned and protests were heard. The Hubs finally emerged from the bedroom as W whipped himself in a frenzy that lasted half an hour (or what seemed like an eternity for me) before he was quiet, exhausted by his efforts to get someone's attention. Miss Jo hung around until it was over probably knowing full well that I would’ve gone in to his room to rescue him and be the hero. W slept through the night if you consider “waking at 5 a.m. and ready to get the day started” sleeping through the night. But I’m committed to making this work and the Hubs is committed to being the bedtime person and I will pick up the slack when he’s not home. Besides our relationship could use a shot in the arm and having that evening time together is just what Miss Jo ordered.

Smash Mash Crash

Pile up on the Play-Doh highway. Yes, that's BROWN Play-Doh. As a kid I never had it so good. Brown Play-Doh in 1976 meant it ended up in the yard somehow.


W made a "cupcake" with the brown stuff after clearing the collision and knowing that he loves to blow out candles, I stuck in one of those candles that relights itself after being extinguished. At first W laughed his diaper off at the mysterious phenomenon but then it started to spook him. It wasn't long before he was standing on the other side of the kitchen and refusing to sing Happy Birthday one more time and blow the candle out.

What? You don't let your tot lie on the kitchen counter in his diaper with his head resting on a dish towel while eating a Funyun? Yeah, remember those? LOVE Funyuns. Onion flavored corn chip shaped like a method of birth control. Rock!


This is what I get to hang with at the end of a busy work day. I like him way more than Funyuns.

It Takes A Village

So this is the episode where I have to give mad props to all the mommies and daddies who are the kick arse parents of the kids in W’s class at school. Can I just say that I’m the luckiest momma on the planet to have such an awesome bunch for a) drinking buddies, b) open-minded, laid back, non-judgmental conversationalists, and c) measuring 11 on the 1-10 scale of total foxiness. Seriously, we should all pose for a calendar and I bet we would sell the hell out of it. We could donate some of the money to the school and spend the rest on wine clubs.

Friday, W had his first school program. They had been studying about Africa for 2 weeks and this was the apex of all their research. A small gathering of parentals waited like paparazzi for the tots to burst through the classroom door dressed in kente cloth vests made of paper bags and painted images and anklets made of pipe cleaners and bells. It was no surprise to see W sans kente vest and bells. I can barely convince him to dress in the morning. All of his friends paraded around in costume and banged on various instruments while W promptly put his toosh in my lap and watched. “I ain’t wearin’ no stinkin’ paper bag.” Yep, that’s my boy. He takes very much after his father.

Afterwards, I took W to my workplace to finish my day and pack up while he ate the dusty candy pumpkins perched on my edge of my desk as decor. I then wrangled the sugar-hyped tot and hoofed it over to the motherland, Central Market, where everyone from W’s class noshed and kibitzed as a PG-rated group. The wine bottles lined the tables like centerpieces, the kiddos ran amok and danced to the live music and we all had some good laughs at watching them wrestle, mosh, do yoga poses and hug. Good times, good times.

Old Cowhand

I’m pooped. Pooped from sitting at my desk all day pecking at the alphabet with my fingertips. It’s the wrong kind of pooped, too. It’s a crime, in fact. I should be pooped from jogging or housecleaning or building a yurt but I’m depressed to report that this fatigue is from non-activity, the slothfulness that is a desk job. How did this happen? It’s so wrong. If anyone with a ranch wants to hire me to run it, I’m your girl. Seriously. I’m a cowgirl at heart and THAT’S where I’m supposed to be. In the meantime, I’ll continue taking the baby steps necessary to get me there. Where there? Outdoors…with livestock…and friends, old and new…and divine food from my garden…and campfires…and starry skies…and feeling rightfully pooped.

Older and Tireder

Yesterday I was feeling really sick but stuck it out here at the office, which was a good thing because there was a surprise birthday cake waiting for me at the mothership. I was too nauseous to eat a slice but wrapped one up for later. I came home with W and laid on the couch in abdominal agony. I could tell W knew something was up because he was especially good and content to watch TV and engage in some lo-fi activities. As soon as I got his tiny buns out of the tub and in to bed, I crawled between the sheets all shivery and tired. I was hoping to get at least 10 hours of sleep but W summoned my presence at 5:45 a.m. this morning. I continued to remain horizontal while he inhaled two huge bowls of oatmeal (and I’m not talking the watery, soggy instant stuff, I’m talking the “takes 20 minutes to cook and will pack you out for like two days” kinda stuff) and then we got off to school. He was in a good mood and ready to take on the infant room. I put his groceries away (seriously, it’s like unpacking enough nosh for a college student) as he jumped in to play pretend cook or chef or bossy bachelor with his buddies. As I headed out, I said, “I gotta go to work W. Bye!” and he said, “BYE!” with great earnest and then I said, “I love you!” and he said it right back in front of two teachers and a mom. “I wub ewe.” There was a simultaneous “Awwwww” and I got in my truck totally teary-eyed and thankful for such a beautiful child. Best. Birthday. Present. Ever.

The Hubs comes home tonight. Finally. It’s been twelve days and twelve nights of just me and W. We’ve bonded like 17 times already. Time to share some of the love with the Hubs.

Marfa On My Mind

I had every intention of blogging daily during my recent trip to West Texas but I never had the energy or gumption to follow through. I needed more time to process, to weed out, to lighten up.

It’s a six-hour drive to Marfa from Austin. Five of them have to pass before I start to let go of the things that crowd my mind and fray my nerves. The hill country landscape shifts from low-lying mesquite and sage to massive buttes and plateaus as far as the eye can see. Your mind surrenders to the vastness. The road looms ahead of you in an endless straight line and you settle in to autopilot, the cruise control locked in at a legal 80 mph.

We got there in time to freshen up and check out an art opening. The usual and talented suspects were present…Julie Speed, Boyd Elder, Vance Knowles and more. The energy is always lively and friendly at these things. Later, we were thoroughly entertained by a band called Japanther. They began their set by laughing and shoving each other up and down two ramps flanking a small stage, sometimes causing spills and colliding bodies. Two guys and two girls. The girls performed a sort of dance routine that involved lots of jumping, a couple of bananas, hands covering bouncing boobs and disappearing moments into the crowd. You can always count on refreshing creativity here in this strange little town.

The next day we lazily walked our buns to the Pizza Foundation for some rockin’ pie and mild sightseeing. We spent the rest of the afternoon lazing around the casita, reading, napping, and gazing in to the horizon. Pure bliss. I laid out in the tiny yard most of the time and just looked up at the flawless sky while watching crows soaring in long, circular patterns, their wings never flapping. What an opportunity to empty the mind and refill it with things that need serious attention and thought.

Later, we staged a cocktail/nosh hour complete with Prosecco, a juicy New Zealand vino and lots of uppity snacks in our little yard. We invited our hosts to join us but only Tom and his sassy little RCA pooch, Clifford, came. What a fun we had telling tales, sharing a bit of local gossip, and laughing out loud in the open air. That evening we strolled back over to the gallery and watched Sam Prekop and Archer Pruitt perform. Kind, gentle, lovely. We mingled with old and new friends before heading home in a slight wine fog.

Sunday we drove to Big Bend. It was my first time. A Big Bend virgin. Man, oh man, what views! And Texas is freakin’ huge. Luann and I started out on a smallish hike, the Lost Mine trail, but it got cut short due to rain. One minute we were gregariously tromping through the woods and tolerating the droplets but as soon as we reached the edge of the summit, we found that wild weather was just on the other side, waiting like a preying tiger and it assaulted us with strong winds and heavy downpour. We drove further in to the park in search of a dry hike and ended up doing about three miles to what is known as “the Window” or something like that. Getting out, stretching our legs and breathing that sweet air was the best. We journeyed back to Marfa and whipped up a lovely vegetarian meal before heading to a get together on a nearby ranch. We drove in the dark thirteen miles north of Marfa in search of a cattle gate flanked by two reflectors. Looking for said landmarks in the pitch with no streetlights was no easy feat. After finding the gate and puddle jumping the aftermath of the earlier rainstorm, we finally arrived at a lovely house set way back on the land. Its windows glowed with the warmth of the candles burning within. We found dinner to be over and everyone lounging comfortably either at the old farmhouse dinner table or out back around the campfire. It was a motley group of artists, musicians, dreamers and doers. Liz Lambert was our most gracious host. We listened in on tales of her family, life in a small town, and the characters that made it so special to be there. After a while, we all converged in the dining room and cozied up as a guitar was passed. Beautiful songs filled the empty spaces of the room like warm syrup in waffle divots. It was organic, captivating, and just plain wonderful.

Our trip home yesterday was a wet one and we got back to Austin just in time for the drive time traffic jam. Reality of city life came crashing back much too soon as we tried to cling to the mental memoir of our fabulous mini vaca.

I have pics to post but have to find the cord to the camera first.

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!

Ode To A Growing Boy

This morning when we reached W’s school (a trip that includes the ritual of me naming all of the people in his class, singing songs and talking about “Big trucks!” the entire drive over), he handed his pacifier to me with authority before I removed him from the carseat. It’s been a small work in progress to get to this point. I didn’t mean for him to be a pacifier baby but it’s a simple solution for what sometimes seems like unsolvable dramatic moments in his little world. As recommend by W’s pediatrician, we are limiting the times and places he can have it on his person so I was very proud and encouraged when he dutifully handed it to me and made motions to get him the hell out of the car so he could dash inside and play with friends. We were barely in the door, literally tripping over the daycare cast and crew, when he practically fell out of my arms on to a small school bus. Ahhh…now I understood the impetus of his sense of duty in the car earlier. A week ago, I brought a tearful W into the classroom and explained to his teacher that he was upset because he had to relinquish his “duh tuk” before going into class. Like a magician, she appeared with a handful of cars and a school bus to offer him. Like magic, all was well in W land. It’s amazing to recognize that his determination to get to class revolves around something he knows will be there waiting for him. Just the simple fact that he is that aware is remarkable to a mama. He’s showing me these things by the truck load. He’ll run to his crib to show you where his pacifier is hiding. He points to the fridge when he wants water. He brushes his four teeth like a pro. He eats with a spoon and fork. He helps when getting dressed and undressed. He says so many words and makes the sounds of things. He hugs and pats you like a reassuring AA sponsor. He dances like an old man and plays the piano like a pre-school prodigy, sorta. I continue to have mixed feelings about my little boy growing up. I adore seeing him evolve into his own way of doing things and finding an identity that is all his own but, as I’ve said before, it’s all going by so fast.

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?"...