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.

Ozone Depleter

Although I am quite a tomboy, a guy-girl through and through, I do have a few feminine qualities. Okay, now that I give it some thought I probably only have about two or three. The biggest one I have is that I don’t break wind in mixed company. The Hubs and I have been together for about 7.5 years and I could probably count on two fingers the times I have contributed to ozone depletion in his presence. Last night, however, I think I sunk an iceberg somewhere. Part of the previous night’s meal included beans cooked with garlic, onions, a ham hock and a jalapeno. I also made it a staple at yesterday’s lunch. The time between then and when I went to bed was just enough to manufacture it into toxic gas form. I tucked myself in to bed before the Hubs to read for a spell. He joined me a little while later and as we rehashed how much I hated the movie Borat, an atrocity we had just tried to watch, I released what I thought was a well contained, stuffed under the covers and never to see the light of day, fart but within seconds, his body stiffened next to mine and he waved his hand frantically in front of his nose. “Did you just let one?” he asked in a voice filled with disbelief. I immediately felt my face get warm and I wanted to stick my head under the sheets in shame but I knew that was a really bad idea. “What, are you a trucker? Brutus?” he quizzed. “Who’s Brutus?” I choked through laughs. “That fat guy on the Popeye cartoon!” At this point tears were streaming down my face and I couldn’t stop laughing, the embarrassment was too much to bear. “Oh my God, that’s the worst ever!” he cried out. Yes, yes it was.

I have several girlfriends that have no qualms about stinking up the joint and claiming it. I don’t mind if they do it when I’m around. I just don’t want to share the experience with anyone. But I’ll tell, you about it.

W Needs A Haircut

I whacked on W's hair last night, just a nip here and there. Getting him to sit still for a full on cut would be impossible. I fear taking him to a barber because the styles simply suck...the buzz cut, the crew cut, the Ceasar, the horrendous bowl cut or the little business man's cut. The mama's cut is what he's getting and it's free.

These were taken before the trim and therefore inspired me to get to choppin'...

Oh Lookie! Two Entries In One Day!

Since the weather has been so much nicer lately and the days longer, we’ve been taking advantage of the new yard (with 6-foot fence to keep the rugrat safely inside) and extended patio area. Last night we grilled out the same meal we cooked about this time last week but instead of vino, we drank cava and some frozen rum/banana/pineapple spooky frappe thing that the Hubs whipped up (needed more rum). I pulled weeds like a normal obsessive-compulsive “I can’t sit still ever” person while W watered the grass, his jeans and his shirt. He figured out that if he touched the end of the hose to his eye he could get water directly in it and this is good for I don’t know what but it amused him and that’s what counts. Since I got pregnant, the Hubs has been the sole meal maker when time allows and this is nearly always. I used to get off on cooking elaborate meals from scratch, spending time mincing, roasting, peeling, shredding but now I’d rather change several dirty diapers in a row. The upshot of the Hubs playing Julia Childs is that his culinary talent has really improved. He dices well, measures precisely and is patient to make sure everything reaches the proper temp but oh, the mess! The mess that looks like W and his entire classroom has been cooking us dinner and not an able-bodied adult! Shiny, sticky spots glisten on the floor, bits and pieces of squashed food frame the cabinets. The countertops become a gourmet landfill. Each evening I have to wonder if he’ll always be more Edward Scissorhands than the Naked Chef. That’s okay though. The clean up goes fast and the labor is worth it because the food is damn good.

While on the subject of food, I am actively making efforts to eat better. I figured since I never had time to eat during the conference and ate vegetarian-only in Marfa that the granola groundwork had been laid. Of course most of my meals are paired with some vintage of wine or other al-kee-holic beverage but I’m not willing to be completely healthy. Besides hooch makes bad food taste better. Earlier today, I forced myself to eat a salad full of weeds. It’s one of those bulk organic arrangements that was put together by the feet of a squirrel. There were giant random leaves and long grasses in there. There were green stems of what used to house cilantro but only suggestions of the leaves remained. Certain bites were pungent and some made me feel like a horse put out to pasture. I started to think that this was a joke package of greens that some funny little field picker had compiled. I do realize that the American edible mindset is a very limited one but I’m trying to branch out. I just don’t want to actually eat branches.

I Am Doll Parts

My nose looks like cleaved tenderloin from the constant Kleenex wiping. Yet another daycare or playground bug W has managed to share with the family. I woke up this morning feeling like my head was stuffed inside a giant sock. While I was gone over the weekend, he shared a little something with the Hubs, too. Instead of returning to a duo as excited to see me as a pair of Lab pups, I got the nipping of the shins from W while the Hubs just looked at me forlornly and with a little blame, I think. I know it’s harder for him to spend large chunks of time with the kiddo than it is for me. He’d rather be playing chess online, watching Mad Money or working a crossword puzzle in peace. Plus he’s a hypochondriac so every sniffle and cough is taken very seriously. Someone please call Dr. Quinn.

I’m wearing this really cute summery top today, sleeveless and all, that I got at Old Navy. Flip flops, too. I like to wear things like this when I know the weather is going to be bad (major thunderstorms on the radar for today). It’s my sort of “eff you, Mother Nature, I play by my own rules” or something like that. The tank top would look awesome on me if I had any boobs. They have completely vacated the premesis and I am as flat as a pancake. Completely disheartening, especially since I found my E cup nursing bras in a box of pregger clothes I lent to a friend yesterday. Her hooters are bigger now than they were AFTER she had her first child and we pointed and made sweeping hand gestures around her giant ta-tas in the front yard for all the neighbors to see. She suffers the same consequence as me after nursing and also ends up with nothing but a breastbone. We often talk about getting a tandem boob job in L.A. and then enjoying recovery on the beach with nothing but dental floss covering our new girls. Should we wear waxed or unwaxed floss?

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.

Running Away From Home

The post-conference recovery has been slow and, thankfully, so have things at the office. We’re playing catch up, billing clients for onsite add ons and trying to figure out which end is our ass and which is our brains. It’s all mush to me (sorry for the mental visual).

W has resumed being totally mommy-centric much to the Hubs' dismay. I heard him mention to W this morning how bummed he was about playing second fiddle now that I’m around. It’s not fair but you can’t argue with a toddler. I get out of eyeshot and W immediately hollers out “Muma?” and goes racing around like a displaced pup. It’s endearing and unnerving at the same time. Last night, the little worm wouldn’t go to sleep so I stuck him in bed with me only to be tortured by his wiggling around and kicking. I made use of the tiny swinging heels by turning my back and letting him pound away. He eventually dozed off but I was left to wonder how other families actually spend entire nights sharing their beds with little people. W flips and flops like a huge mosquito larva and sometimes his giant noggin’ connected with mine. Speaking of melon heads, the doc told us Tuesday that he’s 50% for height, 10% in weight, and 90 for his cabeza grande. We may need those lead shoes I mentioned a while back before too long.

W’s greatest parental weapon to date is saying “Pwease” when he wants something. Works like a charm as we can’t resist the sweetness of the plead. As a result, he’s gotten a squishy car that wasn’t worth the $8, completely soaked himself playing with the water hose fully clothed, played in my truck for at least an hour, and buckets of yogurt. It could be worse, I guess.

Tonight is date night. We're skipping out on the Four Seasons company dinner and spending time with the parents of CaCa (as W calls her) from W's school instead. I have hung out with CaCa's mom only once before and it was awesome. We were the duo sitting at Sesame Street Live with our tots in our laps while sharing red vino out of a large sippy cup. Go ahead, nominate us for Mommy of the Year.

Tomorrow, a girlfriend from SXSW and I are heading to Marfa for 4 days for much needed R n R (that’s definitely NOT rock n roll). I’m leaving the boys behind this trip. There would be no way I could fully recover with both of them in my orbit. I’m taking the computer so the daily blogging will continue. I need the Rx.

Whoa.

I sit here and think of all that has happened since I last posted and realize I need to take a serious vacation. 83 parties we produced, people, 83 in 9 days. After several 14 to 17 hour slogs in a row, I wasn't sure I was going to make it to the end. At a certain point, everything became an act of smoke and mirrors, an exercise in digging deep within to muster what was needed to keep the momentum moving forward and clients happy. Freakin’ challenging but we all made it (except for my poor boss who is down and out with the flu). I remember briefly taking a load off in my hotel room, just a mere 10 minutes to rest my bones, and being jolted awake from an upright position by my cell phone. I had just flat out passed out sitting up. I’m still feeling the sting of fatigue as I write this. I never once had a hangover, never had a chance to let it all hang out, but my body is hungover and will be until I can get indefinitely horizontal.

There were many days in a row that I didn’t get to see W and on the days I did, it was only in the morning. I returned home at the end of this conference to find him taller, hair longer, with more teeth, and full of new words. He is also covered in a horrible (but non-contagious) rash caused by a bout of rotavirus (exploding landmines of rocket-like poop with a force that boggles the mind and blasts through clothing) he suffered a few weeks back. He looks like he’s covered in Braille. He has also claimed a level of independence that surprises me. The Hubs tells a funny story of going to pick up W from school one afternoon and trying his best to get W to follow him out the door. His “I’m leaving now,” and “Daddy’s going to go,” had no impact on the boy. After many gentle threats, the Hubs made his way to the classroom patio, just a few steps away from the exit gate. He said he breathed a sigh of relief when W marched in his direction as if his only intention was to vacate the building with him but instead he grabbed the classroom door and closed it in the Hubs’ face leaving him alone on the stoop as W hiked his way back to whatever it was he was doing. What a little fink.

Many props go to Miss Jo who became other mother and not only took care of W but kept the house in order. Gogo came in for the weekend and took up some of the slack as well. The Hubs really stepped up to the plate and I am so thrilled, grateful and happy knowing he didn’t maim W and W didn’t drive him around the bend. I think the two even had some serious fun together.

Now, let’s get back to our regularly scheduled programming, shall we?

Hiatus

Well, dang it. I'm just too busy to post so I'm going to take some time off so I can focus solely on work, work and more work. I will return March 19th or so, if I make it through.

Take care!

Will To The Um.

So “bahth” time usually plays out like this…I say “Do you wanna take a bath?”and W leaps to his feet and runs like a drag queen in new stilettos to the loo, his arms swinging wildly from side to side. One recent evening, W was seriously excited about the idea of bathing with one of his small toy trucks. He stepped up on his little plastic IKEA stool and threw the truck into the clawfoot tub as it was filling with water and bubbles. I turned to get a wash cloth out of the drawer behind me and turned back just in time to see his feet pass in front of my eyes as he tumbled heels over ass into the tub like a drunken sailor, clothes and all. Needless to say, he was a bit upset but washing his truck was mighty important to him so he quickly bounced back for the task. Thank goodness he wasn’t traumatized by the event (I sorta was. I mean, it happened so fast!). It’s hard enough to get his hair washed without a ultra drama already.

The Hubs has been rather busy with this band and musical lately which means face time with W has been minimal. W and I went out of town for the night for his grandad’s 60th birthday this past weekend (fun was had by all!) so we all have been ships passing in the night. When this happens, and it periodically does, W develops a Super Glue-like bond to me and shuns his father. Physically. Night before last, the Hubs was trying to get in on a group hug and W stiff-armed him out of the circle like a bouncer denying K-Fed club access. Ouch! I know there will come a day though when he will no longer have much interest in his mama and I will be the one banished from the group while he and his daddy talk about football and girls. Right?

Chaos Unleashed

Since I am the queen of chaos, I seem to subconsciously enjoy making things way more chaotic than they need to be. I don’t mean that I’m an over-reacting, control-freak sort of martyr type (that’s only part of the time). I mean that when I am in the midst of intense, brain pureeing details of my job times 1,000, I seem to find at least one more mammoth project with numerous details to add to the mix. Last year is was a complete house remodel and birth of a new baby. This year it's 90 events that are to happen within a 9-day period in March and a complete overhaul done of our front and back yards. Months ago I spent some time inartistically drawing out my dream yard, something suitable to our budget and neighborhood. After a bit of searching and some outrageous bids from landscaping companies that took my ideas to a whole new level (“How about a floating deck, one that seems to hover over the surface of the yard?”), we settled on a company whose owner is a friend of the family, does good work, and we’d get the “Friends & Family” deal. This deal, however, is still a major wallop to the pocketbook and we’re currently looking for a job for W. After a couple of weeks had passed, the crew showed up on the scene and, armed with an orange can of spray paint, marked up the lot. I came home at the end of the day and it looked like our yard had been tagged by a handful of artistically challenged gang members. I found a few of the markings to be incorrect and used the can of spray paint to make some adjustments. This included accidentally spraying the wall of the studio out back. Nice.

And so it rained for 40 days and 40 nights and then it froze and all of the landscaping demarcations washed away and had to be done again. One sunny day the crew arrived (one of them is in touch with his inner pirate complete with bandana, goatee with long mustache and a dangling gold loop earring the size of a silver dollar…he totally rules!) and began unloading chunks of stark white limestone. I had to go to work and wasn’t able to witness what was about to occur but later in the day I received a frantic phone call from the Hubs. “Did you tell them they could do what they just did to the yard? I mean, it looks awful. You gotta talk to them. I hate what they’ve done!” I came home later that day to see my two trees barricaded by a short wall of limestone in the shape of an “o” and a wall of the same stuff outlining the front of our house framing the beds of the yard. I realized we could go to battle with the neighborhood and be safe in our own personal version of the Alamo. Egads! I immediately got on the horn and told our family friend/landscape company owner that this was not going to work and all of the rock had to come out. Our tiny yard couldn’t support such weight, such bulk and besides, we live in a purple and orange house with straight lines and squares. What does stark white limestone in the circlular shapes got to do with it? So, confused and befuddled, the crew dismantled their beautiful work and quietly laughed at the Gringa who wants only metal edging around the beds. I do have to admit that this talented bunch has replaced our front sidewalk with same said stark white limestone and their craftsmanship is incredible. We are now the proud owners of one of the sexiest sidewalks in the ‘hood. Now if people would just keep their muddy feet off of it.

The nightmare before...
















And the nightmare during...
































The crew. The pirate is the clown in the yellow shirt.

Catch 22

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.

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."

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.

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!

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).

Place Holders

Got Latte Foam?




A Boy And His Kitten

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.

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!

The Emperor Wears No Clothes

Willem’s been having issues with his clothes lately. First it was about the socks that he won’t allow to be on his person if I don’t have shoes strapped to his feet to keep them in place. Thank god for the staying power of Robeez shoes. Many times I spy the little sprite with the toe of one of them pinched between his chipmunk teeth tearing away like a leopard gnawing a carcass. As a result, we’ve had to retire the fire truck ones because he chewed a hole in the sole. Long sleeved t-shirts give him serious grief as he manages to get a hand slipped inside and can’t get all digits to return to view. He squawks and squeals while flapping his arm like a wounded bat. I try and make a game out of finding the missing hand but his fuse is usually already spent. Today I dressed him in overalls and you’d thought I had put a horse harness on him, yoke and all. He tugged and rolled and drug himself around the room by the straps like a baby mime removing himself from a bad stage performance. And forget hats. Unless it comes with a seatbelt sized strip of Velcro to hold it in place, it’s taking a flight across the room. Thankfully, it’s been pretty warm ‘cause this boy’s just about naked.

Here is his Highness redecorating his Christmas tree for like the hundreth time...

Yabba Dabba Do

No one is in the office right now. I’m here an hour earlier that I’d normally be. I look at my iChat list and it flatlines. Not a soul to bug. Everyone is dragging ass on the day before our time off begins. My breakfast is a dark chocolate pecan chunk cookie because I didn’t plan the morning so well and I’m tired of my routine. Couldn’t bear to go to the coffee shop again and have the barista looking at me expectantly like I’m going to order something different than I normally do. “Large latte, bottle of water, and a breakfast taco with sausage, potato, egg and avocado. Pico and salsa, too. Thanks.” I needed to get in the orifice early anyway. I don’t want to be checking email over the holidays and finding work to do. I want it all done today. Happy Holidays and good riddance until next year, ‘yo.

Bring On The Break

Everyone here at work is counting down the hours until tomorrow afternoon when we’re off for like ten or eleven consecutive days. Whoo-hoo! Last night, I was planning on making a couple of rum cakes to bring to the office but couldn’t for the life of me find the bundt pan and then I realized I still hadn’t purchase the rum yet. They call it a “rum cake” for a reason. Besides it takes an hour to bake and by the time I would've gotten W down for the night, had some soggy pizza with the Hubs and straightened up the joint for the cleaning lady, I would’ve been too tired to wait around for the thing to cook. “Hey, what’s that burning smell?”

We’re not going anywhere for the holidays except three hours south of here to see the mom-in-law for a couple of days. I’m stoked we’re not traveling too far away for once. It’s just not a good idea with a little one, if you can avoid it. Two years ago, before baby, we tried to go to Rome but the weather was bad in Chicago (?) so that screwed up everything for others and us . I burst into tears at the ticket counter. It couldn’t be helped. We were stewing for over an hour in line in anticipation of the success or failure of our efforts. It would’ve been my first trip to Europe. The tears helped though. We got an immediate full refund. We ended up taking a bus to San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, and had a lovely time. Little did I know I was with child. Thankfully, there's no evidence that all that wine and tequila hurt the en utero Mexican bean pod.

Did I mention that W’s daycare is closed the ENTIRE TIME I’M OFF WORK for the holidays? “Damn you, daycare!” Don’t get me wrong, I love hanging with the spawn but I had dreams of pedicures, massages, after Christmas sales and long cocktail lunches with girlfriends during the work break. That is so someone else’s life. I did make a list of baby-mommas I need to see over the break so if you’re reading this and I know you and you have a kid near W’s age, I’m coming over. Better get that margarita machine warmed up!

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.

Illin'

It’s a good thing you can’t hear me talking right now. I sound like I have a hollowed out tin can attached to my face. W gave me the mother of all colds and it’s rocking my world. I clear my throat every 5 seconds, cough every four and sniff every three. Don’t you wish you were my officemate? Like I told a girlfriend last Friday night, I fanaticize about digging the baby bottle brush out of storage and sticking it down my throat to relieve the endless itching. Oh, and my face is as puffy as a cadavers. Nice, no? I’m sure W is suffering from the same symptoms but can’t verbalize them specifically. We cough, sneeze and sniffle together. It’s the pits. I just hope we don’t trade this thing back and forth like a game of Go Fish. It would be good to be well so that we don’t make Santa sick, too.

Lately, it’s been hard keeping W out of the toilet bowels. He slinks off to the loo and soon after you hear the bathroom door clicking closed. He has to do his dirty work in complete privacy. He goes in with serious determination and resurfaces like Jacque Cousteau after a successful dive. Most times, he’s armed with the bowel brush and scrapes the insides and outsides clean, others, he just goes in head first. You catch him in the act and he doesn’t recoil in fear or shame or disgust. He grins at you like he has just won the Olympic medal in synchronized swimming and this makes it very hard to discipline him without wanting to hug him for being so damn cute.

W is still the proud owner of only four teeth. At fifteen months, he still looks like a chipmunk but one that resembles David Letterman more and more as the weeks go by. The absence of other anchoring teeth is causing the two top ones to drift apart. He’s a masculine Madonna or a real life pint-sized Alfred E. Newman. I just hope the mystery of the missing teeth is soon solved. He would really like to sink his teeth into some holiday Angus.

Pooparama

As my child grows and his appetite mirrors his development, his diapers double in weight. What was once a quick swipe of the bum is now a “Mop up on aisle 3!” For a while, W’s bowel movements were saved for the classroom. We had gotten on a reliable schedule of dress at home, dump at school. I’m sure his teachers cringe at the smelly explosions but, hey, that’s part of the gig in the infant room. Lately, W has been saying “Yucky.” It’s probably safe to assume he learned it on the changing table from one of his teachers. For the past few mornings, I’ve been the lucky recipient of his recycled edibles. It’s no mystery when he is laying the Holy Grail of all poops. The room is quiet and he remains relatively motionless, his face the color of a Santa suit. This morning was no exception. The diaper unveiling revealed, well, you know, and lots of it. The funny thing is, if I had someone participate in a smell test, they would be convinced it was a bottle of nail polish remover. Upon inspection, they would also be convinced that I was feeding him handfuls of birdseed when I know last night he ate turkey with gravy, corn, mashed potatoes and 5 animal crackers. When we were at the pediatrician’s office last Monday for W’s 15 month check up, he mentioned that our son’s appetite would probably start to decline. So far, no dice. In fact, recently at a parent/teacher meeting at W’s school the head teacher remarked at how such a tiny boy could consume so much food. His weight is in the 10th percentile but his head is in the 95th. I think it’s safe to say we’re feeding his brain.

First Sentence

This morning as W and I were leaving the house headed for day care, he said his first sentence. It was "Bye, bye Da-da." He even threw in a wave. The Hubs immediately started dancing a jig of happiness and I'm certain there were tears in his eyes. They were in mine.

Mr. T-N-A

The Hubs and I are working on some things, personal stuff that revolves around how much your life changes when you have a child. One of the changes I didn’t count on was the fact that words like “libido” and “sex life” would disappear completely from my vocabulary. The only time those words leave my mouth is when the Hubs and I are discussing this sensitive topic. Lately, it’s been a popular one, and Lord knows, the Hubs is deserving of the activity. The other night in bed, instead of making the physical effort to get somewhere intimate, we got into a long, drawn out discussion of the situation. This usually happens and as you can surmise, it’s a total buzz kill. After several minutes of “why nots” and “how comes,” I got fed up and said in my sexiest Mr. T growl, “Enough of this jibber-jabber!” Guess what? It worked.

Why do I tell you this? I’m not sure. Why do you read it? So you can point and laugh when you see me out in public.

Out With Hubs

The Hubs and I had date night last night. The wonderful Miss Jo (www.missjohanna.com) came to keep the little one. W is the president of the Miss Jo Fan Club. It’s very reassuring to know that your child is crazy about his caregiver. We were getting ready to make our departure and I asked W if he wanted to go play with Miss Jo. He leaned out of my arms and dumped himself into hers, a move I didn’t expect from him. Makes it very easy for me to leave the house for the evening when he’s ga-ga like that.

Our first stop was an entertainment community-oriented mixer. We ran into so many people I knew I almost felt like the shindig was for me. See, when you’ve got a baby and a full time job and a life like that, you have a tendency to forget that there is a world out there you were once a part of and there are folks that you miss or have forgotten about or wished you hadn’t run in to at all. I slurped on Cosmos and two bevies later, I needed some serious nosh.

We made our way to Manuel’s for dinner, snuggled into a corner booth and dug in. Our waitress, who was obviously bored, had the hots for the Hubs and, by the end of dinner, was on the verge of giving him a Latin lap dance. I told him that she was SO flirting with him and he said she wasn’t. It was amazingly apparent and I wondered if he even knows it when a girl is making advances. Must be hard to discern when it doesn’t involve complete nudity, a pounding bass line and a pole. Anyway, I guess I could’ve gotten all bowed up about the scene occurring before my eyes but found it to be rather entertaining. Of course, if she had gotten as close to him as his plate was, I would’ve had to body check her like a hockey player.

We scooted out of there and were home by 10. I tried to play it cool (as in “3 adult beverages don’t do nuthin’ to me”) when I saw Miss Jo out the door but my liquored up lingo had Jo looking at me like I was speaking Klingon. Sorry Miss Jo. I bet it happens a lot. I mean, for all parents, you’re a “get out of jail for $10 an hour” card and you must see some really silly stuff at the end of a night. Do tell next date night, okay?

It's Christmas Up In Here

Where did the year go? Seriously, someone tell me. Before baby, time was measured by the months passed since I had seen an old friend or how long ago that beach trip was or whether or not I had achieved a certain goal. Now it’s blatantly apparent in the form of a little boy who is growing much faster than I can sometimes comprehend. He simultaneously makes me feel old and young, both a gift and a bummer.

Did you happen to hear the deafening screeching sound in the air recently? That was my metabolism pulling off of the road of life and leaving me stranded with the sort of spare tire I don’t want. The Hubs suggested I make some time to exercise. Umm, hello? Time isn’t a paper mache project. I can’t just cut and paste it together. We’re talking about me here, the person that may have a problem with making the best use of her time because every nook and cranny of her life is just about filled with work, parenting, to dos and deadlines. I guess my New Year’s resolution should be to re-evaluate how I go through each day and make better use of every hour. Yeah. That sounds good.

I’m happy to report that this holiday pimp has some new hos. A few of us hit the Christmas tree farm yesterday with a little trepidation but everyone came away feeling the holiday bug biting them in the ass. We noshed on sweets and cheeses before make the journey east. Upon arriving, W was THRILLED to see a tractor pulling the hunters of pine around the farm and was more than eager to climb aboard the hayride and take a lap. At an agreed upon moment, we all yelled STOP and began our descent into the manmade forest. W waved to the tractor driver like she was a long lost friend never to be seen again. Everyone scattered in different directions and in the distance you could hear the squeals of a friend’s kiddos screaming “This one, daddy, this one!” The Hubs and I considered many trees but continued to dilute our choices by moving a little farther off and finding yet another prospect. We both eventually committed to a six footer but moved a little further on to survey a few more. When we came back to claim our tree, it had been cleanly cut away from the earth by who we soon discovered was one of our team. The Hubs was shocked and disappointed as the rest of us laughed and marveled at the popularity of the perfect spruce. Out of 11,000 trees, the one we liked was snatched up but it went to a good home.

The happy fam. It was gloriously cold, like it's supposed to be when you're talking about Santa and reindeer and stuff.
















The lumberjack hard at work on our giant chosen one.
















Now we all get involved. That tree was a monster!
















TJ and Ruby Jane, overseers of Project Tree Removal.
















W bidding a fond farewell to the tractor.

Effin'

So. Effin'. Busy.

More to come.

xo