A hurricane is nothing to joke about and we're lucky to be safe and in the position to have some fun as a family. Enjoy our live report on hurricane Irene from the eye of the storm in Astoria, Queens.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Confession #16: Rumble in the Bronx
Unless you are living in a remote outpost of Denali National Park, AK (Hi Corrie!) then you've all heard we felt the earthquake here in NYC yesterday. For your long-lost-to-the-world-of-blogging NYC Momma, here is how the experience played out:
Arden and I were in the bedroom about to change her diaper when I noticed the mirror on the wall bouncing around. I kept walking and saw the photos on the same wall doing the same thing. In my mind there were only two explanations for what was happening...
Reason #1: I shouldn't have had that fat bomb, otherwise known as a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich, on a bagel for cryin' out loud.... WITH cream in my iced coffee for goodness sake... for my second breakfast. That insane indulgence had pushed me over the fat fatty line so much so that I literally shake the stuff on the walls now when I walk.
Only after having that thought did I realize the stuff was bouncing around while I was standing there observing it. I took a look in the living room and noticed Penny kinda sniffing around which was odd. Then for about 6 seconds I got a strange wave of what seemed like vertigo. Something akin to what then end of reality might feel like. Naaa, just the effects of too much coffee.
Ah ha! I then realized what it was.
Reason #2: Just another huge truck passing by, rumbling our apartment-house around again.
At least that is what I thought until I checked my email... You see, I'm one of those I-love-tv-but-think-it’s-evil moms so I had no idea an earthquake was coming. Now that makes perfect sense.
Gotta go. Off to Shake Shack for lunch... :)
Arden and I were in the bedroom about to change her diaper when I noticed the mirror on the wall bouncing around. I kept walking and saw the photos on the same wall doing the same thing. In my mind there were only two explanations for what was happening...
Reason #1: I shouldn't have had that fat bomb, otherwise known as a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich, on a bagel for cryin' out loud.... WITH cream in my iced coffee for goodness sake... for my second breakfast. That insane indulgence had pushed me over the fat fatty line so much so that I literally shake the stuff on the walls now when I walk.
Only after having that thought did I realize the stuff was bouncing around while I was standing there observing it. I took a look in the living room and noticed Penny kinda sniffing around which was odd. Then for about 6 seconds I got a strange wave of what seemed like vertigo. Something akin to what then end of reality might feel like. Naaa, just the effects of too much coffee.
Ah ha! I then realized what it was.
Reason #2: Just another huge truck passing by, rumbling our apartment-house around again.
At least that is what I thought until I checked my email... You see, I'm one of those I-love-tv-but-think-it’s-evil moms so I had no idea an earthquake was coming. Now that makes perfect sense.
Gotta go. Off to Shake Shack for lunch... :)
Friday, May 20, 2011
Confession #15: Doing It All...not
Long time no excuses. I mean it hasn't been that long and I've got plenty of excuses. Don't we all.
Mostly I've been busting my butt trying to balance some newfound freelance work along with, eh, everything else.
It's a freaking good thing I was never a gymnast...
Balance. What a crock. I tried balancing my checkbook way back when such a thing existed. That was funny.
I have this "sense" that if only I could find balance in my life then I'd stop eating humongous brownies left and right.
There's another mommaloger who I like and I think she put it beautifully in her post "I am so lazy." (Don't you love her already!) I feel like if all I had to do was pick two things to give myself to do each day that I'd come out on top. I'd get out from under that pile of, oh pardon me I mean, those piles of laundry AND Arden and I would have that 2 1/2 hour play-doh fest that she's been lobbying for. Or I'd hone my sister's sense of cleanliness and I'd turn this shackalious 1 bedroom Astorian nightmare into a European W Hotel room AND I'd save some energy for YIKES you know what.
Instead I've got this definition of what it means to be a "good" mom, wife, friend, etc. floating around in my head and, I'm not sure it's actually attainable.
Here's what it would look like: Give Arden 100% of my attention whenever possible, keep food in the house and not just the same old snacks please, call your mom, iChat with family, pray, exercise and that means more than just running around after Arden if you want to hit Starbucks later on, get the stickers off the kitchen floor, OMG wash the wall behind the baby's high chair, get your work done because someone's paying you to do it!, sleep schmeep, pet the cat, bathe the dog, while your at it - bathe yourself and maybe take a razor with you for once and what was all that about wanting, craving, needing a creative outlet so how's about a blog posting for cryin' out loud!
You get the picture and you all have your very own snapshot. The list.
Mostly I've been busting my butt trying to balance some newfound freelance work along with, eh, everything else.
It's a freaking good thing I was never a gymnast...
Balance. What a crock. I tried balancing my checkbook way back when such a thing existed. That was funny.
I have this "sense" that if only I could find balance in my life then I'd stop eating humongous brownies left and right.
There's another mommaloger who I like and I think she put it beautifully in her post "I am so lazy." (Don't you love her already!) I feel like if all I had to do was pick two things to give myself to do each day that I'd come out on top. I'd get out from under that pile of, oh pardon me I mean, those piles of laundry AND Arden and I would have that 2 1/2 hour play-doh fest that she's been lobbying for. Or I'd hone my sister's sense of cleanliness and I'd turn this shackalious 1 bedroom Astorian nightmare into a European W Hotel room AND I'd save some energy for YIKES you know what.
Instead I've got this definition of what it means to be a "good" mom, wife, friend, etc. floating around in my head and, I'm not sure it's actually attainable.
Here's what it would look like: Give Arden 100% of my attention whenever possible, keep food in the house and not just the same old snacks please, call your mom, iChat with family, pray, exercise and that means more than just running around after Arden if you want to hit Starbucks later on, get the stickers off the kitchen floor, OMG wash the wall behind the baby's high chair, get your work done because someone's paying you to do it!, sleep schmeep, pet the cat, bathe the dog, while your at it - bathe yourself and maybe take a razor with you for once and what was all that about wanting, craving, needing a creative outlet so how's about a blog posting for cryin' out loud!
You get the picture and you all have your very own snapshot. The list.
I don’t know how our mothers and grandmothers did it, do it. They never, not once, give off an air of needing something. It’s as if I’ve cosmically let them down when I feel overwhelmed and let it show. All I can do now is hone my inner Grandma Marian and strive to be like her with all of my being.
Oh, and the kid at Lomond in the juggling club who couldn't juggle, yea that was me.
Oh, and the kid at Lomond in the juggling club who couldn't juggle, yea that was me.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
To My Mother
Your beauty and strength
glisten -
there
mine
Your mother, your mother's mother, your mother's mother's mother........
i'm listening
You never once said, "One day you'll see."
if only my eyes would never shut
mean
me
Your gazing upon her my gazing upon you gazing
joy
What can be said of a woman who gives all and loves all
me
mine
mimi
glisten -
there
mine
Your mother, your mother's mother, your mother's mother's mother........
i'm listening
You never once said, "One day you'll see."
if only my eyes would never shut
mean
me
Your gazing upon her my gazing upon you gazing
joy
What can be said of a woman who gives all and loves all
me
mine
mimi
_
Friday, April 22, 2011
Confession #14: Mispronunciation Communication
In the grocery store the other day, Arden pointed to a bag of tea biscuit cookies with a very proud look on her face and said "F$&@!". That's right, the one that rhymes with stuck.
I take complete responsibility for this. I always encourage her to talk and try my darnedest to figure out what she's trying to say. It's so fun to communicate with her like this and I won't pretend the mispronunciations aren't hilarious.
The tea biscuit incident occurred because she thought they were crackers and f$&@ is how she says cracker. Please don't ask me why. A linguist would know... Too many hard sounds and f$&@ is the best she can do. It's pretty impressive how babies will try to say words even if there's no chance they'll be able to really say it. For instance: helicopter is "pop!", computer is "tuter" and avocado is just plain "cado".
One of Arden’s playmates has the exact same explicative way of saying fire truck. At least that's the right idea. Does anyone remember that scene from Backdraft... I mean, hot.
Being able to understand Arden is so important to me. I think all moms are able to understand about 95% of what their kids "say" to them even before they can speak. That's why I was so frustrated when I could not figure out a sign that Arden was doing. A little while back we were in the bath singing songs and she started to pump her fists together as if she was saying she wanted to fight me but that's not what she meant. She was trying to tell me a song that she wanted me to sing and I could not figure it out. She kept pumping her fists together shaking her head no, no to every song title I offered up. It drove me crazy! As time went by, she kept trying that sign to see if I'd figured it out. She is very persistent. Well, one day, while we were watching a bit of Aladdin together, she started to pump her fists together during the song "One Jump" which is a song where Aladdin is being chased by guards through the streets of Agrabah. It's a fight/chase scene that I now have the pleasure of singing and reenacting to her multiple times daily. Thank you Alan Menken.
As I wrote the first part of this posting about a week ago Arden’s ability to pronounce multi-syllable words has increased. So, if you come over for a visit and she calls you a f$&@er, you’ll know she’s just hungry.
I'd love to hear about your own trials of communication! Please feel free to comment and share.
I take complete responsibility for this. I always encourage her to talk and try my darnedest to figure out what she's trying to say. It's so fun to communicate with her like this and I won't pretend the mispronunciations aren't hilarious.
The tea biscuit incident occurred because she thought they were crackers and f$&@ is how she says cracker. Please don't ask me why. A linguist would know... Too many hard sounds and f$&@ is the best she can do. It's pretty impressive how babies will try to say words even if there's no chance they'll be able to really say it. For instance: helicopter is "pop!", computer is "tuter" and avocado is just plain "cado".
One of Arden’s playmates has the exact same explicative way of saying fire truck. At least that's the right idea. Does anyone remember that scene from Backdraft... I mean, hot.
Being able to understand Arden is so important to me. I think all moms are able to understand about 95% of what their kids "say" to them even before they can speak. That's why I was so frustrated when I could not figure out a sign that Arden was doing. A little while back we were in the bath singing songs and she started to pump her fists together as if she was saying she wanted to fight me but that's not what she meant. She was trying to tell me a song that she wanted me to sing and I could not figure it out. She kept pumping her fists together shaking her head no, no to every song title I offered up. It drove me crazy! As time went by, she kept trying that sign to see if I'd figured it out. She is very persistent. Well, one day, while we were watching a bit of Aladdin together, she started to pump her fists together during the song "One Jump" which is a song where Aladdin is being chased by guards through the streets of Agrabah. It's a fight/chase scene that I now have the pleasure of singing and reenacting to her multiple times daily. Thank you Alan Menken.
As I wrote the first part of this posting about a week ago Arden’s ability to pronounce multi-syllable words has increased. So, if you come over for a visit and she calls you a f$&@er, you’ll know she’s just hungry.
I'd love to hear about your own trials of communication! Please feel free to comment and share.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Mean People Suck
I just consumed my third shot of espresso for the day (in latte form) and a large piece of coconut flake covered chocolate cake for lunch. Yep, it’s one of those days. We are well into April and NYC has overcast skies as well as what feels like a high temperature of 2 degrees. I’m huddled on the couch, space heater blasting, trying to warm up my soul.
The baby is watching “Follow That Bird” for the 12,000th time. I’m not proud of that. At this point, I’m practicing zen and the art of the lesser-of-two-evils. Better to have her watch a movie than to have me scream at her.
You know what’s funny? I’ve been thinking about it and I cannot remember my mother yelling at me, not even once. She is a very strong woman but I still don’t know how she did it. Some days I feel like I’ve got my tongue in a never ending headlock.
I don’t want to yell at Arden. No one feels good about themselves when they are being yelled at. That doesn’t make someone feel loved. The look on her face when I yell at her says so much, “I let you down Mom..., I’m sorry Mom..., I feel worthless, I’m mad at you for yelling at me and I am going to hold it over you...” Her facial expression stops my yelling like a swift kick to the heart.
It’s so hard knowing that my lack of patience, creativity and selflessness cause her pain. I wonder if they have a 529 savings account for therapy...
The baby is watching “Follow That Bird” for the 12,000th time. I’m not proud of that. At this point, I’m practicing zen and the art of the lesser-of-two-evils. Better to have her watch a movie than to have me scream at her.
You know what’s funny? I’ve been thinking about it and I cannot remember my mother yelling at me, not even once. She is a very strong woman but I still don’t know how she did it. Some days I feel like I’ve got my tongue in a never ending headlock.
I don’t want to yell at Arden. No one feels good about themselves when they are being yelled at. That doesn’t make someone feel loved. The look on her face when I yell at her says so much, “I let you down Mom..., I’m sorry Mom..., I feel worthless, I’m mad at you for yelling at me and I am going to hold it over you...” Her facial expression stops my yelling like a swift kick to the heart.
It’s so hard knowing that my lack of patience, creativity and selflessness cause her pain. I wonder if they have a 529 savings account for therapy...
Friday, April 8, 2011
Confession #13: It Finally Happened
The trees in NYC have finally started to bloom! It may still be overcast, rainy, freezing winter coat and hat weather out there today but we have flowering trees so that gives me some hope. Ah, New York in spring..., but, that’s not the thing-that-finally-happened that I’m really here to talk about...
Arden jumped! It was so cute. Instead of just bending her legs and doing all the movements of a jump but not having her feet leave the ground like usual, her feet actually defied gravity. It’s so much fun to watch her do things I so take for granted for the first time. One of those joys of parenting that keeps us reproducing. But, that’s not the thing-that-finally-happened either...
Arden walked up and down stairs without crawling, scooting or holding on to anything! We were hanging out at Athens Square (Astoria, Queens is still home to the largest contingency of Greeks outside of Greece) and right in front of the statue of Aristotle, she just started marching up and down, back and forth. It was too funny because as soon as I pointed it out to her, she started crawling up and down the very same stairs. Sometimes analysis is paralysis. But that’s not the thing-that-finally-happened either... It must be obvious by now that I am stalling.
I am about to find out who actually reads my blog because I don’t think there is anyway you can read this and not have something to say about it. Okay, here it goes.
I’ve been dreading this since Arden was a baby. It’s a hazard of living in NYC and a hazard of living in an apartment building. It seemed like it was only a matter of time before it happened. I think it was more likely to happen now since she is a bit older but still puts so many things in her mouth. We had just come home from the store and entered the foyer (if you can call it that) of our building. In the 1.5 seconds it takes me to fold up our stroller Arden found a dead roach on the stairs, picked it up and took a bite. Although her back was to me, as soon as she turned around, I knew what happened...mostly from the “OMG, Mom what did I do” look on her face and the roach legs on her bottom lip. I went a little nuts.
“ARDEN! That’s why I'm always telling you not to pick up stuff off the floor and eat it!!! UGH! BLECH! Why did you bite it? Did you think it was a piece of chocolate?” To which she responded, “Yes.”
I wiped the body parts off her face as fast as humanly possible and made her stick out her tongue so I could wipe that clean as well. Honestly, we got lucky. She hadn’t swallowed anything and the roach was dead, after all.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Suffering Succotash
One of the questions that plagues me daily is how much should I let Arden suffer? Whether we like it or not, suffering is a huge part of life. And I wonder, should I shelter her from as much suffering as possible or allow her to build up a tolerance?
When Arden was three days old we took her for the required visit to her pediatrician. He told us a lot of things and one of the things he said was that we can let her cry. The whole (warning, here I go with the over-hyphenating again) if-you-pick-up-your-baby-every-time-she-cries-you-will-spoil-her thing. So, against what every bone in my body and all my intuition was telling me, we let her cry in her crib at 2am and I went to take a shower. It was awful. As soon as I got out of the shower I ran in and picked her up knowing that it was way too soon for that kind of suffering.
Of course, now at 21 months, letting her cry in her crib is sometimes an option since she's no longer a newborn. Even though I hate to see her cry and I empathize with her, I don’t think it’s a good idea for her to go through her childhood without learning the ropes.
In America’s Women by Gail Collins (NY Times Op Ed writer), Ms. Collins writes about the fascinating lives of women throughout our history in America. When I want to feel smart, I dive in to read a bit. One thing she discusses in the book is how prior to the Civil War, mothers allowed their young daughters to travel, carry on chaste love affairs (ah, those were the days) and return home from dances at 2am. Mothers shielded their daughters from the truth that once they were married, they would basically become home-bound slaves that were expected to keep house and were not allowed to walk the streets alone. But then, the young women would marry and overnight become nothing more than cloistered housewives without any preparation or forewarning. They often struggled to perform all the chores necessary in the 1800s (way beyond Swiffering) since they hadn’t been taught how to do it and they had to figure it all out in isolation. (pp. 137-138)
I don’t want something comparable to happen to Arden. I know that life only gets more difficult as you get older. I want Arden to have a fun and carefree childhood but there has to be a middle ground. I don’t want her to lead a sheltered life as much as I hate to see her suffer. It’s likely better for her to learn how to handle difficulties at home first before having to handle them out in the world. Just surviving me should give her enough experience to prepare her for the world of hard knocks.
When Arden was three days old we took her for the required visit to her pediatrician. He told us a lot of things and one of the things he said was that we can let her cry. The whole (warning, here I go with the over-hyphenating again) if-you-pick-up-your-baby-every-time-she-cries-you-will-spoil-her thing. So, against what every bone in my body and all my intuition was telling me, we let her cry in her crib at 2am and I went to take a shower. It was awful. As soon as I got out of the shower I ran in and picked her up knowing that it was way too soon for that kind of suffering.
Of course, now at 21 months, letting her cry in her crib is sometimes an option since she's no longer a newborn. Even though I hate to see her cry and I empathize with her, I don’t think it’s a good idea for her to go through her childhood without learning the ropes.
In America’s Women by Gail Collins (NY Times Op Ed writer), Ms. Collins writes about the fascinating lives of women throughout our history in America. When I want to feel smart, I dive in to read a bit. One thing she discusses in the book is how prior to the Civil War, mothers allowed their young daughters to travel, carry on chaste love affairs (ah, those were the days) and return home from dances at 2am. Mothers shielded their daughters from the truth that once they were married, they would basically become home-bound slaves that were expected to keep house and were not allowed to walk the streets alone. But then, the young women would marry and overnight become nothing more than cloistered housewives without any preparation or forewarning. They often struggled to perform all the chores necessary in the 1800s (way beyond Swiffering) since they hadn’t been taught how to do it and they had to figure it all out in isolation. (pp. 137-138)
I don’t want something comparable to happen to Arden. I know that life only gets more difficult as you get older. I want Arden to have a fun and carefree childhood but there has to be a middle ground. I don’t want her to lead a sheltered life as much as I hate to see her suffer. It’s likely better for her to learn how to handle difficulties at home first before having to handle them out in the world. Just surviving me should give her enough experience to prepare her for the world of hard knocks.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Redefining Terrible
If you look up the word terrible in the dictionary this is what you find:
Terrible - adj. For definition please ask the parents of a two year old.
I used to think, "Come on, what could be so terrible about a tiny two year old...?" Even though Arden is only 20 months, terrible is beginning to take on a whole new meaning for me.
Here is a list of things she did this morning:
(Please note she was given a warning each time not to continue doing that thing.)
Kick the dog, repeatedly
Grab the computer mouse, hold it over her head and say "Yay!"
Put Kyle's boxers on her head covering her eyes and start walking around
Put a hat over her eyes and try to step off the couch
Walk successfully from the bathroom to the kitchen holding her baby potty over her face (thankfully it hadn't been used)
Throw her fork, twice
Throw egg at me
Wipe yogurt on the back of her high chair
Run away from me naked
Scream in my ear for no apparent reason
Pinch me, timeout number 1
Hit me, timeout number 2
Stand up on the chair repeatedly while in timeout eliciting a longer timeout
Pick pieces of foam off from underneath the air conditioner, timeout number 3
Draw on her leg with crayon
Draw on the tv with crayon
Draw on my face with crayon. Yes, I finally took away the crayons.
Eat stickers
Scream at me, "No baby!!! (meaning, let me put my own boots on)
Chase Mew our cat screaming "Ahhhhhh!"
Spill water on purpose
Spill soup on purpose
And my favorite of the morning..., chew up a pea pod and spit it out all over Penelope our dog's head. I take the blame for that one because no one really wants to eat pea pods anyway.
Terrible - adj. For definition please ask the parents of a two year old.
I used to think, "Come on, what could be so terrible about a tiny two year old...?" Even though Arden is only 20 months, terrible is beginning to take on a whole new meaning for me.
Here is a list of things she did this morning:
(Please note she was given a warning each time not to continue doing that thing.)
Kick the dog, repeatedly
Grab the computer mouse, hold it over her head and say "Yay!"
Put Kyle's boxers on her head covering her eyes and start walking around
Put a hat over her eyes and try to step off the couch
Walk successfully from the bathroom to the kitchen holding her baby potty over her face (thankfully it hadn't been used)
Throw her fork, twice
Throw egg at me
Wipe yogurt on the back of her high chair
Run away from me naked
Scream in my ear for no apparent reason
Pinch me, timeout number 1
Hit me, timeout number 2
Stand up on the chair repeatedly while in timeout eliciting a longer timeout
Pick pieces of foam off from underneath the air conditioner, timeout number 3
Draw on her leg with crayon
Draw on the tv with crayon
Draw on my face with crayon. Yes, I finally took away the crayons.
Eat stickers
Scream at me, "No baby!!! (meaning, let me put my own boots on)
Chase Mew our cat screaming "Ahhhhhh!"
Spill water on purpose
Spill soup on purpose
And my favorite of the morning..., chew up a pea pod and spit it out all over Penelope our dog's head. I take the blame for that one because no one really wants to eat pea pods anyway.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Confession #12: Blame it on the Supermoon
“Don’t you blame it on the lame nap,
Don’t blame it on the diaper rash,
Don’t blame it on the terrible twos,
Blame it on the Supermoon.”
We barely sleep Saturday night and not for any fun reason. Our little girl decided to scream her head off at intervals inhibiting rem sleep all night long. I’ll take this opportunity to remind folks just stopping by that we all sleep in the same bedroom. City living. Na na na na na. Kyle did an extraordinary job of trying to calm down our night-time banshee, unfortunately to no avail. She wanted to be in bed with us and if she didn’t get what she wanted, she was going to go nuts.
We tried to wait her out but after it was clear she was not going to calm herself down, we headed out of the bedroom. That always results in a dramatic increase in the decibel level emitting from our child. Then, thinking we are so rational, we begin to discuss what’s going on. “Well,” I say, “She didn’t get a good nap in...”. “Argh,”, Kyle says, “This wouldn’t be happening if we had a house.” We give her sufficient time to make sure she’s back asleep and we head back in.
Now it’s egg shell time. Arden is in a state where the slightest movement or sound wakes her up for more screaming so we don our invisible astronaut suits and attempt to move weightlessly back into bed.
We make it but can’t fall asleep. It’s so hard to fall asleep without making any adjustments to get comfortable. If I even smell Kyle thinking about turning over I silently yell at him. You see, Arden is like Zool from Ghostbusters. If you even think that she might wake up and start screaming again, she will.
Just as I was telling myself, “clear your mind, clear your mind,” it just popped in there. I couldn’t help it. I started to think about her waking up crying and sure enough, she stood up an started wailing.
By now it’s 1am and the Supermoon is having it’s maximum effect on all of us. We leave the bedroom are now completely irrational. Instead of turning into werewolves we turn into sailors letting every swearword we know rip off in true sleep deprived form. After 20 months of trying to cope in the middle of the night we still haven’t figure out a good way to do it. We totally loose it at some point every time. I believe I take top prize this time by my declaring that I would, “get dressed and walk out the door,” if Kyle blew up the air mattress for me. I should record a video of my 8am self (post-Americano when I am most completely with it) warning my 1am self that, “if you are watching this video you should go sit down and shut up!”
Don’t blame it on the diaper rash,
Don’t blame it on the terrible twos,
Blame it on the Supermoon.”
We barely sleep Saturday night and not for any fun reason. Our little girl decided to scream her head off at intervals inhibiting rem sleep all night long. I’ll take this opportunity to remind folks just stopping by that we all sleep in the same bedroom. City living. Na na na na na. Kyle did an extraordinary job of trying to calm down our night-time banshee, unfortunately to no avail. She wanted to be in bed with us and if she didn’t get what she wanted, she was going to go nuts.
We tried to wait her out but after it was clear she was not going to calm herself down, we headed out of the bedroom. That always results in a dramatic increase in the decibel level emitting from our child. Then, thinking we are so rational, we begin to discuss what’s going on. “Well,” I say, “She didn’t get a good nap in...”. “Argh,”, Kyle says, “This wouldn’t be happening if we had a house.” We give her sufficient time to make sure she’s back asleep and we head back in.
Now it’s egg shell time. Arden is in a state where the slightest movement or sound wakes her up for more screaming so we don our invisible astronaut suits and attempt to move weightlessly back into bed.
We make it but can’t fall asleep. It’s so hard to fall asleep without making any adjustments to get comfortable. If I even smell Kyle thinking about turning over I silently yell at him. You see, Arden is like Zool from Ghostbusters. If you even think that she might wake up and start screaming again, she will.
Just as I was telling myself, “clear your mind, clear your mind,” it just popped in there. I couldn’t help it. I started to think about her waking up crying and sure enough, she stood up an started wailing.
By now it’s 1am and the Supermoon is having it’s maximum effect on all of us. We leave the bedroom are now completely irrational. Instead of turning into werewolves we turn into sailors letting every swearword we know rip off in true sleep deprived form. After 20 months of trying to cope in the middle of the night we still haven’t figure out a good way to do it. We totally loose it at some point every time. I believe I take top prize this time by my declaring that I would, “get dressed and walk out the door,” if Kyle blew up the air mattress for me. I should record a video of my 8am self (post-Americano when I am most completely with it) warning my 1am self that, “if you are watching this video you should go sit down and shut up!”
 | ||
| Thank you Supermoon. You are beautiful but if it's another 18 years until we meet again that's fine by me. |
Saturday, March 19, 2011
And the Winner Is...
Liza767! Congratulations! I'll be in contact by email to get your shipping information to send your copy of:
Gustafer Yellowgold's Infinity Sock Off-Broadway show was GREAT! Arden got to meet Gustafer in person since they had someone wear a very well done costume at the end of the show.
Thanks to everyone who became a subscriber and commented on my blog! I appreciate all the support so much. Looks like I'll soon pass 1,000 views, wow!
Gustafer Yellowgold's Infinity Sock Off-Broadway show was GREAT! Arden got to meet Gustafer in person since they had someone wear a very well done costume at the end of the show.
Thanks to everyone who became a subscriber and commented on my blog! I appreciate all the support so much. Looks like I'll soon pass 1,000 views, wow!
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Gustafer Yellowgold Shout-Out and Giveaway!
Allow me to introduce you to Gustafer Yellowgold! Gustafer is a yellow creature who came to earth from the sun and landed in a Minnesota lake. He quickly makes many friends like Slim, the eel and Forest Applecrumbie, the pterodactyl. Two friends of mine, Morgan Taylor and Rachel Loshak, are the brains, music, illustrations and wonderment behind Gustafer. Morgan illustrates, writes, records and performs all that is Gustafer Yellowgold and Rachel sings, plays bass and masterfully runs the business.
Morgan is one of the best songwriters I know. The “soft rock” style behind Gustafer is so fun to listen to. Every song becomes a favorite. Morgan likes to rock out and also writes so creatively using different instruments like French horn (ahem) in so much of his music. Gustafer Yellowgold has become a success while being marketed as a great thing for kids but anyone will enjoy it!
You can experience Gustafer Yellowgold in many ways. There are currently 4 DVD/CD sets available. Each DVD consists of songs with animated illustrations, Gustafer music videos if you will. They ROCK! You can pick ‘em up here.
Also, if you live in or going to be visiting the NYC area in the coming weeks, you can check out Gustafer Yellowgold’s Infinity Sock, their new off-Broadway show (i.e. A BIG DEAL). Arden and I will be there (the DR2 Theatre at Union Square) with bells on this coming Saturday, March 19 for the 11am show. Please join us! Tickets can be purchased here. They've generously given us a discount code: DR2GUST. Gustafer Yellowgold shows are such a great time. I really am not sure who enjoys them more, me or Arden.
And last but not least, to show my love for Gustafer I am going to be giving away a copy of their second DVD/CD set Gustafer Yellowgold’s ‘Have You Never Been Yellow?’ You can check out one of my favorite songs from that DVD called “Pinecone Lovely” here. I’m sure that song is the reason why one of Arden’s first words was pine!
To be entered to win all you have to do is either become a follower of my blog, Confessions of an NYC Mom, or comment on one of my other posts. Please comment. I really want to hear from you! Do you like what I am writing about? Can you relate to it? Am I just annoying? Let me know.
You’ll be entered into the drawing once per subscription or comment with no limits. Arden and I will pick a winner literally out of a hat next Saturday afternoon after the Gustafer show.
Good luck everyone and I hope to see you on Saturday!
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Confession #11: More is More is More or (I have everything I ever wanted so why am I still unhappy?)
Arden loves to play with my jewelry. She likes to play with the jewelry of mine she is allowed to play with but she loves to play with the jewelry she is not supposed to play with. I believe that sums up the problem with human nature. She’ll scamper across our bed making her way to my jewelry box saying, “Neck, Brace, Ring!”, and after reminding her to say please, I start to open a drawer when she shouts, “No, No, NO! Mamma, Mamma!” I am immediately on to her and I almost immediately give in to her wishes. I let her try on a ring and she utters her favorite exclamation, “Wow...” sounding like a cross between a stoner and a valley girl. Then, I offer a bracelet which is received with the same wonderment. You can guess what she said next. “More!” I tell her, “That’s it. That’s all the bracelets,” and she shouts, “more, moRE, MORE!!” I busted out laughing. Even when we get a little bit of what we want, we always want more.
I have everything I’ve ever wanted. It’s true. I have a husband who loves me and a healthy, beautiful daughter. Maybe it seems crazy but that’s it. That is all I truly longed for in this life. Of course other things are very important to me like being a good daughter, sister and friend but growing up, as old fashioned as it might sound, I wanted to be a wife and a mother.
So, why is it that I have days like last Wednesday. It was one of the worst days I can recall. I honestly thought I might be going crazy and not in a funny way. I felt like a complete emotional wreck and no, unfortunately I couldn’t blame this on some female thing. This was way past waking up on the wrong side of the bed. It was like I was undergoing some sort of emotional warfare. I was off balance, uncentered and felt out of control which is no way to feel as a mother.
But that’s just it. Judging. I shouldn’t feel out of control. I’m a mother for goodness sake. What kind of mother lets herself lose control... and on and on and on. I had come down with a bad case of the i’m-not-good-enoughs and I was currently on trial. Every whine, fuss, “NO!”, hit, pulling of an animal’s hair, throwing of food after I’ve asked you not to nicely how many times... felt like an addition to the list of accusations. I was on trial as defendant, prosecutor and judge and there seemed no escaping the verdict: You are not a good mom.
Why was I doing this to myself? The answer was revealed to me while reflecting over a mountain of dishes.
Arden was becoming my meaning in life. She wasn’t just a wonderful, good part of my life to treasure, nurture and love, she was defining me. I was taking everything she said or did so personally. I was unforgivingly hard on myself in my mothering of her because if I wasn’t a good mother, I wasn’t anything.
We all long to feel important. To have worth. To be known and accepted and loved. But paradoxically, by placing the weight of my self worth onto being a good mother I was destroying my ability to do the very thing I most longed to do.
We’ve all got to derive our meaning in life from something and it seems safest to place it in something of eternal value. I believe Sting said it best:
“If you love someone. If you LOVE someone. Set them free. Free, free, set them free.”
I have everything I’ve ever wanted. It’s true. I have a husband who loves me and a healthy, beautiful daughter. Maybe it seems crazy but that’s it. That is all I truly longed for in this life. Of course other things are very important to me like being a good daughter, sister and friend but growing up, as old fashioned as it might sound, I wanted to be a wife and a mother.
So, why is it that I have days like last Wednesday. It was one of the worst days I can recall. I honestly thought I might be going crazy and not in a funny way. I felt like a complete emotional wreck and no, unfortunately I couldn’t blame this on some female thing. This was way past waking up on the wrong side of the bed. It was like I was undergoing some sort of emotional warfare. I was off balance, uncentered and felt out of control which is no way to feel as a mother.
But that’s just it. Judging. I shouldn’t feel out of control. I’m a mother for goodness sake. What kind of mother lets herself lose control... and on and on and on. I had come down with a bad case of the i’m-not-good-enoughs and I was currently on trial. Every whine, fuss, “NO!”, hit, pulling of an animal’s hair, throwing of food after I’ve asked you not to nicely how many times... felt like an addition to the list of accusations. I was on trial as defendant, prosecutor and judge and there seemed no escaping the verdict: You are not a good mom.
Why was I doing this to myself? The answer was revealed to me while reflecting over a mountain of dishes.
Arden was becoming my meaning in life. She wasn’t just a wonderful, good part of my life to treasure, nurture and love, she was defining me. I was taking everything she said or did so personally. I was unforgivingly hard on myself in my mothering of her because if I wasn’t a good mother, I wasn’t anything.
We all long to feel important. To have worth. To be known and accepted and loved. But paradoxically, by placing the weight of my self worth onto being a good mother I was destroying my ability to do the very thing I most longed to do.
We’ve all got to derive our meaning in life from something and it seems safest to place it in something of eternal value. I believe Sting said it best:
“If you love someone. If you LOVE someone. Set them free. Free, free, set them free.”
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Stay Tuned!
I'll have a new post up any day now. I'm hoping for this evening but the baby has a cold so you never know. Also, I'll be having my first give-away! That's right. Details TBA by Monday so stay tuned!
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Confession #10: Weighing In
I'd say I'm adequately thin. I currently fit into most of my pre-baby clothing. I weigh the same as I did pre-baby. But, I would not spend time looking at myself in the mirror naked. I'm no Natalie Portman (note: I wrote this before she won the Oscar and before I found out she was pregnant). In fact, I'm falsely representing my pre-baby weight now since fat weighs less than muscle and I worked out then while I barely hit a downward dog nowadays.
Then, I saw it. I saw it waving back at me. There it was in all it's glory, making itself known to me for the first time in baggage claim at lga: my arm fat. It called out to me:
“Hello! Hi! Thanks for all the chocolate, chips, cheese and other crap you've been eating. Keep up the good work laying off those tricep dips. Talk to ya."
I don't know who invented cap sleeve tees anyway...
Oy.
And then, there was the need for a new pair of jeans. God help us all. Girls you know what I'm talking about. Men, you have no idea.
Guys walk into Macy's, pick up your 34/34s or whatever and walk out.
Oh no. Not girls.
You gotta try 'em on and try on lots of 'em to find the right pair. It's a lot like finding your wedding dress. Do they have a "This is gonna make my husband notice me" factor? What about the "Can I squat down and wipe off my kids face without mooning people" factor? What shoes can I wear these with? What shirts? How much food can I eat and how much can I drink and still be able to breathe while wearing these? And on and on...
So me and the baby hoofed it to the Gap on Steinway Street (yes that's the one: "Get it on Steinway,....Steinway Street!") one morning for our jeans excursion. I had a gift certificate and hadn't eaten much that morning in hopes of looking thin, so it was time to get ‘er done.
I focused and picked up 4 different styles of size 8 jeans and prayed oh please let me not look like sausage links, oh please. Arden and I got into a dressing room and the fun began.
I put on the regular bootcut pair and shockingly, I don't look horrifying. I round up Arden, do another quick scan for anything fatal she could pick up off the floor and ingest, and I move on to pair #2. The curvy fit. Ah, home at last. My heart started to beat faster as I realized I made it to the undiscovered country of a perfect jean. The rise wasn't embarrassingly high or low. The fit not too tight or loose. I loved the wash and thought they'd still fit after being washed. A winner. Then I tried on the jeggings just for a good laugh and I good laugh I had.
All joking aside I accept and love my post-baby body. I have the telltale belly. I even still have a fine linea negra. My boobs, okay I won’t go there. They certainly earned their keep. I’m proud. I am proud to physically reflect the fact that I incubated and gave birth to a baby. Time to start accepting and embracing the chances that come along with being a mom. Thankfully there’s always a new fit to try.
Then, I saw it. I saw it waving back at me. There it was in all it's glory, making itself known to me for the first time in baggage claim at lga: my arm fat. It called out to me:
“Hello! Hi! Thanks for all the chocolate, chips, cheese and other crap you've been eating. Keep up the good work laying off those tricep dips. Talk to ya."
I don't know who invented cap sleeve tees anyway...
Oy.
And then, there was the need for a new pair of jeans. God help us all. Girls you know what I'm talking about. Men, you have no idea.
Guys walk into Macy's, pick up your 34/34s or whatever and walk out.
Oh no. Not girls.
You gotta try 'em on and try on lots of 'em to find the right pair. It's a lot like finding your wedding dress. Do they have a "This is gonna make my husband notice me" factor? What about the "Can I squat down and wipe off my kids face without mooning people" factor? What shoes can I wear these with? What shirts? How much food can I eat and how much can I drink and still be able to breathe while wearing these? And on and on...
So me and the baby hoofed it to the Gap on Steinway Street (yes that's the one: "Get it on Steinway,....Steinway Street!") one morning for our jeans excursion. I had a gift certificate and hadn't eaten much that morning in hopes of looking thin, so it was time to get ‘er done.
I focused and picked up 4 different styles of size 8 jeans and prayed oh please let me not look like sausage links, oh please. Arden and I got into a dressing room and the fun began.
I put on the regular bootcut pair and shockingly, I don't look horrifying. I round up Arden, do another quick scan for anything fatal she could pick up off the floor and ingest, and I move on to pair #2. The curvy fit. Ah, home at last. My heart started to beat faster as I realized I made it to the undiscovered country of a perfect jean. The rise wasn't embarrassingly high or low. The fit not too tight or loose. I loved the wash and thought they'd still fit after being washed. A winner. Then I tried on the jeggings just for a good laugh and I good laugh I had.
All joking aside I accept and love my post-baby body. I have the telltale belly. I even still have a fine linea negra. My boobs, okay I won’t go there. They certainly earned their keep. I’m proud. I am proud to physically reflect the fact that I incubated and gave birth to a baby. Time to start accepting and embracing the chances that come along with being a mom. Thankfully there’s always a new fit to try.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Is there anybody out there?
Mornin' everyone! I'm getting hungry for some feedback and would love to hear and respond to your comments. It seems its the thing to do in the blogosphere. Please let me know your thoughts on my postings or anything you feel like talking about. I'd really love to hear them! As a thank you, here is picture of my girl.
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| Mile High Snow Bunny |
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Confession #9: Weinheimer
Arden flipped on her whining switch and I think I'm about to blow my fuse.
I have never been a particularly patient person. It's not a prerequisite for living in NYC. In fact, it's frowned upon. When I first moved here from Oberlin, OH I got a job at the Barnes & Noble at Lincoln Center. I'll never forget how my supervisor at the Info Desk told me to "stop wasting time with all the hello how are you stuff". You may have heard about us New Yorkers and it's all completely true. We want it fast. We don't wanna wait. We definitely don't wanna hear how you, your kids or your mom are doing if for some reason we are waiting.
The patience involved in caring for your own child is a bit different. She's my gorgeous, funny, sweet baby girl who is making me totally lose my mind! She's pushing and pushing and pushing me! I'm pretty sure my parents are smiling in that payback-is-a-little-bit-sweet kinda way.
I don't know what happened. It seems like we got back from Denver and the child went bazonkers. "Mama Mama Mama Mama Mama Mama, no, no, no, no, no, wa wa, wa wa, wa wa, wa wa et al.”
Here is a sample "conversation" from this morning:
Arden: (with tone becoming increasingly frenzied with each repetition) "peach, peach, peach, peach, peach..."
Momma: (One eye open, half dressed and have to pee because it's 6:01am and we literally just got out of bed, tone calm and singsongy) "Arden, I hear you. I'll get you peach in one minute. Mommy has to pee."
Arden: (no tone only whining) "Ahahahahnpeachypeachyahahaahahmommamommahahahaha!)
Momma: (praying to God almighty please give me the strength to make it through the next 14 hours of this!) -- I try to ignore the whining.
Arden: (It's on. Now she's trying to climb onto my lap while I'm peeing, knocks the toilet paper out of my hand and is still whining) "Up, up, up, up..."
Time: still 6:01am
I feel like I enlisted. She barks orders at me and its comply or suffer the consequences. The child knows how to say please. She knows I want her to say it. She knows I wait for her or make her say it each time she demands something. But regardless of the seemingly thousands of times we have gone through this, she does not say please on her own without prompting. I believe Bill Cosby refers to this as brain damage.
So, basically, I'm in trouble.
I love this brain damaged child and I do not want to scream at her. This none-too-patient NYC Momma is relying heavily on the serenity prayer, our dog Penny and songs from the Little Mermaid.
I was commiserating with a dear friend of mine (mother to 4 boys) about my situation. She said that the whining tends to stop some time around age 4. "God grant me the serenity..."
I have never been a particularly patient person. It's not a prerequisite for living in NYC. In fact, it's frowned upon. When I first moved here from Oberlin, OH I got a job at the Barnes & Noble at Lincoln Center. I'll never forget how my supervisor at the Info Desk told me to "stop wasting time with all the hello how are you stuff". You may have heard about us New Yorkers and it's all completely true. We want it fast. We don't wanna wait. We definitely don't wanna hear how you, your kids or your mom are doing if for some reason we are waiting.
The patience involved in caring for your own child is a bit different. She's my gorgeous, funny, sweet baby girl who is making me totally lose my mind! She's pushing and pushing and pushing me! I'm pretty sure my parents are smiling in that payback-is-a-little-bit-sweet kinda way.
I don't know what happened. It seems like we got back from Denver and the child went bazonkers. "Mama Mama Mama Mama Mama Mama, no, no, no, no, no, wa wa, wa wa, wa wa, wa wa et al.”
Arden: (with tone becoming increasingly frenzied with each repetition) "peach, peach, peach, peach, peach..."
Momma: (One eye open, half dressed and have to pee because it's 6:01am and we literally just got out of bed, tone calm and singsongy) "Arden, I hear you. I'll get you peach in one minute. Mommy has to pee."
Arden: (no tone only whining) "Ahahahahnpeachypeachyahahaahahmommamommahahahaha!)
Momma: (praying to God almighty please give me the strength to make it through the next 14 hours of this!) -- I try to ignore the whining.
Arden: (It's on. Now she's trying to climb onto my lap while I'm peeing, knocks the toilet paper out of my hand and is still whining) "Up, up, up, up..."
Time: still 6:01am
I feel like I enlisted. She barks orders at me and its comply or suffer the consequences. The child knows how to say please. She knows I want her to say it. She knows I wait for her or make her say it each time she demands something. But regardless of the seemingly thousands of times we have gone through this, she does not say please on her own without prompting. I believe Bill Cosby refers to this as brain damage.
So, basically, I'm in trouble.
I love this brain damaged child and I do not want to scream at her. This none-too-patient NYC Momma is relying heavily on the serenity prayer, our dog Penny and songs from the Little Mermaid.
I was commiserating with a dear friend of mine (mother to 4 boys) about my situation. She said that the whining tends to stop some time around age 4. "God grant me the serenity..."
Friday, February 18, 2011
Confession #8 - Disclaimer: Don't read this on your lunch break
I wasn't sure how long I'd last without writing about puke or poop. I guess now we know. Everybody knows you deal with a ton of both when you have a baby. I didn't know that it gets progressively worse as the baby grows older.
Breastfed babies are like a dream. It barely smells coming from either end. Except for the frequency and our use of "save-the-planet" diapers, it wouldn't have been much trouble. Armed with a bunch of cloth diapers to use as burp cloths we were rarely ever covered in regurgitated milk. Now, it's a completely different story that's basically all my fault.
Our darling girl has been very sick the past 6 weeks. And despite our best efforts we've been sick as well. It's been one virus after another. Thank you Sunday school nursery. I've been saying that we might as well be licking subway poles for how sick we've been. Yea. That sounds fun.
The only thing worse than a sick baby is a sick husband and the only thing worse than a sick husband is having to take care of them both while you yourself are also, sick. For three weeks we had what Im dubbing the plague of 2011. Fever, achy with a horrible cough so bad Kyle literally could not sleep. He had to get on a medicine that told his brain not to cough. Good times.
The baby rounded out that virus with a secondary ear infection. Then, she caught a stomach virus. I discovered this at 12am one morning when she woke up and vomited all over her crib. My comforting instincts go into overdrive when my daughter is puking. I just want to make her feel better. So when she is voming and calling my name and trying to hug on to me, I let her. If this strikes you as extremely stupid, it is. Arden continued to puke all night long so many times that I lost track and we were both out of clothing the next morning. She kept asking for water and then puking it up. You'd think I'd only fall for that once and I did until I thought "maybe she's done" and it happened again.
She went a whole day without vomiting and then we had our first projectile. Frankly, it was pretty awesome. It came totally out of the blue while she was in her highchair in the kitchen. I was on the phone with Kyle and was like, "projectile, gotta go". The clean-up job didn't appear to be too bad until I noticed the dog had been hit. 2 baths and a shave down later the poor girl still smelled like puke.
I thought that I had outsmarted the virus by not eating. It had been 48 hours without my vomiting so even though I wasn't hungry, I had a small bowl of popcorn that Kyle made. Who out there can smell fresh popcorn and not eat some? I wish I hadn't. Out of no where, an unholy feeling came over me when I was up with the baby in the middle of the night. I've never felt anything like it. I ran into the bedroom and said "take the baby!" and thankfully Kyle woke up and was coherent. Popcorn. What was I thinking?
The next episode was also completely my fault. We brush my darling daughter's teeth and have been doing so for some time. We've done it all. Sing about it, laugh, make it a game, use Brushy-Teethy Guy the hand puppet, ultimatums, you name it we might have tried it. Sometimes she won't go for any of it and we have to force her. This is one of the things I didn't realize I signed up for when we got pregnant. Arden hates being forced to do anything. We use an electric toothbrush so it is literally once over all surface area and she's done. She usually recovers quickly from this enforcement but the night before our trip to Denver, we were not so lucky. She got herself so upset that, you guessed it, it triggered her gag reflex and everything from her apparently 10 course dinner came up. I will be holding her over the toilet from here on out.
Breastfed babies are like a dream. It barely smells coming from either end. Except for the frequency and our use of "save-the-planet" diapers, it wouldn't have been much trouble. Armed with a bunch of cloth diapers to use as burp cloths we were rarely ever covered in regurgitated milk. Now, it's a completely different story that's basically all my fault.
Our darling girl has been very sick the past 6 weeks. And despite our best efforts we've been sick as well. It's been one virus after another. Thank you Sunday school nursery. I've been saying that we might as well be licking subway poles for how sick we've been. Yea. That sounds fun.
The only thing worse than a sick baby is a sick husband and the only thing worse than a sick husband is having to take care of them both while you yourself are also, sick. For three weeks we had what Im dubbing the plague of 2011. Fever, achy with a horrible cough so bad Kyle literally could not sleep. He had to get on a medicine that told his brain not to cough. Good times.
The baby rounded out that virus with a secondary ear infection. Then, she caught a stomach virus. I discovered this at 12am one morning when she woke up and vomited all over her crib. My comforting instincts go into overdrive when my daughter is puking. I just want to make her feel better. So when she is voming and calling my name and trying to hug on to me, I let her. If this strikes you as extremely stupid, it is. Arden continued to puke all night long so many times that I lost track and we were both out of clothing the next morning. She kept asking for water and then puking it up. You'd think I'd only fall for that once and I did until I thought "maybe she's done" and it happened again.
She went a whole day without vomiting and then we had our first projectile. Frankly, it was pretty awesome. It came totally out of the blue while she was in her highchair in the kitchen. I was on the phone with Kyle and was like, "projectile, gotta go". The clean-up job didn't appear to be too bad until I noticed the dog had been hit. 2 baths and a shave down later the poor girl still smelled like puke.
I thought that I had outsmarted the virus by not eating. It had been 48 hours without my vomiting so even though I wasn't hungry, I had a small bowl of popcorn that Kyle made. Who out there can smell fresh popcorn and not eat some? I wish I hadn't. Out of no where, an unholy feeling came over me when I was up with the baby in the middle of the night. I've never felt anything like it. I ran into the bedroom and said "take the baby!" and thankfully Kyle woke up and was coherent. Popcorn. What was I thinking?
The next episode was also completely my fault. We brush my darling daughter's teeth and have been doing so for some time. We've done it all. Sing about it, laugh, make it a game, use Brushy-Teethy Guy the hand puppet, ultimatums, you name it we might have tried it. Sometimes she won't go for any of it and we have to force her. This is one of the things I didn't realize I signed up for when we got pregnant. Arden hates being forced to do anything. We use an electric toothbrush so it is literally once over all surface area and she's done. She usually recovers quickly from this enforcement but the night before our trip to Denver, we were not so lucky. She got herself so upset that, you guessed it, it triggered her gag reflex and everything from her apparently 10 course dinner came up. I will be holding her over the toilet from here on out.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Confession #7: 10:23pm 1/29/11
My husband has a pretty brutal schedule these days which affords us about 30 minutes each evening that we can spend together without the baby. Some of you might say that just the perfect amount of time and sometimes it is, but mostly it seems a precious few minutes of a life we once knew. We were together for many years before having a baby which is fairly normal for “young professionals” these days. I look back on all the time we were able to spend together hanging out, dancing, playing cards, doing whatever with a sense of unbelieving nostalgia. Did those times really exist? Most days we are usually so exhausted that it takes all of our energy during those 30 minutes not to fight let alone to get up and dance.
I remember how dramatically having an infant changed my relationship with my husband. No matter how many people tell you that everything changes when you have a baby, there is no real way to know until it actually happens to you. I believe that’s called learning the hard way and that’s the only way I know how to do things.
Something happens to you when you give birth. You bring a new life into the world but also become a cold-blooded killer. At least I know I did. Some might call it a mother's instinct to protect her offspring. I only know that at that moment I gained the ability to kill.
Whether it's hormonal, instinct or something else entirely, having a baby completely changes how you relate to the world. The baby comes first, all else is second. Showering, eating, sleeping, husbands, other people's lives... it all comes after the safety, security and comfort of that little being.
This overnight physiological change is extremely traumatic to a marriage. I think especially for the husband. All of the sudden it's like they don't exist other than to hand you things and get yelled at for not doing something right. Thankfully infancy is a non-permanent condition. Each month as the infant grows older, it seems the demand on the parents lessens a bit from the intensity of those first few months. Even still, once a woman becomes a mother there is no going back to being a trophy wife. There simply isn't time.
Last Saturday evening, Kyle and I had a brief reprieve from the demands of life. We were not completely exhausted, likely due to our ridiculous caffeine intake, so we spent the evening having dinner and watching Dream Girls on TV. When we climbed into bed that night we held hands instead of just getting comfortable as quickly as possible so as not to wake the baby. Kyle caressed, tickled, and squeezed my hand in a conversation saying so much without saying anything at all. In that moment my heart filled to overflowing with joy. I buzzed from head to toe and my heart felt 30 times larger. We were still "we". Us. Husband and wife. Lovers. Not only Momma and Dadda although we are still them as well. I looked at the clock to see what time it was that I'd been given this moment so that I could try to remember it for the rest of my life. Just like Blaise Pascal who my pastor often quotes, it was a moment I longed to inscribe on my heart.
Whether it's hormonal, instinct or something else entirely, having a baby completely changes how you relate to the world. The baby comes first, all else is second. Showering, eating, sleeping, husbands, other people's lives... it all comes after the safety, security and comfort of that little being.
This overnight physiological change is extremely traumatic to a marriage. I think especially for the husband. All of the sudden it's like they don't exist other than to hand you things and get yelled at for not doing something right. Thankfully infancy is a non-permanent condition. Each month as the infant grows older, it seems the demand on the parents lessens a bit from the intensity of those first few months. Even still, once a woman becomes a mother there is no going back to being a trophy wife. There simply isn't time.
Last Saturday evening, Kyle and I had a brief reprieve from the demands of life. We were not completely exhausted, likely due to our ridiculous caffeine intake, so we spent the evening having dinner and watching Dream Girls on TV. When we climbed into bed that night we held hands instead of just getting comfortable as quickly as possible so as not to wake the baby. Kyle caressed, tickled, and squeezed my hand in a conversation saying so much without saying anything at all. In that moment my heart filled to overflowing with joy. I buzzed from head to toe and my heart felt 30 times larger. We were still "we". Us. Husband and wife. Lovers. Not only Momma and Dadda although we are still them as well. I looked at the clock to see what time it was that I'd been given this moment so that I could try to remember it for the rest of my life. Just like Blaise Pascal who my pastor often quotes, it was a moment I longed to inscribe on my heart.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Confession #6: Staying or Going?
As any other role in life, being a stay at home mom sometimes makes me feel ecstatically happy while other times making me feel totally out-of-my-mind crazy. Like check me into Bellevue to my heart is going to burst with joy.
I became a SAHM (worst abbrev. ever) last August when my husband was offered a job with Apple. He gave me a gift I had always wanted. The chance to be home and care for my already 13 month old daughter. The funny thing is, I always had the expectation that I would be at home raising my children. It was such a long existing and controlling expectation that I never even mentioned it to my husband. I assumed he knew about it. Whoops. Probably one of the best things anyone who is married can do is to throw the phrase, “Well, I just assumed ________” out the window. To assume is to sufferer the consequences.
So, for the past 5 months I’ve been living the dream and barely dreaming as those with kids well know. All of those cheesy inspirational plaques with pictures of soaring eagles or waterfalls keep popping into my head. “Anything worth doing takes effort.” Fly Pale Male, fly! Or, “Live each day to it’s fullest.” Oh, what a pretty rainbow. The reason they’ve been popping in there lately is because taking care of a baby is so much freaking work!! Sometimes it’s 8am and we’ve already eaten, done tricks with the dog, read 5 books, watched Elmo’s world, built a castle, played chase and had a dance party. All I can think of is its 5 degrees outside, I want more coffee and how am I going to keep her from watching TV for another 11 hours? Every second you are teaching, disciplining, bathing, dressing, feeding, cleaning, changing diapers, brushing teeth, talking, singing, did I mention cleaning, and just literally running around all day. It’s totally exhausting and absolutely as rewarding as people say it is. You are putting in the hours and can see the reward. Those little blue eyes look up at you with a sparkle as she giggles and calls you “Momma” and you just melt. She can say the last word of every sentence in Madeline Loves Animals now. She can sing, usually on pitch, some words from “Rocket Shoes”. They are among the most precious sounds I’ve ever heard.
Caring for Arden full-time makes having to leave her a completely different experience than when I was working. Each morning when I would leave for work I would feel my heart being ripped out of my chest as I walked out the door. Sometimes I could barely hold back the tears behind my smiles and waves. Kyle would hear my sobbing as I walked down the stairs and I can only imagine what that did to him. Now, on the other hand, when I leave the house I feel as though I’ve stepped onto the scene of a music video for a sassy rock song being shot in black and white where I am the girl who’s got the whole world as her oyster so watch out! Not only that but I am on my way to teach a rock band at a private school so I’m exercising that Master’s degree in Music (yea, we’re still paying it off) and I’ll tell ya, it feels good.
I call Kyle on the long walk back from the school on the East River to the subway on Lexington Avenue to see how everyone is faring. Arden has been asleep the ENTIRE time I have been gone! Of course she has… He asks me where I am on my walk back and in my sans-child state of giddiness I reply, “on the corner of 1st Avenue and I’m getting in a cab and never coming home!” We can laugh since I’d never actually do it.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Confession #5: Bagels, Sanitation Workers and A Bloody Lip
I’m fairly certain that most people know how famous NYC is for its bagels. They say it’s the water. Whatever it is, we deserve to be known for them. NYC bagels have the ability to blow your mind, if you get ‘em from the right place. In Astoria, we have the Brooklyn Bagel & Coffee Company. They have 3 locations in Astoria, 1 in Chelsea and ZERO in Brooklyn from what I can tell. They just won the AOL City’s award for best bagel in NYC. Residents of the UWS may feel this a heresy against H&H but don’t jump to that conclusion too quickly. A comparison of the almighty everything bagel that I took upon myself over the past few months reveals the Brooklyn Bagel & Coffee Co. as the runaway winner. I didn’t count specifically but the last H&H everything bagel I ate had about 80 kinda yummy bits to the approx. 500 extremely yummy bits on the Brooklyn everything bagel. H&H bagels now cost about $10 each so it’s just another reason for me to buy local.
I have a love/hate relationship with our closest Brooklyn Bagel & Coffee Co. spot that dates back to this past summer. I love it because it is somewhere nearby I can take Arden to. Our first outing for bagels occurred in July when I called them at 6:01am to see if they were open yet. I prayed that someone would pick up because my 1 year old was already driving me bananas! It’s not even her fault. She needed a change of scenery and I needed a red eye.
We went out into the already oppressive heat to get our breakfast. As soon as we began to dig into our food, the bagel shop became overrun with NYC sanitation department workers. I mean there were about 12 guys in there and me and Arden. They were all amazed at how much she was eating. They were also kind not to point out what a ridiculous mess she was making. It's hard to explain but at that point in time she got as much food on herself and the floor as she put into her mouth. The cute ringleader said Arden's eyes looked like, "Hey, who's that actress with those beautiful blue eyes, you know,... Annette Bening. Yea. Her eyes look just like Annette Bening's. Well, she gets 'em from her mom". I'm pretty sure my cheeks were on fire from blushing so hard and I don't think the sanitation department carries hoses to extinguish that sort of thing. I then realize that it's time for me to get going to work. The only problem is that in my harried state of mind when leaving the house, I'd put on only a rather short yellow dress. So, I try to maintain my cool as I attempt to clean up Arden's mess without pulling a semi-Britney.
Last week we had another experience entirely at the BBCC. It began with the clerk calling me "baby". I can assure you he was not referring to Arden. I was pissed. All I want is a bagel. Can I please just buy a bagel without a sexual reference? Maybe I should just be flattered that someone finds me attractive in head-to-toe snow gear with a baby strapped to my body. I don't know.
We sit down at a table and Arden strikes up a conversation with some very friendly people originally from Croatia and Montenegro. They are being so sweet to her, engaging her and complimenting her. Our bagels taste great. The XM coffee house radio station is playing some nice acoustic tunes. It's shaping up to be a lovely little outing after all when, "Achoo-BAM" Arden sneezes while reaching for a minuscule crumb and slams her face down onto the way-too-nice-quality-for-a-bagel-shop marble table. The whole place becomes silent as she lifts her head up and cries only a tiny bit. She's a toughy. She'd given herself a bloody lower lip and I felt like a terrible Momma. I know I can't prevent her from getting hurt but situations like that are the worst. Luckily, nothing can come between her and food so she happily took another sip of juice and seemed no worse for wear.
I have a love/hate relationship with our closest Brooklyn Bagel & Coffee Co. spot that dates back to this past summer. I love it because it is somewhere nearby I can take Arden to. Our first outing for bagels occurred in July when I called them at 6:01am to see if they were open yet. I prayed that someone would pick up because my 1 year old was already driving me bananas! It’s not even her fault. She needed a change of scenery and I needed a red eye.
We went out into the already oppressive heat to get our breakfast. As soon as we began to dig into our food, the bagel shop became overrun with NYC sanitation department workers. I mean there were about 12 guys in there and me and Arden. They were all amazed at how much she was eating. They were also kind not to point out what a ridiculous mess she was making. It's hard to explain but at that point in time she got as much food on herself and the floor as she put into her mouth. The cute ringleader said Arden's eyes looked like, "Hey, who's that actress with those beautiful blue eyes, you know,... Annette Bening. Yea. Her eyes look just like Annette Bening's. Well, she gets 'em from her mom". I'm pretty sure my cheeks were on fire from blushing so hard and I don't think the sanitation department carries hoses to extinguish that sort of thing. I then realize that it's time for me to get going to work. The only problem is that in my harried state of mind when leaving the house, I'd put on only a rather short yellow dress. So, I try to maintain my cool as I attempt to clean up Arden's mess without pulling a semi-Britney.
Last week we had another experience entirely at the BBCC. It began with the clerk calling me "baby". I can assure you he was not referring to Arden. I was pissed. All I want is a bagel. Can I please just buy a bagel without a sexual reference? Maybe I should just be flattered that someone finds me attractive in head-to-toe snow gear with a baby strapped to my body. I don't know.
We sit down at a table and Arden strikes up a conversation with some very friendly people originally from Croatia and Montenegro. They are being so sweet to her, engaging her and complimenting her. Our bagels taste great. The XM coffee house radio station is playing some nice acoustic tunes. It's shaping up to be a lovely little outing after all when, "Achoo-BAM" Arden sneezes while reaching for a minuscule crumb and slams her face down onto the way-too-nice-quality-for-a-bagel-shop marble table. The whole place becomes silent as she lifts her head up and cries only a tiny bit. She's a toughy. She'd given herself a bloody lower lip and I felt like a terrible Momma. I know I can't prevent her from getting hurt but situations like that are the worst. Luckily, nothing can come between her and food so she happily took another sip of juice and seemed no worse for wear.
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| Self portrait from the bagel shop prior to bloody lip. |
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| The sun also rises - Astoria, Queens |
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Confession #4: Bright Blue Skies
One of the great things about living in NYC is that although it is totally freezing in the winter, the skies are almost always bright and blue. It is so remarkably different from the Cleveland skies I lived under while growing up that after living here for ten years it still amazes me. The Hudson just doesn’t cause River Effect like Lake Effect in the Midwest. It also seems to me that the coldest day of the year is always MLK Day. On one particular MLK Day W.B.A. (Way Before Arden) in 2000, we brilliantly decided to go visit the Statue of Liberty. This excursion brought an entirely new meaning of the word cold into being. It was so cold that they two of us and all the totally insane tourists stopped dead in our tracks and screamed when the wind blew. (Okay, Kyle was the only person not screaming.) The walk from the ferry to the Statue was the coldest of my life. It was completely wild being up in the crown of Lady Liberty. It was blowing around, actually swaying from side-to-side, so much that I thought I might vomit. The only reason I didn’t was for the sake of the young Dutch girl right in front of me. I just did not want to suffer death by being hurled into a frigid river while trapped in an enormous green symbol of our independence.
I always think of September 11th on days like today. Anyone who was in NYC that day can tell you that the sky was as blue and clear as it could ever be. In fact, it was perhaps the most beautiful sky I have ever or will ever see. Looking at the below photo of me from that January day in 2000 makes my heart so heavy. How will I ever be able to explain such atrocities to my daughter?
Friday, January 14, 2011
Confession #3: Words, Zabars and a Doctor's Visit
Today, Arden woke up and had had a major developmental leap overnight. "They" say it happens like that. She went to bed a walking, kinda talking baby and woke up a toddler. I thought she already had a ton of lights on upstairs but something was so different this morning. Instead of using a word here and there, she was using them everywhere. "momma, momma, pee pee, bear, peach, bar bar (cereal bar), milk, wash, tissue (yeah, no joke), knock (okay but not on the bedroom door, Daddy's still sleeping), Mew (our cat), hug (run Mew), etc. Now that I think of it, what was so different was her speaking without being prompted to do so. Also,when asked any question she replied with a clear "yes!" or "yeah" with so much inflection it stopped me in my tracks.
We headed out early to the UWS where her doctors' office is located. She was scheduled for her 18 month visit. Our doctor asked how many words she had and I really didn't know but started giving him some examples of the words she often said. She only has to have 6-10 words at this stage so we were all good. I also announced that she recently began uttering two word sentences like "momma bath"(translation “Momma, get in the bath with me”). He said that was an advanced skill more normally associated with 2 year olds. Momma bear was so proud.
As he examined her, I told him how we've all been very sick and that she was just getting better. Low and behold, he found an ear infection right at the puss stage but not yet causing her pain. We really lucked out on that one. So, with a prescription for amoxicillin and no vaccination (cue sigh of temporary relief), we headed back out onto Broadway.
Only a few blocks away lies Zabars. It is heaven on earth as long as you don't mind old ladies slamming into you with their shopping carts. For those who don't already know, Zabars is a specialty food store that has the finest available treats and food for what I would consider fairly reasonable prices. I walk in and feel like my feet might literally leave the ground even with Arden strapped onto me. The first offerings are olives and cheese. Need I say more? Maybe 25 different varieties of olives and hundreds of different cheeses. Arden and I dive into some provencal marinated black olives and big green Greek ones stuffed with red peppers to take home. We grab a beautiful soft, Brie like cheese called Saint Albray (pasteurized so those who are pregnant, take note) and stroll through the prepared food and smoked fish counters. We are headed to the baked goods counter where I'll have to settle for a loaf of their still warm rosemary sourdough-like bread since I can't take the entire operation home with me. They have slices available to try and Arden finishes hers before I even see her take one bite. Finally, for the pièce de résistance, we approach the coffee area. Zabars roasts their own beans and our very favorite one for espresso is the Vienna roast. The coffee specialists package up 3lbs for us and we are on our way. Of course, after stopping at the Zabars' Cafe right next door for fresh squeezed orange juice, the best warm ham & cheese croissant I've ever had, a donut factory glazed donut and a mochacinno. Arden sits in my lap, rests back like its Passover and we demolish our "second breakfast".
The mayhem of the day occurred later that afternoon after we returned home. Kyle and I finally got up the energy to take out our Christmas tree, which had been standing ornamentless in our home for 10 days. It had been dead for so long that, irrespective of our best efforts, it dropped 5 million needles on the way out the door. Maybe you know the type of tree, you can vacuum up what you think is every last needle and then you still find more for the next 6 months. So, I stay behind to vacuum and Kyle heads out to pick up Arden’s antibiotic. He takes the dog and brings her back dirty from head to toe due to the snowy weather, so she needed a bath. Then I decide we have to get laundry done since there is another storm on the way and it will be that much more difficult to get done tomorrow. Our army duffle bag filled with laundry is even heavier than usual because I guess we were extra messy this week. In particular, I have to wash the kitchen mat that was puked on and the dog bed that was peed on… by Arden. She accomplished that in the time between being undressed for her bath and my running the water for her bath. Go figure. I schlep the bag over to the laundromat on the corner, almost tipping over because the bag is so heavy, only to find no washers available. That happens maybe once per year so this was my unlucky day. When I try again a few hours later, I am so tired that I try to take the canister vacuum with me instead of the laundry bag. Yep. The second attempt worked out in my favor as there were two available washers. As I went back to change the laundry over into the dryers, it began to snow. It always so magical to me when it snows, even in our dingy city.
Later that evening as Kyle is putting Arden to bed, she won’t stop calling my name. They emerge from the bedroom and she shouts, “I want Momma!” Wowza. It’s going to be hard to deny her anything. I feel so wanted, needed and special until I remember how I could have sworn I heard her say “I want my bear!” yesterday.
We headed out early to the UWS where her doctors' office is located. She was scheduled for her 18 month visit. Our doctor asked how many words she had and I really didn't know but started giving him some examples of the words she often said. She only has to have 6-10 words at this stage so we were all good. I also announced that she recently began uttering two word sentences like "momma bath"(translation “Momma, get in the bath with me”). He said that was an advanced skill more normally associated with 2 year olds. Momma bear was so proud.
As he examined her, I told him how we've all been very sick and that she was just getting better. Low and behold, he found an ear infection right at the puss stage but not yet causing her pain. We really lucked out on that one. So, with a prescription for amoxicillin and no vaccination (cue sigh of temporary relief), we headed back out onto Broadway.
Only a few blocks away lies Zabars. It is heaven on earth as long as you don't mind old ladies slamming into you with their shopping carts. For those who don't already know, Zabars is a specialty food store that has the finest available treats and food for what I would consider fairly reasonable prices. I walk in and feel like my feet might literally leave the ground even with Arden strapped onto me. The first offerings are olives and cheese. Need I say more? Maybe 25 different varieties of olives and hundreds of different cheeses. Arden and I dive into some provencal marinated black olives and big green Greek ones stuffed with red peppers to take home. We grab a beautiful soft, Brie like cheese called Saint Albray (pasteurized so those who are pregnant, take note) and stroll through the prepared food and smoked fish counters. We are headed to the baked goods counter where I'll have to settle for a loaf of their still warm rosemary sourdough-like bread since I can't take the entire operation home with me. They have slices available to try and Arden finishes hers before I even see her take one bite. Finally, for the pièce de résistance, we approach the coffee area. Zabars roasts their own beans and our very favorite one for espresso is the Vienna roast. The coffee specialists package up 3lbs for us and we are on our way. Of course, after stopping at the Zabars' Cafe right next door for fresh squeezed orange juice, the best warm ham & cheese croissant I've ever had, a donut factory glazed donut and a mochacinno. Arden sits in my lap, rests back like its Passover and we demolish our "second breakfast".
The mayhem of the day occurred later that afternoon after we returned home. Kyle and I finally got up the energy to take out our Christmas tree, which had been standing ornamentless in our home for 10 days. It had been dead for so long that, irrespective of our best efforts, it dropped 5 million needles on the way out the door. Maybe you know the type of tree, you can vacuum up what you think is every last needle and then you still find more for the next 6 months. So, I stay behind to vacuum and Kyle heads out to pick up Arden’s antibiotic. He takes the dog and brings her back dirty from head to toe due to the snowy weather, so she needed a bath. Then I decide we have to get laundry done since there is another storm on the way and it will be that much more difficult to get done tomorrow. Our army duffle bag filled with laundry is even heavier than usual because I guess we were extra messy this week. In particular, I have to wash the kitchen mat that was puked on and the dog bed that was peed on… by Arden. She accomplished that in the time between being undressed for her bath and my running the water for her bath. Go figure. I schlep the bag over to the laundromat on the corner, almost tipping over because the bag is so heavy, only to find no washers available. That happens maybe once per year so this was my unlucky day. When I try again a few hours later, I am so tired that I try to take the canister vacuum with me instead of the laundry bag. Yep. The second attempt worked out in my favor as there were two available washers. As I went back to change the laundry over into the dryers, it began to snow. It always so magical to me when it snows, even in our dingy city.
Later that evening as Kyle is putting Arden to bed, she won’t stop calling my name. They emerge from the bedroom and she shouts, “I want Momma!” Wowza. It’s going to be hard to deny her anything. I feel so wanted, needed and special until I remember how I could have sworn I heard her say “I want my bear!” yesterday.
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| Our spoils from Zabars. Note: there are no olives because Arden ate every last one. Oh, and an apple crumb cake for Daddy. |
Monday, January 10, 2011
Confession #2: Coffee, Chocolate and Africa
My husband loves me. He gave me the most magnificent coffee cups for Christmas.
They are white, huge and simply have the word "coffee" type-faced
imprinted on the side of the cup, right were your lower lip touches when you
drink. The texture of the letters feels wonderful. The cups are so big
that they completely cover your face all the way to the top of your eyebrows
when you take a sip. It is a most beautiful moment of complete bliss. My
morning double Americano is like a hot shower for my mouth. The fact that I can
now block out all else while taking each sip makes it seem like I'm at the Ritz
Carlton in the penthouse jacuzzi bath tub with room service on the way and a
massage scheduled in the afternoon.
Another incredible gift I received this holiday season was cocoa dusted espresso beans. They are like an orgasm for my mouth. (I am blushing even writing that but it's true.). They came simply with the description, "One Yummy Pound" and they were not kidding. I have never had a better chocolate covered bean in my life and have already decided that they need to be set up for monthly auto-shipment. They were given to me by my sister-n-law who is an extremely good gift giver. You know how some people have it and some just don't? She's got it and I'm not sure I'll ever be able repay her. Here are some other examples of her fabulous gifts: an adorable hand made bear hat for Arden that fit last winter and still fits this winter, a certificate to babysit for us along with CASH and a very thoughtful restaurant recommendation, and an ulu. She is a park ranger in Alaska at Denali National Park thus the Inuit knife gift. No, she does not know Sarah Palin.
Would you like to guess where she is now? Africa. Kampala, Uganda to be specific. She is volunteering for 5 weeks in a clinic, then, climbing Kilimanjaro and going on safari and other adventures for 2 more months. Booyah.
Around week 10 she is going to Zanzibar. I don't know why that word is so familiar to me. Maybe it's just in my blood because it is an island off the east coast of Africa and it looks INCREDIBLE. I am seriously considering meeting her for the weekend. Zanzibar should be the new Caribbean as far as I am concerned. I'm going to write JetBlue about starting nonstop service. You have to look at Google map photos of this place. It looks like paradise. Absolute paradise. It may be a touch politically unstable but nothing is perfect I guess. And by seriously considering joining her I mean in my freaking dreams.
Another incredible gift I received this holiday season was cocoa dusted espresso beans. They are like an orgasm for my mouth. (I am blushing even writing that but it's true.). They came simply with the description, "One Yummy Pound" and they were not kidding. I have never had a better chocolate covered bean in my life and have already decided that they need to be set up for monthly auto-shipment. They were given to me by my sister-n-law who is an extremely good gift giver. You know how some people have it and some just don't? She's got it and I'm not sure I'll ever be able repay her. Here are some other examples of her fabulous gifts: an adorable hand made bear hat for Arden that fit last winter and still fits this winter, a certificate to babysit for us along with CASH and a very thoughtful restaurant recommendation, and an ulu. She is a park ranger in Alaska at Denali National Park thus the Inuit knife gift. No, she does not know Sarah Palin.
Would you like to guess where she is now? Africa. Kampala, Uganda to be specific. She is volunteering for 5 weeks in a clinic, then, climbing Kilimanjaro and going on safari and other adventures for 2 more months. Booyah.
Around week 10 she is going to Zanzibar. I don't know why that word is so familiar to me. Maybe it's just in my blood because it is an island off the east coast of Africa and it looks INCREDIBLE. I am seriously considering meeting her for the weekend. Zanzibar should be the new Caribbean as far as I am concerned. I'm going to write JetBlue about starting nonstop service. You have to look at Google map photos of this place. It looks like paradise. Absolute paradise. It may be a touch politically unstable but nothing is perfect I guess. And by seriously considering joining her I mean in my freaking dreams.
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| Isn't she beautiful? |
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| The ulu promptly went into storage after this photo was taken. Childproofing at its best. |
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Confession #1: One of Those Days
This seems like the perfect day to begin a blog I've been thinking about starting for a long time. The reason it is so perfect is that today has, so far, been a complete disaster. I'm not sure why I feel so compelled to share my mishaps and general bad behavior with others. It's probably a bad idea, but I just can't help myself. I guess that's the thing about confessing, you usually feel better afterward.
I woke up at 6:15am to my 1.5 year old daughter calling my name, “Momma, Momma!" She has an incredibly loud morning voice which is fairly unnecessary considering her crib is next to our bed flush up against where I sleep. (A causality of living in a 600 sq foot apartment.)
I woke up at 6:15am to my 1.5 year old daughter calling my name, “Momma, Momma!" She has an incredibly loud morning voice which is fairly unnecessary considering her crib is next to our bed flush up against where I sleep. (A causality of living in a 600 sq foot apartment.)
But, awe, you say, how sweet. And it is. Being a mother is the most wonderful of gifts and I cherish being able to love and care for my daughter. That is the foundation of who I am. Now that I have that disclaimer out of the way...
Waking up to “Momma, Momma!" is wonderful but less so when you've only had 5 hours of sleep and that is after taking an antihistamine because you’ve been crazy sick and having a daughter who is pissed that you won't bring her into bed with you pounding on the mattress screaming and trying to take your pillows away for 20 minutes at 1am.
That is how I began my morning and it continued in pretty much the same fashion. Arden wanted "peach" as she calls the organic peach banana oatmeal baby food I still let her have. Before you judge me, the bottle clearly reads 6 months +, so, she's definitely on the + side and she eats it almost entirely by herself WITH a spoon. Yeah. Who's judging now? Baby food explanation tangent aside, Arden wanted some and I was out. That is an equation for an unhappy baby. And she is also a sick, teething baby at the moment. The fun never stops. She's had a brutal cold for a week and is also getting her second molars in. So she's a hungry, snotty, coughy, drooling mess, who wants to eat “peach” AND watch one scene from Aladdin all day long. That's right folks. I let her watch tv. I try to rationalize it every which way I can and it comes down to being a survival mechanism for me. She sits and is happy instead of trying to bite me on the back of my leg so I allow it.
And the one scene she wants to watch over and over and over? You guessed it. I can sing you every word and almost always nail the harmony to, "a whole new world…” What have I done?
I scramble to redirect Arden to another food choice and begin to slowly start to loose it. My house is a complete mess. I mean, a disaster. I don't see myself as a particularly gross person but maybe I am since I let my house get this way. I don't even know how it happens. I'm sick, my husband and baby are sick. Hubbie is basically working two jobs, Apple Genius by day and trumpet player by night. I barely saw him earlier this week as he worked at Apple then played three shows at Mary Poppins.
Yesterday the only down time we had together was the 21 minutes it takes to watch Modern Family on hulu. You'd think we'd have had enough family all on own but there's something so entertaining about watching the trials and tribulations of other families, even when it's made up. It's not like I'm sitting around playing angry birds all day.
My home is literally bringing me to tears. Every single toy is out. Dishes in the dishwasher need to be unloaded with 2 loads waiting to go in and it's only 7:30am. Dog litter box, #1 & #2. Kitty liter box #1 & #2. Kitchen floor so dirty it looks like Yosemite. Carpet barely visible beneath already mentioned toys and tuffs of animal fur. Christmas tree still up with no ornaments. Depressing but at least I got those down. 4 boxes of Christmas stuff that have to go to storage. CDs everywhere that the baby has pulled out and yes we've tried to block her from being able to get to them. She can now climb and tear things down so we are out of luck.
I'm not handling this very well and I'm basically acting like a crazy person. I start praying for God to deliver me from myself and realize we've got to get out of the house for a change of scenery. I figure I'll blow off some negative energy while carrying Arden around running errands. So after 30 minutes of getting dressed and snow suited up to brave the elements and a last minute of-course-after-we-are-all-ready-to-go diaper change, we head out. Into the snowstorm. It's snowing and I decide to walk to Staples to get the paper that we need for the printer. It's cheaper there than at the drugstore anyway and it'll be good to walk. We get there without too much trouble and I quickly undo any savings we would have had by buying a nicer 50% recycled paper. I just couldn't buy the cheap paper when given the option to be a bit more socially responsible so easily. All the options we have and choices that we make day in and day out are exhausting. It almost always seems like I'm choosing between saving money or doing something that's better for the environment. And please don’t ask me why buying paper has to be such an emotional decision for me.
So we head from Staples to the grocery store and that's when my stupidity kicks in. Arden and I are shopping and I remember I have a 20% off reward that I can use on any one total purchase. So, I start getting everything we need feeling excited that even though it seems like a lot, we'll save a bit of money and I'll have plenty to eat when I get home. Well, I bit off a bit more than I could chew or rather, carry home. I had my 25lb daughter already strapped to my front in her ergo and a ream of paper in my backpack. I now added $100 (make that $80 :) worth of food to that load and it was ridiculous to be sure. A very nice youngish, Asian American woman behind me in line asked me if I needed help and how far I was going. I said I'd be all right. 1/2 gallon of milk, 3 cans of Progresso soup, 6 7 ounce yogurts, eggs, 10 jars of baby food, 4 cans of tomato sauce, ground meat for the lasagna I’m making later, bone in chicken breasts, ricotta, mozzarella, peanut butter, Swiss miss puddings (a treat for my hubbie), need I go on? What a monstrosity I must have looked like carrying all that down 30th avenue in a snowstorm. But I definitely burned off some steam, got a change of scenery and anything that makes me laugh at myself was worth doing.
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| I'm not sure this imagery is necessary but my camera was there so here you are. And, yes, that is a box of 100 calorie hostess cupcakes in the middle of my bags. Posting on dieting in the works... |
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| Conditions from our bedroom window. What a view eh? |
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