I'm very tired and it's very late, since I decided to start doing my housework at 9:00 when the peeps went to bed.
Imagine, if you will, that I have written a witty opening remark. Pretend I follow it with a funny anecdote. Hell, we're imagining here, so make it really, really funny. Absolutely hilarious.
Cap it with a clever one line observation.
If you want, you can throw in one grammar error, just to keep it real.
There. Entry Done.
Hang in there, NaBloPoMo is over tomorrow,
ephelba
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
I did something right.
I am more than ambivalent about Christmas, which has led to a somewhat odd exposure to the holidays for Boy. I'm sure I've blogged about it before, but I can't find it now, so I'll recap the highlights:
1) One x-mas when it was just him and me I didn't tell him it was x-mas. I got him breakfast, went back to bed, slept in till 10, then got up and said, "Guess What? It's Christmas! There's no chimney, so Santa hid your toys!" and Boy ran around and found them where I'd hidden them in lieu of wrapping them. Boy actually remembers this fondly.
2) It may have been that x-mas, maybe the next, when I introduced the concept of the Yule Cat. It's a black cat the size of a house who eats up little kids who don't get clothes for Yule. You're not going to believe this, but I'm not actually the one who made this up. Some people in the old country who wanted their kids to spin a lot of thread did. Anyway, Boy thought it was grim. Later that season he saw America's Funniest Home Videos for the first time. There were people falling off stages and into trees. Boy started crying and said "Is this what Christmas is about? Is it about hurting people?" He sited the Yule Cat and the Show as examples.
3) One Christmas I told Boy he was getting a Barbie for Christmas. At first he was horrified, then he joined in the joke. But when he opened a package to see a picture of a very pink Barbie on the wrapper he cried. That's when I realized I took the joke too far. In all fairness, I had made a Barbie label and slipped it over the wrapper of a video game, thinking he'd realize it was fake right away.
In all of those Christmases he was never asked to make a list. I think that practise is disgusting. I think if gifts must happen at x-mas they should be a surprise to the recipient, and come from the heart of the giver. Making a list defeats both of those purposes. Where's the surprise if you made up the list of acceptable gifts? And how is it a gift from someone else's heart if you told them what to get? People should give you something they thought up, maybe even something they made up themselves. Alas, in my family all the grown-ups can't get on with x-mas until we tell them what Boy wants. And they seem to insist that it be something they can buy. If we ask for gifts that don't cost money, like pages for the family book, they'll make them, then ask what to get him for Christmas, because the pages didn't count.
This year I made a HintBug list with stuff on it for Boy and Peanut, but Boy doesn't know what's on there. There are things that you could make for free, and things you could buy. Whatever they choose, it's a surprise for Boy.
Anyway, I told Boy about how some kids make these lists of stuff they want, and how icky I thought that was, and he was like, "No Way! That IS icky!" Which leads me to believe that there is at least one thing I have gotten across to the Boy. Christmas isn't Gimme-Toys-Day, and he knows it.
going to put on socks that are three sizes too small,
ephelba
1) One x-mas when it was just him and me I didn't tell him it was x-mas. I got him breakfast, went back to bed, slept in till 10, then got up and said, "Guess What? It's Christmas! There's no chimney, so Santa hid your toys!" and Boy ran around and found them where I'd hidden them in lieu of wrapping them. Boy actually remembers this fondly.
2) It may have been that x-mas, maybe the next, when I introduced the concept of the Yule Cat. It's a black cat the size of a house who eats up little kids who don't get clothes for Yule. You're not going to believe this, but I'm not actually the one who made this up. Some people in the old country who wanted their kids to spin a lot of thread did. Anyway, Boy thought it was grim. Later that season he saw America's Funniest Home Videos for the first time. There were people falling off stages and into trees. Boy started crying and said "Is this what Christmas is about? Is it about hurting people?" He sited the Yule Cat and the Show as examples.
3) One Christmas I told Boy he was getting a Barbie for Christmas. At first he was horrified, then he joined in the joke. But when he opened a package to see a picture of a very pink Barbie on the wrapper he cried. That's when I realized I took the joke too far. In all fairness, I had made a Barbie label and slipped it over the wrapper of a video game, thinking he'd realize it was fake right away.
In all of those Christmases he was never asked to make a list. I think that practise is disgusting. I think if gifts must happen at x-mas they should be a surprise to the recipient, and come from the heart of the giver. Making a list defeats both of those purposes. Where's the surprise if you made up the list of acceptable gifts? And how is it a gift from someone else's heart if you told them what to get? People should give you something they thought up, maybe even something they made up themselves. Alas, in my family all the grown-ups can't get on with x-mas until we tell them what Boy wants. And they seem to insist that it be something they can buy. If we ask for gifts that don't cost money, like pages for the family book, they'll make them, then ask what to get him for Christmas, because the pages didn't count.
This year I made a HintBug list with stuff on it for Boy and Peanut, but Boy doesn't know what's on there. There are things that you could make for free, and things you could buy. Whatever they choose, it's a surprise for Boy.
Anyway, I told Boy about how some kids make these lists of stuff they want, and how icky I thought that was, and he was like, "No Way! That IS icky!" Which leads me to believe that there is at least one thing I have gotten across to the Boy. Christmas isn't Gimme-Toys-Day, and he knows it.
going to put on socks that are three sizes too small,
ephelba
Monday, November 27, 2006
Ahhhh, finally.
The baby is asleep, the dishes are caught up, the boy is schooling, I am no longer in a state of zombi-hood, therefore I am free to blog for a bit.
We were thinking that the baby was teething, because it seemed impossible for her to have have a cold when we didn't give it to her. I now have the sniffles and a sore throat, proving that she is fully capable of picking up a cold all by herself. Who knew?
Two nights ago was the worst night in the whole affair. I hadn't slept for more than an hour at a time in days. I was a wreck. She was a wreck. She was miserable, and the only thing that seemed to help was for a grown up to hold her. Sometimes the grown up had to be patting her butt. Sometimes the grown up had to be gently swinging her from side to side. Sometimes it was ok for the grown up to rock in the rocking chair. She prefers her grownups to be mushy from lack of sleep, so she kept me in a constant state of ripeness by waking up twenty minutes to an hour after I managed to drop off.
Interestingly, I had a lot of trouble doing that. I have never in my life been more tired, and yet I had a hard time falling asleep when I finally had the chance. I can't decide if it was because I was running on sheer adrenaline and I couldn't turn it off, or if it was the worry. It was crazy making though, to know that she'd cry any minute now, and if I didn't drop off that very second I might not get any sleep at all.
At the lowest of the low, when I thought I just could not take any more, I remembered a startling fact- this too would pass. At some point she was going to get better. As my wise aunt has told me, you can take anything if you know it's going to end. This kept me going, let me mother and comfort her like she needed.
And that very night, thank goodness, she turned the corner. Started drinking more, sleeping longer. She's very boogery, but otherwise she's almost back to normal.
Of course, now that she's better I'm getting sick, but honestly I have a lot to be thankful for.
1) She never got overly dehydrated. Yay!
2) I wasn't sick at the same time she was.
3) I have caught her cold, proving it was a cold and not her tooth, meaning that we won't have to repeat this whole fiasco when her second upper tooth comes in. Honestly I don't know what I'd do if I knew I had to do this all again next week.
Simon is recovering well, despite not having me spoil him rotten like I intended. He has, in fact, been taking care of me and the baby, bring me coffee and watching the baby so I can sleep. Not what I had in mind at all. Boy has lain low for the past two days, knowing that I was short on resources. Last night we had pizza and played a few rounds of jenga before watching Battlestar Galactica. I planned this evening for him, ordering stuff he liked on the pizza and letting him pick a game that isn't the fave of the grups. Now that we're back in school (and Peanut isn't constantly crying) he can get the attention he's due.
And I am sitting here looking like I've been attacked by a herd of slugs- there's glistening snot trails all over my shoulders, the front of my shirt, even my pants. I gave her a bath today, maybe I'll avail myself of one too.
Enjoying my return to the world of the living,
ephelba
We were thinking that the baby was teething, because it seemed impossible for her to have have a cold when we didn't give it to her. I now have the sniffles and a sore throat, proving that she is fully capable of picking up a cold all by herself. Who knew?
Two nights ago was the worst night in the whole affair. I hadn't slept for more than an hour at a time in days. I was a wreck. She was a wreck. She was miserable, and the only thing that seemed to help was for a grown up to hold her. Sometimes the grown up had to be patting her butt. Sometimes the grown up had to be gently swinging her from side to side. Sometimes it was ok for the grown up to rock in the rocking chair. She prefers her grownups to be mushy from lack of sleep, so she kept me in a constant state of ripeness by waking up twenty minutes to an hour after I managed to drop off.
Interestingly, I had a lot of trouble doing that. I have never in my life been more tired, and yet I had a hard time falling asleep when I finally had the chance. I can't decide if it was because I was running on sheer adrenaline and I couldn't turn it off, or if it was the worry. It was crazy making though, to know that she'd cry any minute now, and if I didn't drop off that very second I might not get any sleep at all.
At the lowest of the low, when I thought I just could not take any more, I remembered a startling fact- this too would pass. At some point she was going to get better. As my wise aunt has told me, you can take anything if you know it's going to end. This kept me going, let me mother and comfort her like she needed.
And that very night, thank goodness, she turned the corner. Started drinking more, sleeping longer. She's very boogery, but otherwise she's almost back to normal.
Of course, now that she's better I'm getting sick, but honestly I have a lot to be thankful for.
1) She never got overly dehydrated. Yay!
2) I wasn't sick at the same time she was.
3) I have caught her cold, proving it was a cold and not her tooth, meaning that we won't have to repeat this whole fiasco when her second upper tooth comes in. Honestly I don't know what I'd do if I knew I had to do this all again next week.
Simon is recovering well, despite not having me spoil him rotten like I intended. He has, in fact, been taking care of me and the baby, bring me coffee and watching the baby so I can sleep. Not what I had in mind at all. Boy has lain low for the past two days, knowing that I was short on resources. Last night we had pizza and played a few rounds of jenga before watching Battlestar Galactica. I planned this evening for him, ordering stuff he liked on the pizza and letting him pick a game that isn't the fave of the grups. Now that we're back in school (and Peanut isn't constantly crying) he can get the attention he's due.
And I am sitting here looking like I've been attacked by a herd of slugs- there's glistening snot trails all over my shoulders, the front of my shirt, even my pants. I gave her a bath today, maybe I'll avail myself of one too.
Enjoying my return to the world of the living,
ephelba
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Babbling Idiot
Penut is still sick. I have not slept, and have reached the babbling idiot stage. I will spare you the taudry task of witnessing it.
ephelba
ephelba
Friday, November 24, 2006
In which Boy is ignored and Simon is left to fend for himself
Peanut is very sad. She has quit eating, which is a worry because all she eats is breast milk, so no eating means we have to watch her for dehydration. I told Simon that I would like just one week to go by without some new worry developing on her behalf.
Simon is sick of the apartment, so after we went to the Dr to have the stuffing taking out of his nose we went to a coffee shop I'd heard about. Boy hadn't really experienced a college town coffee shop in full swing before. He sat wide eyed with wonder as a group of girls carrying a sign on a stick that said "MAKE NOISE" ululated and giggled their way around the shop. There were the obligatory broody young men reading deep books, and a girl with a t-shirt that said "call the white house" and listed the number. Alas, Peanut was in no mood for the shenanigans, so we cut the field trip short. After we left Boy said he wanted to come back often, and that there were weird people in there, and that he really liked it.
Boy is spending the night at a friend's house. The friend just got a Wii. Lucky.
Simon and I watched Battlestar while I jiggled and rocked and held and patted the poor baby. The good news on that front is that I finally figured out how to slip the girl a mickey. Giving her any medicine drops caused her to gag hard, but she'll drink them in an ounce of breast milk. The problem is getting her to drink that ounce, since she's not having any today. The trick is to put her in her crib, because she's so well trained to drink as she's going to sleep that we can get a few swallows in her before she remembers she's on strike.
I'm off to go deal with her now, send me any extra sleep you've got laying around the house,
ephelba
Simon is sick of the apartment, so after we went to the Dr to have the stuffing taking out of his nose we went to a coffee shop I'd heard about. Boy hadn't really experienced a college town coffee shop in full swing before. He sat wide eyed with wonder as a group of girls carrying a sign on a stick that said "MAKE NOISE" ululated and giggled their way around the shop. There were the obligatory broody young men reading deep books, and a girl with a t-shirt that said "call the white house" and listed the number. Alas, Peanut was in no mood for the shenanigans, so we cut the field trip short. After we left Boy said he wanted to come back often, and that there were weird people in there, and that he really liked it.
Boy is spending the night at a friend's house. The friend just got a Wii. Lucky.
Simon and I watched Battlestar while I jiggled and rocked and held and patted the poor baby. The good news on that front is that I finally figured out how to slip the girl a mickey. Giving her any medicine drops caused her to gag hard, but she'll drink them in an ounce of breast milk. The problem is getting her to drink that ounce, since she's not having any today. The trick is to put her in her crib, because she's so well trained to drink as she's going to sleep that we can get a few swallows in her before she remembers she's on strike.
I'm off to go deal with her now, send me any extra sleep you've got laying around the house,
ephelba
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Thanksgiving Accomplished
* Meal prepared? Check.
* Thankfullness expressed? Check. Simon is thankful for having us as a family, we're all thankful for Peanut (who slept through the whole dinner), Boy was thankful for the food, and Simon and I were thankful that his surgery went well.
* Meal eaten? Check.
* Another woefully under-developed entry posted for Nabloblahblah? Check.
We are now digesting in preparation for PIE.
piepiepiepiepiepie,
ephelba
* Thankfullness expressed? Check. Simon is thankful for having us as a family, we're all thankful for Peanut (who slept through the whole dinner), Boy was thankful for the food, and Simon and I were thankful that his surgery went well.
* Meal eaten? Check.
* Another woefully under-developed entry posted for Nabloblahblah? Check.
We are now digesting in preparation for PIE.
piepiepiepiepiepie,
ephelba
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Worst night on record.
Peanut takes the prize. In Boy's whole life he never had a night as bad as hers was last night. You're thinking she must be pretty sick, oh boy, to wake up At Least once an hour. At least once an hour all night long. Well folks, I hate to break the bad news, but she's teething. Symptoms: crankiness, tiniest bit of a runny nose (clear), fever, crankiness, redness where the tooth is coming through, and crankiness. Prognosis: a full recovery is expected some time in the next few days, with a repeat performance scheduled soon thereafter for the second upper tooth.
Of course, today is Simon's nose surgery. He's got a week off, and I had sort of planned on it being like a mini-lame-vacation. There's all the thanksgiving food. I figured he could pick out some movies and we'd hunker down for a week and vegetate. I would pamper the Simon with tea and custard and we'd watch the baby roll on the floor and hang with the Boy.
Yesterday Simon said "I don't want Thanksgiving to be stressful"
I said "So we're not having a turkey?"
He said "I just want a nice relaxing meal.. We don't have to eat at any certain time."
The problem is, anytime I have anything to do besides take care of the baby I get stressed. I don't necessarily actually freak out, but my stress level rises. As all you mothers know, there's always something that needs doing, so I am usually running in a constantly stressed state. I try to relax and find my zen, but it seems to slip from my grasp on a daily basis. I realize that there's no deadline for having the turkey ready, but just the thought of trying to fix a bird, keep the baby happy, make the side dishes, pump, time everything so it is ready when the bird is, and feed/diaper the baby has got me stressed. Which Simon knows, even though I haven't said it aloud.
And now on top of everything she's teething and I haven't slept. I've had issues with fatigue, and I fear it the way other people fear pain. I start out sleepy, then I progress to feeling stupid and slow, I go from there to a phase where I doggedly undertake some obnoxious chore that's been waiting on me for a while (?), then I usually get nauseous, and much past that I'm just a gibbering idiot. I will be progressing through this cycle today while we jump through the hospital's hoops, and tomorrow when we do the turkey, because I don't see Peanut sleeping any better tonight. Poor Boy will be the only one anywhere near 100%. Feel sorry for him.
Wish me luck,
ephelba
Of course, today is Simon's nose surgery. He's got a week off, and I had sort of planned on it being like a mini-lame-vacation. There's all the thanksgiving food. I figured he could pick out some movies and we'd hunker down for a week and vegetate. I would pamper the Simon with tea and custard and we'd watch the baby roll on the floor and hang with the Boy.
Yesterday Simon said "I don't want Thanksgiving to be stressful"
I said "So we're not having a turkey?"
He said "I just want a nice relaxing meal.. We don't have to eat at any certain time."
The problem is, anytime I have anything to do besides take care of the baby I get stressed. I don't necessarily actually freak out, but my stress level rises. As all you mothers know, there's always something that needs doing, so I am usually running in a constantly stressed state. I try to relax and find my zen, but it seems to slip from my grasp on a daily basis. I realize that there's no deadline for having the turkey ready, but just the thought of trying to fix a bird, keep the baby happy, make the side dishes, pump, time everything so it is ready when the bird is, and feed/diaper the baby has got me stressed. Which Simon knows, even though I haven't said it aloud.
And now on top of everything she's teething and I haven't slept. I've had issues with fatigue, and I fear it the way other people fear pain. I start out sleepy, then I progress to feeling stupid and slow, I go from there to a phase where I doggedly undertake some obnoxious chore that's been waiting on me for a while (?), then I usually get nauseous, and much past that I'm just a gibbering idiot. I will be progressing through this cycle today while we jump through the hospital's hoops, and tomorrow when we do the turkey, because I don't see Peanut sleeping any better tonight. Poor Boy will be the only one anywhere near 100%. Feel sorry for him.
Wish me luck,
ephelba
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
there will be no capital letters today
the baby is ill, and she won't let me put her down. ever try to pump with a baby in your lap? if you've mastered that, try typing whilst holding the keyboard over the baby with one hand.
it's going to be a long night,
ephelba
it's going to be a long night,
ephelba
Monday, November 20, 2006
Why My Husband is a Saint
Because when I'm stressed and freaking out because I can't do everything at once, and it stresses him out and the kids out and probably even our dust mites need a chill pill, He will figure out a way to help.
I sure do loves me some Simon,
Ephelba
I sure do loves me some Simon,
Ephelba
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Clarification:
SO Simon says to me "I read your blog" in that Uh Oh voice, and I'm totally confused.
"Yeah?"
"I'm not your biggest baby."
Oh! So, as I explained to him, I am here to tell you that he is my biggest baby in a honey-sugar-lovemuffin kind of way, not the whiny-needy-wah kind of way.
We just watched High Fidelity, which we thoroughly enjoyed. *Spoiler alert* I was worried for a while, because the main character was Such An Ass that I thought he couldn't recover, but at that moment his girlfriend walked in and I said to Simon, I said, "He's going to ask her to marry him", which he did, so I felt better. And I
felt like hot shit for predicting it. Not like it took tremendous mental abilities or anything, but it's nice to be right.
We don't have any Battlestar Galactica in the house right now. We've been steadily working away at the series. The whole family enjoys the show. I especially enjoy singing "Ellen's a bitch, she's a big ole bitch, she's the biggest bitch in the whole wide world..." because (I can't stand her)Squared. And how. I have the same visceral reaction to her that I have to the president's voice. If she isn't a cylon I don't know who is. (And don't tell me if she is, because we're many discs away from season three.)
Sometimes we talk about getting cable or dish or somesuch. I don't think I could ever, ever, Ever buy Dish now that I have spent the entire time we've lived in New York telling various Dish representatives that I want off their list. I seriously can't count how many times I've answered the phone to hear "This is Jerry with Dish".
"Jerry's a bitch, he's a big ole bitch, he's the biggest bitch in the whole wide world..."
But I digress. We can't get even a single station in over the air, so our choice not to pay for TV effectively means we don't have TV. There are pluses: It is good to not have commercials. Also, I have no idea when we'd find the time to watch TV if we had it, seeing as how we have a hard time fitting in the Netflix. Sometimes though, you think about all the PBS and SciFi you're missing, you read all the blogging excitement over Lost, and you think it might be worth it. Then I think about all the time TV eats, and how little return it gives, and I think better of it.
We're starting the xmas preparations. I don't mean the tree- I refuse to have much to do with that- I mean the making of the gifts. It is important to us to make gifts, but it's hard to make gifts that someone would actually want that a kid can put together. I have no idea what we'll do when Peanut is three and we have to think something up. I know that there are all kinds of meaningful things you can do with kids, but unfortunately many of them would have required more foresight than I have exercised. Seriously, if you have ideas, please share.
night night,
ephelba
"Yeah?"
"I'm not your biggest baby."
Oh! So, as I explained to him, I am here to tell you that he is my biggest baby in a honey-sugar-lovemuffin kind of way, not the whiny-needy-wah kind of way.
We just watched High Fidelity, which we thoroughly enjoyed. *Spoiler alert* I was worried for a while, because the main character was Such An Ass that I thought he couldn't recover, but at that moment his girlfriend walked in and I said to Simon, I said, "He's going to ask her to marry him", which he did, so I felt better. And I
felt like hot shit for predicting it. Not like it took tremendous mental abilities or anything, but it's nice to be right.
We don't have any Battlestar Galactica in the house right now. We've been steadily working away at the series. The whole family enjoys the show. I especially enjoy singing "Ellen's a bitch, she's a big ole bitch, she's the biggest bitch in the whole wide world..." because (I can't stand her)Squared. And how. I have the same visceral reaction to her that I have to the president's voice. If she isn't a cylon I don't know who is. (And don't tell me if she is, because we're many discs away from season three.)
Sometimes we talk about getting cable or dish or somesuch. I don't think I could ever, ever, Ever buy Dish now that I have spent the entire time we've lived in New York telling various Dish representatives that I want off their list. I seriously can't count how many times I've answered the phone to hear "This is Jerry with Dish".
"Jerry's a bitch, he's a big ole bitch, he's the biggest bitch in the whole wide world..."
But I digress. We can't get even a single station in over the air, so our choice not to pay for TV effectively means we don't have TV. There are pluses: It is good to not have commercials. Also, I have no idea when we'd find the time to watch TV if we had it, seeing as how we have a hard time fitting in the Netflix. Sometimes though, you think about all the PBS and SciFi you're missing, you read all the blogging excitement over Lost, and you think it might be worth it. Then I think about all the time TV eats, and how little return it gives, and I think better of it.
We're starting the xmas preparations. I don't mean the tree- I refuse to have much to do with that- I mean the making of the gifts. It is important to us to make gifts, but it's hard to make gifts that someone would actually want that a kid can put together. I have no idea what we'll do when Peanut is three and we have to think something up. I know that there are all kinds of meaningful things you can do with kids, but unfortunately many of them would have required more foresight than I have exercised. Seriously, if you have ideas, please share.
night night,
ephelba
Friday, November 17, 2006
Thanksgiving Shopping
I wanted to get the majority of the feast shopping done before Saturday, because the grocery stores become mad houses and the cranberries are all gone otherwise. I thought I would be clever and go after dinner tonight, because who the hell goes to the Walmart at 8 o'clock on a Friday night?
Every Fucking One.
Who knew? Not I. But there I was, wandering around aghast at both the warehouse of schloppy cluttery crap that is Walmart, and the large numbers of toddlers who should be in bed. I don't mean to be a sanctimommy, but as 9:30 approached I just couldn't believe that every aisle had a toddler in it. Why aren't they at home in bed?
For that matter, why the hell aren't all the parents at home in bed? I thought the store would be empty, since by nine o'clock on a typical night I'm either pumping my last pump or feeling guilty that I haven't yet. But then, our house calls it quits very early.
I was picking out apples, and I turned around to see a man with the most unbelievable dreads I have ever seen. They were past his ass, and each one was a lovely inch wide cylinder. There weren't any of those funkity mats you sometimes see, and he had a full head of them. That's three-ish feet of dread. I wanted to go up and pet them. I ran into him several times before I left, and I kept catching myself staring. I wonder if he gets that a lot, and if he's sick of it already. If half of his conversations with strangers are about his startling hair.
He had a toddler with him, clutching his blankey and sucking his thumb.
My little baby was put to bed before I left. My biggest baby went to bed just after I left, and the middle baby started worrying about me when I took too long to come home, then ran out to the car in his bare feet and boxers to help me carry groceries up at 10:00. Being 11, he thought that 30 minutes was plenty of time to complete a shopping trip in. He was quite worried by the time he heard the car.
It is past time for me to call it quits. Going to bask in the joy that only a heated mattress pad can bring,
ephelba
Every Fucking One.
Who knew? Not I. But there I was, wandering around aghast at both the warehouse of schloppy cluttery crap that is Walmart, and the large numbers of toddlers who should be in bed. I don't mean to be a sanctimommy, but as 9:30 approached I just couldn't believe that every aisle had a toddler in it. Why aren't they at home in bed?
For that matter, why the hell aren't all the parents at home in bed? I thought the store would be empty, since by nine o'clock on a typical night I'm either pumping my last pump or feeling guilty that I haven't yet. But then, our house calls it quits very early.
I was picking out apples, and I turned around to see a man with the most unbelievable dreads I have ever seen. They were past his ass, and each one was a lovely inch wide cylinder. There weren't any of those funkity mats you sometimes see, and he had a full head of them. That's three-ish feet of dread. I wanted to go up and pet them. I ran into him several times before I left, and I kept catching myself staring. I wonder if he gets that a lot, and if he's sick of it already. If half of his conversations with strangers are about his startling hair.
He had a toddler with him, clutching his blankey and sucking his thumb.
My little baby was put to bed before I left. My biggest baby went to bed just after I left, and the middle baby started worrying about me when I took too long to come home, then ran out to the car in his bare feet and boxers to help me carry groceries up at 10:00. Being 11, he thought that 30 minutes was plenty of time to complete a shopping trip in. He was quite worried by the time he heard the car.
It is past time for me to call it quits. Going to bask in the joy that only a heated mattress pad can bring,
ephelba
Thursday, November 16, 2006
My Favorite Poem
Ten Years It Took
Ten years it took
To build my little cottage.
Now the cool wind inhabits half of it
And the rest is filled with moonlight.
There is no place left for the mountain and the stream
So I guess they will have to stay outside.
by Song Sun (1493-1583)
Translated by Virginia Olsen Baron and Chung Seuk Park
If you are interested in reading more like it, go here.
I'm trying to get my zen on,
ephelba
Ten years it took
To build my little cottage.
Now the cool wind inhabits half of it
And the rest is filled with moonlight.
There is no place left for the mountain and the stream
So I guess they will have to stay outside.
by Song Sun (1493-1583)
Translated by Virginia Olsen Baron and Chung Seuk Park
If you are interested in reading more like it, go here.
I'm trying to get my zen on,
ephelba
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Nabloblahblah revisited
I don't love it. I don't love it because it takes me a while to work a post up sometimes. It takes me a while to work up a post sometimes because I like to ruminate. I like to ruminate because, if nothing else, you catch more grammar errors that way. Even better, I find that my ideas condense and my writing becomes richer for it. These daily entries feel rushed and diluted to me.
moooooooo,
ephelba
moooooooo,
ephelba
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Lovely warm.
I broke down and paid the ridiculous price for a Queen sized heated matress pad today. Have you ever slept on one? You crawl into bed expecting that horrendous full-body cold-sheet-freeze, and instead of shivering you experience the delicious sensation that "somebody's been sleeping in my bed, and they got it all toasty before they left". Yummy.
I have issues with staying warm though. Namely, I can't manage it. I wear a sweater all the time, try to keep slippers on my feet and have begun wearing a hat indoors, and yet I still haven't gotten warm. Maybe long johns... I can't help but think a body shouldn't have to go to all this trouble to stay warm inside the house. I guess a body doesn't have to if it's a rich body, but our bodies can't afford to buy more warm, so there we are. And actually, my body is the only one that shivers. So we're good. I can't complain whole heartedly.
I remind myself of this many times a day. We've got two craptacular computers, two craptacular cars, and we live in a somewhat craptacular apartment, but I try to keep it in perspective by reminding myself of how many people have no computers, cars, or even decent housing. How can I bitch when we've got more food than we can eat?
Trying to tuck in an entry at the end of the day results in a piss poor entry. Methinks I'll try to blog earlier tomorrow,
Done for today, and how,
ephelba
I have issues with staying warm though. Namely, I can't manage it. I wear a sweater all the time, try to keep slippers on my feet and have begun wearing a hat indoors, and yet I still haven't gotten warm. Maybe long johns... I can't help but think a body shouldn't have to go to all this trouble to stay warm inside the house. I guess a body doesn't have to if it's a rich body, but our bodies can't afford to buy more warm, so there we are. And actually, my body is the only one that shivers. So we're good. I can't complain whole heartedly.
I remind myself of this many times a day. We've got two craptacular computers, two craptacular cars, and we live in a somewhat craptacular apartment, but I try to keep it in perspective by reminding myself of how many people have no computers, cars, or even decent housing. How can I bitch when we've got more food than we can eat?
Trying to tuck in an entry at the end of the day results in a piss poor entry. Methinks I'll try to blog earlier tomorrow,
Done for today, and how,
ephelba
Monday, November 13, 2006
My son, the perfectionist
is DRIVING ME MAD! MAD I SAY!! MAAAAAADDDDDDDD!!!!!
He'll play two notes on his trumpet. One will be wrong. He'll slam something and say to himself, "Jesus it's two notes!" He'll try again, and if he fails, he'll say "What's wrong with me? This is awful? I can't stand this!" He may try again, or he may spend the next FIVE MINUTES calming himself down, or better yet, working himself up into a fit that ends up with him crying on his bed, apologizing about how Weak he is and carrying on about how stupid he's being.
What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?
Because it's not like I haven't been trying SINCE HE WAS IN KINDERGARTEN to teach him to relax, acknowledge that these things take practise and accept that he's just going to have to get it wrong for a while before he figures out how to get it right. Years, YEARS, I say, I'VE BEEN TRYING FOR YEARS!!!
So I calm him down, and we go over how he's still practising how to relax and let things go just like he's practising trumpet, so if he makes a mistake and freaks out he's just got to let it go and try again. Inside, I'm thinking JESUS FUCKING CHRIST IT'S A LITTLE NOTE WILL YOU GET OVER YOURSELF! I'm also dying a little inside, because YOU ARE THE SWEETEST LITTLE BOY IN THE ENTIRE WORLD DON'T YOU DARE THINK THESE AWFUL THINGS ABOUT YOURSELF!
It's worn me out. Times like these you wish you could pop their little skulls open and adjust the gears inside directly. I never know if I'm getting anywhere. Why does he still do this after SEVEN YEARS of "learning to cope" lessons?
Going to bed,
ephelba
He'll play two notes on his trumpet. One will be wrong. He'll slam something and say to himself, "Jesus it's two notes!" He'll try again, and if he fails, he'll say "What's wrong with me? This is awful? I can't stand this!" He may try again, or he may spend the next FIVE MINUTES calming himself down, or better yet, working himself up into a fit that ends up with him crying on his bed, apologizing about how Weak he is and carrying on about how stupid he's being.
What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?
Because it's not like I haven't been trying SINCE HE WAS IN KINDERGARTEN to teach him to relax, acknowledge that these things take practise and accept that he's just going to have to get it wrong for a while before he figures out how to get it right. Years, YEARS, I say, I'VE BEEN TRYING FOR YEARS!!!
So I calm him down, and we go over how he's still practising how to relax and let things go just like he's practising trumpet, so if he makes a mistake and freaks out he's just got to let it go and try again. Inside, I'm thinking JESUS FUCKING CHRIST IT'S A LITTLE NOTE WILL YOU GET OVER YOURSELF! I'm also dying a little inside, because YOU ARE THE SWEETEST LITTLE BOY IN THE ENTIRE WORLD DON'T YOU DARE THINK THESE AWFUL THINGS ABOUT YOURSELF!
It's worn me out. Times like these you wish you could pop their little skulls open and adjust the gears inside directly. I never know if I'm getting anywhere. Why does he still do this after SEVEN YEARS of "learning to cope" lessons?
Going to bed,
ephelba
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Much Better Now
I have gone through my usual worship ritual, and the Internet responded by informing me that Peanut had low birth weight, not very low birth weight. The difference? In her case, 300g, but also an improved outlook. There is a direct correlation between birth weight and likelihood of developmental delay, low IQ, sensory impairment, and psychological problems. So she's more likely to have issues than a 7 lb baby, but less likely than a 3 lb baby. It also helps that she's a girl, white, and born to a married woman who has health insurance.
I've also done some reading in the baby book put out by the American Academy of Pediatrics. She's on the low end of normal in gross motor and language development, maybe just behind normal, but at least in the same neighborhood as the ballpark. She's dead on in social and fine motor development. She plays peekaboo and can find objects hidden by a blanket, so those parts of cognitive development are ok. The ones that are dependent on language aren't there yet, but we've still got time.
I think. Because the book isn't very specific on the when these things should happen. I will do more looking on the Internet and see what I find. All the reading I did last night and this morning has reassured me that she's probably going to be ok. At least I'm not freaking out anymore.
On a more entertaining note, the Doctor prescribed iron drops for her, which we are to slip into her bottle morning and night. Knowing how she feels about Tastes I was dubious, but after an initial ugly face she drank it right up. Boy and I were curious what it tasted like, so we each tried a dropperful.
The initial bouquet is lemony, almost yummy. Then other flavor notes take over; bitter, an overtone of nasty nasty bitter, and highlights of metallic bitter. The best part? The aftertaste just won't quit. You can't wash it out of your mouth. Eating something doesn't completely expunge the taste either. We didn't resort to scraping our tongues on the carpet, but we were tempted. So explain to me how the girl who can't stand the taste of apple sauce swigs this stuff back with no problem?
Delighting in the wonders and mysteries that are my family,
ephelba
I've also done some reading in the baby book put out by the American Academy of Pediatrics. She's on the low end of normal in gross motor and language development, maybe just behind normal, but at least in the same neighborhood as the ballpark. She's dead on in social and fine motor development. She plays peekaboo and can find objects hidden by a blanket, so those parts of cognitive development are ok. The ones that are dependent on language aren't there yet, but we've still got time.
I think. Because the book isn't very specific on the when these things should happen. I will do more looking on the Internet and see what I find. All the reading I did last night and this morning has reassured me that she's probably going to be ok. At least I'm not freaking out anymore.
On a more entertaining note, the Doctor prescribed iron drops for her, which we are to slip into her bottle morning and night. Knowing how she feels about Tastes I was dubious, but after an initial ugly face she drank it right up. Boy and I were curious what it tasted like, so we each tried a dropperful.
The initial bouquet is lemony, almost yummy. Then other flavor notes take over; bitter, an overtone of nasty nasty bitter, and highlights of metallic bitter. The best part? The aftertaste just won't quit. You can't wash it out of your mouth. Eating something doesn't completely expunge the taste either. We didn't resort to scraping our tongues on the carpet, but we were tempted. So explain to me how the girl who can't stand the taste of apple sauce swigs this stuff back with no problem?
Delighting in the wonders and mysteries that are my family,
ephelba
Friday, November 10, 2006
Easier Said Than Done
I wonder if I feed her enough. Or if she's had low iron her whole life and it's done something. Or whether we're stimulating her enough. I see an obviously developmentally disabled woman leaving the grocery store hugging a sack of potatoes like they're a life raft whilst someone says "You're doing a good job Karen" and I think there is absolutely No Fucking Way that's going to be my daughter.
Is it?
What if there's something wrong and there's nothing I can do to fix it? What if there's something I can do to fix it and I don't know what it is?
Going to seek hope from my personal god, the internet,
ephelba
Is it?
What if there's something wrong and there's nothing I can do to fix it? What if there's something I can do to fix it and I don't know what it is?
Going to seek hope from my personal god, the internet,
ephelba
Peanut Worries Us Again.
We tried a new Doctor. To sum up, she said she thought Peanut was devlopmentally delayed.
Well then.
It is hard to be in the place we are in right now. There is no way to tell if she's going to ride the Short Bus or if she's just going to walk a few months late. Of course, we couldn't love her more either way. We, personally, think she's behind in her gross motor development, but since her fine motor and social development is on schedule, maybe it's no big deal. Thankfully, my insistance on getting her into physical therapy is good, because the therapist had already suggested things to do to strengthen her leg muscles. Hopefully she'll catch up a bit. Otherwise they're thinking that she'll qualify for early intervention sevices at a year.
And really, getting those services would be ok. Because it's just a way to give her what she needs.
As I watch her right this moment, the whole issue seems moot. She's rolling around like a perfectly healthy, happy six month old. This, of course, is the trouble, since she's nine months old.
As I told Loon, I am just going to decide not to worry about it. We won't know what the deal is until she grows. I can stimulate her and help her with her excersizes, otherwise there's nothing I can do.
So. There's much I have to say on the topic, but I'm off to bed.
May all the news you get today be good,
ephelba
Well then.
It is hard to be in the place we are in right now. There is no way to tell if she's going to ride the Short Bus or if she's just going to walk a few months late. Of course, we couldn't love her more either way. We, personally, think she's behind in her gross motor development, but since her fine motor and social development is on schedule, maybe it's no big deal. Thankfully, my insistance on getting her into physical therapy is good, because the therapist had already suggested things to do to strengthen her leg muscles. Hopefully she'll catch up a bit. Otherwise they're thinking that she'll qualify for early intervention sevices at a year.
And really, getting those services would be ok. Because it's just a way to give her what she needs.
As I watch her right this moment, the whole issue seems moot. She's rolling around like a perfectly healthy, happy six month old. This, of course, is the trouble, since she's nine months old.
As I told Loon, I am just going to decide not to worry about it. We won't know what the deal is until she grows. I can stimulate her and help her with her excersizes, otherwise there's nothing I can do.
So. There's much I have to say on the topic, but I'm off to bed.
May all the news you get today be good,
ephelba
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Strange
I am in a funny mood, probably brought on by lack of sleep. Therefore, this post will be odd and disjointed.
Thing 1 - I love Marlys. She rocks hard. Scroll down to the comics and check out "Your Toys".
Thing 2 - Speaking of toys, I want to make toys for the baby, but I can't figure out what I should try to make them out of. I like the flexibility that Fimo offers, but it doesn't stand up to much and I'm not sure I want her putting it in her mouth. Cloth is safe, but I feel like I need to be an engineer to figure out how to piece together what I have in mind. Wood would be perfect, if it weren't for the fact that it takes a long time to carve. Ideas? Anyone?
Thing 3 - Hindu gods are cool. I bet more people would be Christians if Jesus had three sets of arms and an animal head.
Thing 4 - I'm going to have company today. My house is not spotless. I am going to grow a little by deciding that this is ok. The company came and I really enjoyed having her over. I did not obsess about the state of the house. Yay me.
Thing 5 - If you are going to dribble glue on your counter in an accidental kind of way, dribble something white that says "Washable!" on the label, not something that says "Toughest Glue on the Planet".
Thing 6 - Wouldn't it be ironic if I started a campaign against commercialism, then made a mess of money selling t-shirts with anti-commercialism messages on them? Bet it's been done.
Thing 7 - I ordered a set of flip books from Snapfish thinking they'd be just the thing for xmas. As in, they would actually be a gift. They've arrived and have turned out to be more of a stocking stuffer. The good news is we got one set free what with all the sales they've got going.
Going to say goodnight now, the randomness is over,
ephelba
Thing 1 - I love Marlys. She rocks hard. Scroll down to the comics and check out "Your Toys".
Thing 2 - Speaking of toys, I want to make toys for the baby, but I can't figure out what I should try to make them out of. I like the flexibility that Fimo offers, but it doesn't stand up to much and I'm not sure I want her putting it in her mouth. Cloth is safe, but I feel like I need to be an engineer to figure out how to piece together what I have in mind. Wood would be perfect, if it weren't for the fact that it takes a long time to carve. Ideas? Anyone?
Thing 3 - Hindu gods are cool. I bet more people would be Christians if Jesus had three sets of arms and an animal head.
Thing 4 - I'm going to have company today. My house is not spotless. I am going to grow a little by deciding that this is ok.
Thing 5 - If you are going to dribble glue on your counter in an accidental kind of way, dribble something white that says "Washable!" on the label, not something that says "Toughest Glue on the Planet".
Thing 6 - Wouldn't it be ironic if I started a campaign against commercialism, then made a mess of money selling t-shirts with anti-commercialism messages on them? Bet it's been done.
Thing 7 - I ordered a set of flip books from Snapfish thinking they'd be just the thing for xmas. As in, they would actually be a gift. They've arrived and have turned out to be more of a stocking stuffer. The good news is we got one set free what with all the sales they've got going.
Going to say goodnight now, the randomness is over,
ephelba
My two cents on breastfeeding.
Esereth left the following comment the other day:
I have a breastfeeding question and you are the mama to ask.
Hospital book says that if you switch babe from boob to bottle they are likely to stop taking boob because it's harder to get food out of than the bottle.
Did you find that true and if not how did you avoid it?
I'm a little bummed that I'm the only one who will able to feed Smudge when she comes.
After the third paragraph of reply I realized what I had was not a comment, but an entry, which follows:
I have never had the breast feeding experience I wanted. First there was Boy, who had no interest in the boob whatsoever when he was born. A lactation consultant at the hospital helped us out until he got the hang of latching on, but once we were sent home I was on my own. I thought I had read enough about breast-feeding, but it turned out I didn't even know how much I didn't know. I'd heard about La Leche, but the idea of going to a meeting where all you talked about was boobs and their juice seemed beyond weird to me- how could there be enough to say to fill an entire meeting? So when Boy's growth started slowing, and feeding became an issue, I consulted his Doctor.
Here's my first piece of breast-feeding advice: Do not, under any circumstances, ask a Doctor how to fix a breast-feeding issue. Ask a La Leche Leader. Call a Lactation Consultant. If their advice doesn't help, call Another Lactation Consultant. Doctors aren't trained in how to facilitate lactation. They don't talk to Mothers Daily about nursing, or see in person the hundreds of variations on the theme that nursing is. They tend to give poor advice with utter conviction because they attended a conference once.
I was 20, worried, and thought the Doctor knew what she was talking about. In the end my milk supply dwindled, Boy lost weight, and we switched to formula.
Then along came Peanut. She knew exactly what a nipple was for, but she couldn't get it in her mouth. She was born with an abnormally small chin, and my big gumdrop nipples could not be stuffed in her mouth far enough for her to latch on. Several lactation consultants agreed that what we should do is have me pump breast milk for a while, feed it to her with a bottle, then switch from the bottle to the breast. We thought this would take a few weeks.
It took several months for her mouth to grow enough for the nipple to begin to fit in her mouth. I believe we still could have made the switch, but I wasn't diligent enough about practicing with the nipple shield, supplemental feeder and accompanying hooplah for Peanut to get the hang of it. Maybe finding another lactation consultant after we moved would have helped. Maybe nothing would have worked because Peanut can be particular about such things. Who knows. All I know is that breast-milk is good for babies, and if I have to bottle feed it to her for another three or four months I will.
It is my personal belief that Peanut did not have nipple confusion. There is much debate on this subject, because there have been studies done that say there is no such thing as nipple confusion. Ask a LaLeche Leader and she will probably tell you there is. I used to work in a daycare with babies who drank breast milk from the bottle there, then went home to nurse. In all honesty I think it depends on the baby. Peanut is very sensitive to tastes and textures and had definite opinions on which method she preferred. Other babies could care less. I think the advice that makes the most sense to me is to wait until nursing is well established (seems like I heard two months) before introducing the bottle or pacifier.
I did go to some La Leche meetings, where I was the only one feeding her baby from a bottle. I was made to feel very welcome. I discovered there is a ton of stuff to be learned, even if you've read all about nursing. There is plenty of content to fill a meeting with.
Which leads me to my second piece of nursing advice: Find a La Leche group before your baby is born. Pregnant Moms are welcome, and if you have a question in the middle of the night after the baby arrives, you'll feel less weird calling somebody you've already met.
If you're lucky, breastfeeding will be a breeze from the start. If you're not lucky, you'll be worried sick that your baby isn't getting enough milk at a time when you're tired and stressed anyway. This is why people switch to formula so soon after they come home.
My third piece of advice: do not buy any bottles or formula before the baby gets here, and do not accept any sent home with you by your hospital. If you get worried about your baby's intake, the formula will seem like the perfect solution. You can't be tempted to give them formula you don't have. Babies don't die because they don't nurse well when they're brand new, but when you're sitting there with a crying baby who won't latch on you feel otherwise. It's natural. If this happens to you, call someone who can help (see above), don't make a bottle. After the baby gets the hang of things you'll be soooo glad you did.
My last piece of advice: nursing isn't meant to hurt. If it hurts you, the baby probably isn't latching on correctly. Seek help!
You live, you learn. I can't be bothered to feel guilty about it anymore, but I do feel sad about the nursing that didn't happen. There is nothing so sweet, and I didn't get to have that experience in full with either child. I will have to settle for knowing that, yet again, I did the best I could with what I knew at the time.
Cuddle with 'em if you got 'em, (babies, that is)
ephelba
I have a breastfeeding question and you are the mama to ask.
Hospital book says that if you switch babe from boob to bottle they are likely to stop taking boob because it's harder to get food out of than the bottle.
Did you find that true and if not how did you avoid it?
I'm a little bummed that I'm the only one who will able to feed Smudge when she comes.
After the third paragraph of reply I realized what I had was not a comment, but an entry, which follows:
I have never had the breast feeding experience I wanted. First there was Boy, who had no interest in the boob whatsoever when he was born. A lactation consultant at the hospital helped us out until he got the hang of latching on, but once we were sent home I was on my own. I thought I had read enough about breast-feeding, but it turned out I didn't even know how much I didn't know. I'd heard about La Leche, but the idea of going to a meeting where all you talked about was boobs and their juice seemed beyond weird to me- how could there be enough to say to fill an entire meeting? So when Boy's growth started slowing, and feeding became an issue, I consulted his Doctor.
Here's my first piece of breast-feeding advice: Do not, under any circumstances, ask a Doctor how to fix a breast-feeding issue. Ask a La Leche Leader. Call a Lactation Consultant. If their advice doesn't help, call Another Lactation Consultant. Doctors aren't trained in how to facilitate lactation. They don't talk to Mothers Daily about nursing, or see in person the hundreds of variations on the theme that nursing is. They tend to give poor advice with utter conviction because they attended a conference once.
I was 20, worried, and thought the Doctor knew what she was talking about. In the end my milk supply dwindled, Boy lost weight, and we switched to formula.
Then along came Peanut. She knew exactly what a nipple was for, but she couldn't get it in her mouth. She was born with an abnormally small chin, and my big gumdrop nipples could not be stuffed in her mouth far enough for her to latch on. Several lactation consultants agreed that what we should do is have me pump breast milk for a while, feed it to her with a bottle, then switch from the bottle to the breast. We thought this would take a few weeks.
It took several months for her mouth to grow enough for the nipple to begin to fit in her mouth. I believe we still could have made the switch, but I wasn't diligent enough about practicing with the nipple shield, supplemental feeder and accompanying hooplah for Peanut to get the hang of it. Maybe finding another lactation consultant after we moved would have helped. Maybe nothing would have worked because Peanut can be particular about such things. Who knows. All I know is that breast-milk is good for babies, and if I have to bottle feed it to her for another three or four months I will.
It is my personal belief that Peanut did not have nipple confusion. There is much debate on this subject, because there have been studies done that say there is no such thing as nipple confusion. Ask a LaLeche Leader and she will probably tell you there is. I used to work in a daycare with babies who drank breast milk from the bottle there, then went home to nurse. In all honesty I think it depends on the baby. Peanut is very sensitive to tastes and textures and had definite opinions on which method she preferred. Other babies could care less. I think the advice that makes the most sense to me is to wait until nursing is well established (seems like I heard two months) before introducing the bottle or pacifier.
I did go to some La Leche meetings, where I was the only one feeding her baby from a bottle. I was made to feel very welcome. I discovered there is a ton of stuff to be learned, even if you've read all about nursing. There is plenty of content to fill a meeting with.
Which leads me to my second piece of nursing advice: Find a La Leche group before your baby is born. Pregnant Moms are welcome, and if you have a question in the middle of the night after the baby arrives, you'll feel less weird calling somebody you've already met.
If you're lucky, breastfeeding will be a breeze from the start. If you're not lucky, you'll be worried sick that your baby isn't getting enough milk at a time when you're tired and stressed anyway. This is why people switch to formula so soon after they come home.
My third piece of advice: do not buy any bottles or formula before the baby gets here, and do not accept any sent home with you by your hospital. If you get worried about your baby's intake, the formula will seem like the perfect solution. You can't be tempted to give them formula you don't have. Babies don't die because they don't nurse well when they're brand new, but when you're sitting there with a crying baby who won't latch on you feel otherwise. It's natural. If this happens to you, call someone who can help (see above), don't make a bottle. After the baby gets the hang of things you'll be soooo glad you did.
My last piece of advice: nursing isn't meant to hurt. If it hurts you, the baby probably isn't latching on correctly. Seek help!
You live, you learn. I can't be bothered to feel guilty about it anymore, but I do feel sad about the nursing that didn't happen. There is nothing so sweet, and I didn't get to have that experience in full with either child. I will have to settle for knowing that, yet again, I did the best I could with what I knew at the time.
Cuddle with 'em if you got 'em, (babies, that is)
ephelba
Monday, November 06, 2006
Told you there'd be Pictures
The Bag Hat is complete. Behold.
Everyday you wear this hat is automatically a party day. Somehow this hat reminds me of the Fraggles, or Dr Seuss. Boy even likes it, which says something. Generally he thinks I dress Peanut like a clown, so I assumed this Look would send him into a tirade. Instead he said it's her cutest hat yet. I think he's just in awe that you can take yarn and turn it into an actual item of clothing. It blows his little mind.
On another happy note, Peanut and I won a prize! Honorable mention here.
If I was savvy I would have listed my flickr account in such a manner as to not give away the names of myself or my children, and then I could have one of those cute buttons on my blog that shows my flickr pics. Alas, I am sub-savvy and am scared to link to it because there are Crazy people in the world. Suffice to say, Peanut is one of those sleepy babies. See if you can recognise her.
On my merry way,
ephelba
Everyday you wear this hat is automatically a party day. Somehow this hat reminds me of the Fraggles, or Dr Seuss. Boy even likes it, which says something. Generally he thinks I dress Peanut like a clown, so I assumed this Look would send him into a tirade. Instead he said it's her cutest hat yet. I think he's just in awe that you can take yarn and turn it into an actual item of clothing. It blows his little mind.
On another happy note, Peanut and I won a prize! Honorable mention here.
If I was savvy I would have listed my flickr account in such a manner as to not give away the names of myself or my children, and then I could have one of those cute buttons on my blog that shows my flickr pics. Alas, I am sub-savvy and am scared to link to it because there are Crazy people in the world. Suffice to say, Peanut is one of those sleepy babies. See if you can recognise her.
On my merry way,
ephelba
Sunday, November 05, 2006
In which the Baby eats.
My baby has finally decided that she might deign to eat things besides floor lint and the dog's rawhide. For a month now she's been Very interested in what we eat. She enjoyed chewing on a chicken bone and sucking on a peach pit. Well, enjoyed in her cautious way. Chewing, tasting, freezing, staring at the offensive taste maker, rinse and repeat...
It's not that I wouldn't give her food that isn't normally considered kitchen waste, it's just she hasn't learned how to swallow solids yet, since she can't get past the taste of things. Anyway, since the chicken bone went over well I got a jar of turkey and a jar of chicken and sweet potato baby food. Last night we gave it a try. She grabbed the spoon and put it her mouth, at which point she froze. There was a taste. She did a little mini gag, but she swallowed instead of letting it fall out of her mouth, so we decided to try the sweet potato stuff. At this point she was a little spooked. She put the spoon to her mouth very slowly, then stuck out her tongue to taste it. You think I'm making this up, but I'm not. She decided it was ok, and put it in her mouth. She made a face like she'd been fed battery acid, but then she did her bouncy thing which signals happiness, so we tried another bite. This time she actually opened her mouth to welcome the stuff! I have decided that she really is going to eat food, and not have to get care packages of boob juice sent to college.
What a load off my mind.
Not that I don't enjoy pumping. Wait, I don't enjoy pumping. I am sick of pumping and bottle washing and the whole shebang. Heartily sick. I showed the boob to the girl the other day in the hopes she might suddenly decide breastfeeding is cool. She poked the nipple with her index finger and made a dubious face. She was fascinated, though, much as I am when I see a person whose face is disfigured. After a while she progressed from poking at it like it was a beached jellyfish to grabbing it like it was a pile of money. Finally she put it in her mouth. She froze, which is a sure sign that it had a Taste and a Texture that did not please. That was it. If I get it out now she pokes it a little and then studiously ignores it. It's her equivalent of sticking her fingers in her ears and humming "I can't hear you!".
On other fronts, she is becoming motile. I chose that word because she reminds me of a bacterium- she can stop, turn/tumble, or go backward, which is similar to how bacteria move through the world. My little Chromatium. This works for her, although Simon says he doesn't want a baby that rolls, he wants one that crawls. Somehow I feel very relaxed about whether or not she crawls, but whether or not she eats gets me all uptight.
Although really and truly I'm not too worried about either one. I know she'll turn out ok in the end, we just have to be patient.
Later gater,
ephelba
It's not that I wouldn't give her food that isn't normally considered kitchen waste, it's just she hasn't learned how to swallow solids yet, since she can't get past the taste of things. Anyway, since the chicken bone went over well I got a jar of turkey and a jar of chicken and sweet potato baby food. Last night we gave it a try. She grabbed the spoon and put it her mouth, at which point she froze. There was a taste. She did a little mini gag, but she swallowed instead of letting it fall out of her mouth, so we decided to try the sweet potato stuff. At this point she was a little spooked. She put the spoon to her mouth very slowly, then stuck out her tongue to taste it. You think I'm making this up, but I'm not. She decided it was ok, and put it in her mouth. She made a face like she'd been fed battery acid, but then she did her bouncy thing which signals happiness, so we tried another bite. This time she actually opened her mouth to welcome the stuff! I have decided that she really is going to eat food, and not have to get care packages of boob juice sent to college.
What a load off my mind.
Not that I don't enjoy pumping. Wait, I don't enjoy pumping. I am sick of pumping and bottle washing and the whole shebang. Heartily sick. I showed the boob to the girl the other day in the hopes she might suddenly decide breastfeeding is cool. She poked the nipple with her index finger and made a dubious face. She was fascinated, though, much as I am when I see a person whose face is disfigured. After a while she progressed from poking at it like it was a beached jellyfish to grabbing it like it was a pile of money. Finally she put it in her mouth. She froze, which is a sure sign that it had a Taste and a Texture that did not please. That was it. If I get it out now she pokes it a little and then studiously ignores it. It's her equivalent of sticking her fingers in her ears and humming "I can't hear you!".
On other fronts, she is becoming motile. I chose that word because she reminds me of a bacterium- she can stop, turn/tumble, or go backward, which is similar to how bacteria move through the world. My little Chromatium. This works for her, although Simon says he doesn't want a baby that rolls, he wants one that crawls. Somehow I feel very relaxed about whether or not she crawls, but whether or not she eats gets me all uptight.
Although really and truly I'm not too worried about either one. I know she'll turn out ok in the end, we just have to be patient.
Later gater,
ephelba
Saturday, November 04, 2006
New! Improved!
Writing an entry every day may not be such a good idea- I have nothing to say that can be said quickly.
Here's something for you to do instead...
Enjoy!
ephelba
Here's something for you to do instead...
Enjoy!
ephelba
Friday, November 03, 2006
Three! Three Posts!
So my son says to me "Did they have the Internet in the 80s?"
When I tell him "No" his little Brain is Blown.
Do you feel old yet?
I have wasted my day- took the Peanut to physical therapy, then came home and napped for two hours. My husband is the best husband ever, EVER, because Peanut decided to skip her morning nap, so he took charge of her and let me sleep.
I pumped and then went online. Which is where I am now. The dishes aren't done, the recycling is still stacked on the porch and Walmart awaits. The only interaction I've had with Boy about school was going to be VERY negative, so I asked Simon to rescue us, and he did. I feel like a waste of flesh.
So. This is what happens when you post everyday, you get tripe.
Oh! Actually, I do have something for you; yesterday we watched the Aristocrats. Netflix gave it a love it/hate it review, so we were nervous, but it turns out we loved it. I haven't laughed that hard in ages.
The joke is filthy, and part of the fun is making it as filthy as possible. Boy was at Boyscouts, and when he came home we put the movie on pause so his ears wouldn't melt and fall off. He asked what we were watching, and when we told him it was the movie about the joke, he wanted to hear the joke. Which we couldn't begin to tell him. So he says, "How bad could it possibly be? 'A guy whips out his penis...'" , to which Simon and I respond by laughing, because half the jokes Do start that way.
I really enjoyed the laughing, and decided our Netflix queue didn't have nearly the amount of stand up comics on it that I need. I have remedied that.
Go put some comics on your list! I'm going to run errands and rescue my day,
ephelba
When I tell him "No" his little Brain is Blown.
Do you feel old yet?
I have wasted my day- took the Peanut to physical therapy, then came home and napped for two hours. My husband is the best husband ever, EVER, because Peanut decided to skip her morning nap, so he took charge of her and let me sleep.
I pumped and then went online. Which is where I am now. The dishes aren't done, the recycling is still stacked on the porch and Walmart awaits. The only interaction I've had with Boy about school was going to be VERY negative, so I asked Simon to rescue us, and he did. I feel like a waste of flesh.
So. This is what happens when you post everyday, you get tripe.
Oh! Actually, I do have something for you; yesterday we watched the Aristocrats. Netflix gave it a love it/hate it review, so we were nervous, but it turns out we loved it. I haven't laughed that hard in ages.
The joke is filthy, and part of the fun is making it as filthy as possible. Boy was at Boyscouts, and when he came home we put the movie on pause so his ears wouldn't melt and fall off. He asked what we were watching, and when we told him it was the movie about the joke, he wanted to hear the joke. Which we couldn't begin to tell him. So he says, "How bad could it possibly be? 'A guy whips out his penis...'" , to which Simon and I respond by laughing, because half the jokes Do start that way.
I really enjoyed the laughing, and decided our Netflix queue didn't have nearly the amount of stand up comics on it that I need. I have remedied that.
Go put some comics on your list! I'm going to run errands and rescue my day,
ephelba
Thursday, November 02, 2006
That's two, two posts! Bwah ha ha ha ha....
I can crochet. A little. I have a hat pattern that involves a single stitch and very little counting that I have used twice to good effect. I decided to make one for Peanut, which I intend to put a cute tassel on top of so I can pee myself at her cuteness. The pattern is basically a flat hexagon top that continues straight down, sort of like a can. As I am crocheting it, however, I am peppered with Simon asking me if it's going to be a tamoshanter, and Boy asking me how I'm going to make it round.
Sigh.
It didn't help that my first attempt was way too big. I was worried it wouldn't be big enough, or that the cotton yarn I was using would shrink, so I made it big enough for Simon. At this point, strangers were giggling when I said it was for my baby girl.
I had another plan for a hat, an original design modeled after a hat she already has. This one would be made like a bag, with two tassels on top like ears. I decided I'd pull the first hat apart, use the yarn from that one to make my bag-hat and solve two problems at once. Simon said it was like the second hat was the inverse of the first, since it was made from the can hat's unraveling. If they touched, they'd disappear.
Of course, the menfolk, lacking my vision, now have two hats to mock. Again Boy is baffled at how I'm going to make it round, and Simon likes to say things like "You know her head isn't rectangular, don't you?".
I will prevail. Just you wait. There will be pictures.
Going to wash me, the dishes, and try to crochet faster than the baby pulls the stitches out,
ephleba
Sigh.
It didn't help that my first attempt was way too big. I was worried it wouldn't be big enough, or that the cotton yarn I was using would shrink, so I made it big enough for Simon. At this point, strangers were giggling when I said it was for my baby girl.
I had another plan for a hat, an original design modeled after a hat she already has. This one would be made like a bag, with two tassels on top like ears. I decided I'd pull the first hat apart, use the yarn from that one to make my bag-hat and solve two problems at once. Simon said it was like the second hat was the inverse of the first, since it was made from the can hat's unraveling. If they touched, they'd disappear.
Of course, the menfolk, lacking my vision, now have two hats to mock. Again Boy is baffled at how I'm going to make it round, and Simon likes to say things like "You know her head isn't rectangular, don't you?".
I will prevail. Just you wait. There will be pictures.
Going to wash me, the dishes, and try to crochet faster than the baby pulls the stitches out,
ephleba
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Nabloblahblah
I'm not a slave to fashion, but I have decided to give NaBloPoMo a try. It is true that all the cool kids are doing it, and it gives me an excuse to say "But I have to go online, I've got to blog EVERYDAY!", but mostly I could do with a little challenge in my life.
That was a joke.
It's not like I am challenge-less. I have challenged myself to try to like New York, even when I feel like Sundance arriving in Bolivia. I have challenged myself to keep my house relatively clean, because the whole fam-damn-ily likes it that way and I don't leave the house to work. I have challenged myself to stay one step ahead of Boy in the homeschooling, because things just work soooo much better that way. I have challenged myself to make my baby some hats, because I love cute baby hats, and gosh-darn-it, I can do that. I have challenged myself to write on my daughter's blog once a week, my son's a couple of times a month.
Which reminds me, ever go to 43 things? There are a few sister sites that are fun too. Some of those online places you can lose yourself in.
Also, I decided to do this too late to get on the official list. I am doing this anyway, just for me. Maybe next year I'll get my rear in gear in time.
Going to meet a goal,
ephelba
That was a joke.
It's not like I am challenge-less. I have challenged myself to try to like New York, even when I feel like Sundance arriving in Bolivia. I have challenged myself to keep my house relatively clean, because the whole fam-damn-ily likes it that way and I don't leave the house to work. I have challenged myself to stay one step ahead of Boy in the homeschooling, because things just work soooo much better that way. I have challenged myself to make my baby some hats, because I love cute baby hats, and gosh-darn-it, I can do that. I have challenged myself to write on my daughter's blog once a week, my son's a couple of times a month.
Which reminds me, ever go to 43 things? There are a few sister sites that are fun too. Some of those online places you can lose yourself in.
Also, I decided to do this too late to get on the official list. I am doing this anyway, just for me. Maybe next year I'll get my rear in gear in time.
Going to meet a goal,
ephelba
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