Going off

In my family things “go off.” A flower, once bloomed has finally managed to “go off.” My boobs, suddenly making round wet spots on my shirt as the baby wakes and starts to fuss have “gone off.” You can even say something “went off” and you’ll still be on track. The emphasis isn’t on the second word in the way that implies a man who has become enraged by someone and “goes OFF” on them. It’s a simple statement: “Give me the baby, my boobs are going off.” We use this phrase so often that we forget that to others it can be a bit of a shock. Especially when used in combo with the word “boob.” And wouldn’t you know it, that’s when the phrase gets the most use these days.

Post partum is an interesting time for a woman’s body. Everything is rearranging: floppy belly skin is trying to reshape, internal organs are drifting back to their original locations, the relaxin still flowing through your being makes a leg “go off” and simply stop working or makes you wake in the middle of the night wondering what your arm is doing way over there somewhat disconnected from the rest of you. All this shifting can have some unexpected and rather unpleasant (though thankfully temporary) effects.

Over the last couple of days, something else on my body has been going off.

My butt.

I reach up to grab a pitcher from the top shelf and “fuuut” says my butt. Sit heavily into a chair and “hey there, fuuut!” exclaims my butt. Jump down from the top step with Lily and “woo, fuuut!” cries my butt with joy! What the fuuut! is going on here? It makes sense to have an overactive fuuut! response while a fetus is sitting on your intestines, but now they HAVE SPACE. I remember this happening after Lily was born and it goes away in short time, thank goodness. In the meantime, I’m giggling inappropriately and getting impressed looks from my husband and child while quickly leaving supermarket aisle even if I haven't managed to find the item for which I was searching. I’m also not looking forward to my next trip to the chiropractor.

At least I haven’t startled anyone with a ferocious and sudden fuuut!

Yet.

Look Ma, it fits!

I've finally found a URL/blog title that makes me happy. Did you notice it yet? Well then LOOK UP, you hoser. I've purchased the URL (shhh, don't tell Mark I spent more frivolously cash) so please redirect your browser to www.WannabeHippie.com. Oh and if you could change your links and do the wild chicken dance of happiness for me, that would be helpful as well.


WEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!


OH, and if you happen to be in the market for a couple of nice maternity items, I just happen to have a few on sale. Click the photo below to take you to the details.




Have a great weekend, yo!

Two-Months-Old

Dear Anya,
Today you are two-months-old. At this moment you are sleeping in our bed while Lily and I watch Nemo upstairs. I keep running down to check on you, still somewhat paranoid you will simply stop breathing when I’m not looking. Mothers worry about that kind of thing; we’re kinda insane that way.

I don’t yet feel like I know you as a person, but I already know you as a soul. I feel like you and I have been around a few times together and your old soul personality already shines through. You are so calm and relaxed about the world; you often seem to be reassuring me that it’ll all be OK. And then, your lower lip will jut out in a moment of sadness and my heart will break while I laugh at the beauty of the pout!



But enough of this mushy stuff, let’s talk about you and the car seat. What is it about being strapped in there that makes you think death is waiting for you around the corner? You’re such a happy baby when snuggled in the sling or standing up on your little bowed legs, punching furiously at the air. The second your cloth diaper clad ass hits the car seat you start fussing and within moments you’re in the midst of a full blown wail. I spend every car trip with my arm contorted into the back seat, trying over and over to shove the damn binky back into your mouth. It just kills me when I get the thing in there and you simply cry around it. Unless you fall asleep, car rides are somewhere around the seventh level of hell. I used to be able to leave Lily sleeping in the car seat after a ride, but you won’t have it; not for one moment.

We went for a walk around the lake last night and I had delusions of putting you in the stroller and happily pushing you along as Lily chattered at random objects in the front. No such luck. I had forgotten that the trail was sandy… VERY sandy. I also somehow forgot that you think of the car seat as evil, so what was the chance you’d feel OK sitting in it perched atop the stroller? About 1/5th of the way around, I gave up the shoving and screaming and sent your father back to the car with the stroller, strapping you to me in the sling. There you settled happily in and quietly worked the binky while we walked at a toddlers pace, the dog straining at the leash and diving for ducks every time she thought you dad had loosened his grip on the leash.

You are so delicate and perfect; I can’t help but stare at you all the time. You look so much like your sister that in many ways, your face is starting to replace Lily’s in my memories. Lily may always be my first child but you will always be my baby.

And now I hear you wiggling around as you try to wake up. Lily is still focused on Nemo, but who knows how long that will last. In fact, there she goes. So I must end this letter and actually care for my children.

Know that you are loved,
Mama

Desert rain

My grands live out in the California desert in a little area of town that is basically a retirement community. They live in a trailer; not the kind of trailer that you could hook up to a truck and move your home in a day, but a big double wide with foundation, air conditioning, that sort of thing. None-the-less it’s in the desert and when we stepped out of the air conditioned truck last weekend our clothes instantly stuck to our skin and we were drenched in sweat. Even Lily stopped, looked up at us and said, “Hot.” Yeah, kido, but the phrase you’re looking for is “DAMN HOT.” We scurried inside and gratefully accepted the tall drinks of water thrust in our desperate hands. We sat and visited for a bit, showing off the baby and watching Lily perform her usual antics. Good times. The grands are getting older, having more trouble and are set to move into an apartment with some more assistance. Grandpa wanted to take us over and show off the new digs and treat us to lunch in the dining room. You bet. We had to take two cars (part of the reason for the hunt for a minivan) and on the way over I turned to Mark and said, “You know, we’re taking our kids to a retirement home dining hall… they’re gonna get mobbed.” Sure enough, they seated us right by the exit and every single passer-by exclaimed on their cuteness. I thought one lady with more plastic surgery than Elizabeth Taylor was going eat up Lily in one scary bite. I fended her off of the cheek pinching by pointing out that my child was terrified shy.

We got back to the house and sat for a spell more, when I heard a noise I haven’t heard in a while. “Mark, did you leave the truck windows down?”
“Yeah.”
“Go close them, right now.”
It was then that the rain hit, furious and loud on the tin roof of the carport. He dashed out into it and closed up the truck, coming back soaked. Within minutes the streets were flooded, empty packing boxes flowing out the carport to escape down the street, power went out… it was wild. I handed off Anya to my Grandma and Mark and I ran around trying to rescue the boxes my grandfather had so painstakingly collected from behind the Vons. Lily thought it was amazing and kept dragging my grandma from window to door to look excitedly as the hail came down. We all sat stunned (and damp) as buckets of water slammed against the windows, some of it horizontal and violent. The old folk’s network went into effect, the phone ringing as neighbors checked in on each other. One even reported a twister touching down on the east end of town. Great, I thought, and we’re in a freaking trailer park.

Luckily the whole thing passed in less than an hour without one sighting of Dorothy or Toto and we were on our way out of town to go see Daphne_Blue and her family. The flood channels were full, the drivers all in a bit of a daze and the whole world steamed as the sun baked off the storm.

We had a blast at Daph’s. Go check out some of the few shots over at Flickr, just click on the picture below to get you there.

Lily's List of Firsts

You know those moms who can tell you the exact day, time and second their child first said a word or took a step or pooped in something other than a diaper? They can do this 50 years AFTER it happened and remember it so vividly that they can tell you how hot it was outside, what day of the week it was and what they had for dinner that night.

I AM NOT ONE OF THOSE MOTHERS.

I cannot remember what happened yesterday. This is why I blog. So I can LOOK IT UP.

So anyway, now that I have this other kid I'm starting to wonder when I should expect stuff, you know, more or less. I spent an hour or so this afternoon while the kido's were sacked out, just about dead because of the heat, and looked it all up. Here's what I got (most include links to delightful little posts about said event -- hint, some of them have multiple links, so click on all the words if you're looking to waste LOTS of time):

Lily's List of Firsts:

Smiled: Right from the get go, responsively from about 2 weeks
Rolled Tummy to Back: 4 weeks
Slept through the night: A one off through the night at 8 weeks; made it a regular event around one year.
Laughed: 14 weeks – at Daddy
Rolled Back to Tummy: 3 1/2 months
Sat up Alone: 4 1/2 months
Crawled: 7 months
Ate Solid Food: 7 months
First Tooth: 8 months – she got her first on Feb 21st followed by the second on Feb 28th (Daddy’s Birthday)
Stood: 9 months
First Step: 10 months -- not to me or Mark but to our good friend Nate (who she is still in love with)
Spoke word: 10 months with “Dada, Mama, yeah”
Bathed in Tub: With mom at 3 weeks; by herself having fun around a year (has never liked getting her head wet).
Dressed herself: Has been very independent since about 18 months
Potty time: 2 years – spent all of July 4th running back and forth to the potty. Pooped in there on July 25th
No more diaper during the day: about 28.5 months
No more diapers at night: also around 28.5 months
Wrote Name: not yet
Haircut: not yet

Anya's List of Firsts

To be updated as they happen!

Smiled: Right from the get go, responsively from about 2 weeks
Rolled Tummy to Back: 8 weeks
Slept through the night: she's been giving us 4-6 hour stretches since day one. Freaks me out.
Laughed: 2 months, but it seems it was a one-off. Around 3.5 months she got to giggling on a regular basis.
Rolled Back to Tummy: 3 months (to the day!)
Sat up Alone: On December 11^th , at 6 ½ months
Crawled: 6 ½ months
Ate Solid Food:
First Tooth: On December 13^th , at 6 ½ months old
Stood:
First Step:
Spoke word:
Bathed in Tub:
Dressed herself:
No more diaper during the day:
No more diapers at night:
Wrote Name:
Haircut:

Boys Don't Cry

My kick ass nephew wearing the tee I bought for him over at Hot Topic.

Freaking out... just a little

Remember how I said I was lazy? We’ve been married for five years and I have yet to put together a wedding album. We have the negatives, so it’s no big deal, I just haven’t gotten around to it. Yeah.

So today I decide I’m going to get the negatives, bring them over to Costco and have them scan them all to disk so I can at least make an online wedding album. Simple enough plan, yo. Except for one small detail: I CANNOT FIND THE NEGATIVES.

No… I’m not panicking at all! What ever gave you that idea? Could it be the paper bag firmly affixed to my face as I attempt not to pass out via hyperventilation? Could it be the pacing while I mutter to myself and flick my hands around like an idiot savant?

I’m fairly certain I’ve seen them since our move. I even have a vague recollection of putting them somewhere safe (something, btw, my mom did with her wedding ring when my parents split… she’s not seen it since). But I’ve checked all the likely places and let me tell you, NO NEGATIVES. Holy crap.

If anyone has any magic incantations, chants, spells, etc to locate lost items, I’m all ears. I did come across the prints, so not ALL hope is lost… just the hope to have good quality enlargements.

Meh.

Rolling rolling rolling...

Eight weeks old today and she showed off to her daddy by rolling from her front to her back.

Rock on, my baby!

Lightening love

Friday night was magic, but exhausting.

We got to bed late after talking too long (and doing some laundry), something we don’t get to do that often. We kept saying, “Man, we gotta get some sleep, we have a long day tomorrow” and then we’d start talking about our latest passion of yurts (that’s a whole ‘nother story). We finally drifted off to sleep sometime after midnight, arms intertwined while Anya slept quietly in the open crib pushed up next to our bed.

About 4am, I awoke to find Mark out of bed and thunder rolling across the canyon. Flashes from the lightening were coming through the window, usually following the rumble of thunder so I knew the storm had to be far off. I checked that Anya was sleeping soundly and padded upstairs and out to the porch, whistling to find where Mark had gone. He returned the whistle and I realized he was off trying to cover some carpentry projects he had left out so the paint could dry. Every time he has a big project we get rain, but the heat from hell had lulled him into a false sense of security.

I stood on the porch, watching the waning full moon play hide and seek with the clouds and then turned to watch the lightening bolts creep up the valley. Lightening bolts and their accompanying thunder are like a roller coaster to me: scary and thrilling all in one. Mark joined me after a while and we stood watching, occasionally distracted by the dog as she enjoyed a romp in the dark.

I checked in on Lily and stood watching as light flashed across her sleeping body, transfixed by how white her skin looked in lightening light. She woke just after we got into bed and a particularly loud crack of thunder boomed. Mark went and collected her and dropped her into bed between us. She was thrilled to be rolling around in bed with us and kept touching Mark, sitting up to point at Anya sleeping nearby and exclaim “baby!”, then suck her thumb, back up, etc. Finally she lay down, her nose inches from my own and started stroking my cheek. Her big brown eyes stared at me while her other hand worked on sucking that thumb. I kept my eyes closed, trying to give her the hint and I heard the wet noise of her thumb popping out of her mouth. I opened my eyes to see her smile, still stroking my face and she whispered, “I lobe you.”

“I love you too, pumpkin.” And my heart broke in two, scattering all over the sheets and filling the room with the sweetness that is toddler love.

Everyday I am pushed to reexamine myself, my life, and my role in the universe. Being a parent is scary and thrilling all in one. And I wouldn’t trade it for all the lightening storms in the world.

Mark got really drunk and won a bowling trophy

I have never been so proud.

Name change, part II

So HippieChick isn’t really working for me, although I do get as much of a giggle out of writing HippieSkippy as some of you have admitted to getting upon reading it. But the reality is that we are not really hippies. I don’t wear all organic cotton flowey skirts with tie-dye tops. I don’t grow my own hemp or smoke it. Heck, I don’t even really drink. I don’t believe that all we need is love, although I’m very happy to see it get used on a regular basis. I don’t drive an ultra gas conservative hybrid car or a 1970’s VW van with flowers painted on it. I never use the word groovy. Yes, I have a minor in Women’s Studies, but I also graduated on the deans list. I’m not at all what one would call anti-establishment. We cloth diaper our girls but we’re not self righteous about it and don’t believe that choice will save the world. We co-sleep, but the fact that it’s actually beneficial to our child runs a close second to the fact that I am LAZY and want to get as much sleep as possible. By now you’re getting the point, I’m sure. The name just didn’t sit.

That and I got over my paranoia.

So, as much fun as it is to refer to my husband as Skippy, he gets to be Mark again. I’m going to go with a nick name that has followed me for years and go by Ginger. Not anything like Ginger from Gilligan’s Island so NOBODY go there. And the site name will be changing soon too. “One Happy Family” is a little too cute for my taste… and I fear it will invoke the wrath of the domestic tranquility gods. Don’t yet know what I’ll go with, but it’ll be happening soon.

And crap, now I have to go and change everything again!

I did not eat cake

Yesterday I made some crack about making a cake. That was funny. I stood there and looked at the cake pan, then looked at the loose bits of me that used to house a baby, then looked at the cake pan, then looked at the pants that didn’t fit and remembered I had very few things that actually “fit”, and one more look at the cake pan… and well, no cake. It’s OK, I wasn’t in love with the idea of a cake really, I just needed to do something that seemed productive.

Today it is so hot, the walls are melting. Or maybe that’s just a byproduct of my brain melting. It is, right now, at this very moment 89 degrees in my living room. All windows and doors are open, the fan is on and we actually do have a bit of breeze… STILL 89. TOO HOT! And no, we don’t have A/C. Lily refused to take her nap (it’s usually hotter in her room than in the main house) and Anya is sleeping buck naked. Yes I took a photo. Yes you can see it as soon as I can find the cables, assuming of course that the cables haven’t melted. My computer won’t actually work in this heat, so I’m using Mark’s. Here it is already!





This is a dreadfully boring post. I shall end it now, which is probably a good thing because I just noticed that the keyboard is melting.

Which one will hospitalize the other first?

Odds are on Lily, since she’s the bigger of the two. She has already kicked, slapped, pinched, stepped on, squeezed and generally ruffled her baby sister. She does these things with a smile on her face, as though it’s funny to hurt the baby. She hurts me on occasion too, but Anya really seems to be her focus these days. Every once in a while Anya will randomly swing a limb and land one on Lily and, as a little sister myself, I’ll silently cheer the happy accident. I like to think that she’s already learning to fight back.

But then I start to worry. What if these little episodes of aggression advance? What if she really hurts her sister? Then I read this article: "And the Dragon Shall Lie Down with the Lion": A mother and son's dance when the new baby arrives and it rang very true. It reinforced what I had been suspecting all along: Lily is struggling with dual emotions. She is simultaneously infatuated and infuriated with this new draw on our attention. And for a toddler, having two very conflicting emotions at the same time can be downright confusing. How can she be loving and jealous all in the same breath? It’s advanced stuff; even I’ve been less than graceful when faced with this kind of emotional conflict and I’m supposed to be a mature adult.

We’ve been reading Siblings Without Rivalry and it’s twin, How to Talk so Kids will Listen and Listen so Kids will Talk, both by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish and have been thrilled with what they have to offer. But Lily is only two and while her language skills are growing everyday, some of the methods just don’t translate yet. I can’t quite get her to understand that conflicting emotions are OK. I can’t tell her what to do instead of hurting the baby, at least not in a way that she has been able to fully comprehend and latch on to. I’m trying. I’m also remembering that when a toddler lashes out, they are not trying to be bad. They are telling you that they need your focus, right now. But this can be so challenging as the mother of a new baby as well.

I am trying to be everything my children need me to be and trying to remember that the focus of that sentence is “need” not “want.” I am trying to give them the tools to do for themselves as well as know that I will be there for whatever they need. Anya’s needs are so immediate: milk, new diaper, to be held, etc. But Lily’s needs are becoming so dynamic; it’s hard to know where to focus.

Today, Lily is hanging out with Grandma as so I am taking some time (while Anya sleeps) to just examine my own needs. Because I needn’t forget that I have those too. After all, the saying goes, “If mama’s not happy, then nobody’s happy!” I think I will bake a cake… pregnancy weight be damned.

While it bakes, tell me how you help your single child transition into being a sibling. I could really use some encouragement… and some tips on emergency room decorum, ‘cause we could be hanging out there any day now.

Two, Two, Two Dogs in[stead of] one!

So we’re talking about getting another dog. Sancho doesn’t come around anymore and our lab is getting fat again without a canine playmate. We’re not talking about getting just any random, hypothetical dog; nope. Her name is Rudy and she’s a white lab who’s about two or three years old. She currently lives with some people that Mark does work for but it seems that the only person really into her is the dad and he’s away on business all the time. Every time Mark shows up to install the latest “must have” Rudy is at his feet, ball in mouth, just begging for some lovin’. There’s been talk that she would do well in a home where she could get more attention and so my dear husband has been hinting. Does he realize this will even further skew the male to female ratio in our home? Does he realize that now when we travel, we’d have two kids and two dogs to wrangle? I never even had one dog before Maya, much less two at the same time. Is it possible to do such a thing without the world becoming all fuzzy and dirty? Two wallowing piggies tracking mud into the house: does Lily have that much boss in her?

Who has more than one and can tell me if we’d be insane to take this on? Come on, my internet lovely’s, I need your input!

Mini-me and the little piggy

The dog loves mud. I think she was a little piggy in a former life. There’s a spot on the hillside that keeps filling up with water and creating the most beautiful little piggy wallow. At least once a day the dog will come bursting through the front door and prance about gleefully, her feet mired in mud, a very clear contradiction to this stupid white carpet. This is the point at which the nearest aware adult will start flapping his or her arms and yelling at the dog to get out. Lily thinks this is a brilliant scene and has taken to sharing in the arm flapping and hollering. Man, do we love to holler in this family.

Maya had already made her first muddy entrance and exit this morning when she decided she’d sit outside the closed front door and bark repeatedly at the indignity of being banished to the porch for her royal muddiness. Lily decided to take care of the situation for me, bless her pajama clad little heart. She stalked over to the front door, opened it up a bit and proceeded to explain to the dog why she cannot come in. I was able to figure this out not because of the clear and concise sentences coming out of her face, no, she’s still a gibberish babbler a lot of the time; I was able to get her gist because she was copying my gestures, tone and pattern of speech exactly. It was a mini-me moment and I was choking on my breakfast trying not to ruin the moment by falling down laughing.

She closed the door and turned to tell me all about it, at which point the dog started her barking again. Lily spun on her heal, whipped open the door and firmly yelled, “NO BARK, NO BARK!” while pointing her finger for emphasis. A few more rounds of “NO BARK” and then she slammed the door shut and (get this) crossed her arms, shaking her head and “telling” me what a pain in the ass that dog is. Must not pee pants in front of toddler; must take her seriously. “Thank you for helping, Lily. You told her, huh?”

It was then that my girly had a change of heart. With a big sigh, she turned and cracked the door again, delivering to the dog a few soft words and admonitions before opening it wide to allow her entrance. I told Maya to stay on the landing and Lily went bustling off importantly only to return with a rag. She chattered to the dog while she cleaned off her muddy paws. You got that, right? The kid cleaned the dogs feet.

She’s already an adult. I birthed this kid only two years ago and she’s already out pacing me in forgiveness and housekeeping. I swear, if this keeps up, I can retire early.

Resentment

As a new mother, if my child fussed, I dropped everything and went right to her. We would trade off eating so that someone could always be holding her (she was a very fussy infant) and I would race through my meal so that Mark could eat and I could nurse the baby if needed. No wonder it took me so long to loose the pregnancy weight, I would bolt down my food in a desperate effort to assuage the guilt of making Mark eat cold meals, never really tasting or allowing my brain to tell me my tummy had had enough.

Then I got what I thought was a brilliant idea: just get Mark to eat first! Then he’ll be the one racing through a meal and I could enjoy mine, knowing that if I had to nurse that was OK, at least my husband had already eaten his meal.

Wow was I naïve!

He would sit and enjoy his meal and I would glare at him while he took a sip, carefully wiped his mouth, nibbled on a bite and then paused to thoughtfully chew. I didn’t get it. How was he not crushed by guilt, watching me pace and jiggle a cranky and colicky baby while my food got cold? It was then that I recalled his vacant stare towards the TV as Lily fussed, not two feet away from him and my clipped bark of, “HEY, get the BABY!” I thought of my friend telling me about her two-year-old trying to get her dad’s attention, “Daddy. Daddy. Daddy! DADDY!... DEAN!” And then it hit me: men don’t think like we do. They don’t see the world with the same urgency that we do. Why is that? Seriously, this is not a rhetorical question, I want to know.

At least at this moment I am blogging while my husband is pacing with our sick infant in arms. And me? I’m trying NOT TO FEEL GUILTY!

While watching Aladdin and eating Miso Soup this morning:

Mark: What’s he so upset about, the genie made him a prince, therefore he is a “real” prince.
Ginger: Well, yeah, but he doesn’t have a country.
M: He’d better or he’s not a real prince.
G: Maybe it’s a small country… inhabited only by naked mole rats.
M: Oh, and a tire!

[pause as we look silently at each other for a moment]

G: “Population…
M&G: “Tire!"

My life as a cool mom is over

We are selling my adorable, kick-ass silver Rav4 in order to buy a…
Wait, let me start again:
My Rav4, who has been with us through the fun times and in which we conceived both our children* is being sold so that we can purchase…
Wow, this is harder to say than I thought.
We’re going to buy a mmmm..
minnn...
mini-va...
mini-vaaaaaaaaa...

[snort]
[clearing throat]

MINIVAN, OK!
We’re going to buy a freaking minivan. Gahhh!



And yes, I’ll be signing up the kids for soccer any day now.



*so not true, but I just bet your sweet ass you all thought it was. After all, I’m the hippie chick, right?

Serenity now!

Watching an infant sleep is one of those things that fills a mothers heart with warm fuzzy bunny love. Unless that infant has a hacking cough and is so full of snot she can barely breathe. Then watching that infant sleep is an exercise is terror. Luckily, most of the time she sleeps alright; it’s more an episodic issue. Suddenly, she’ll wake and start struggling, little arms flailing and chest sucking in air desperately. I sat next to the tub for the better part of an hour at 1am, hoping the steam from the shower would help loosen the mucus and help her breathe. The little bulb sucker thingie is getting some good use too and boy if that isn’t fun!

Nursing isn’t all warm fuzzy bunny love these days either. See, a baby needs to be able to breathe pretty much all the time (go figure). Every time she closes her mouth to latch, the snot factory in her nose cuts her air off and so she has to nurse in gasping bits. My milk is all worked up and attempting to feed her from 50 paces… not so good when she’s actually right there and choking on the insane flow. A good friend suggested I pump first but Anya is nursing all the time so asking her to hold on while I pump… I just can’t see that working for us.

The thing that really pisses me off is that this is the second time she’s been sick and she’s not yet two-months-old. Having an older sister is proving to be a real bitch for my baby girl. Imagine the fun if Lily were in daycare!

I am ready and willing to accept wellness in my family now. Seriously, I’m waiting.

udderfeed

working on her jump shot

Mark brought home a basketball hoop last night that he picked up for free (CraigsList ROCKS!). Despite the illness running rampant through our little family, all four of us were out at sunset to fling the ball around. OK, so I held Anya and took photos, but those other two, they dunked to their hearts delight.

Maybe I’ll have the energy to write more later. Sick sick sick around here. Only one not sick is Mark. And the dog. Lucky bastards. Even the cats been sick and that is just yuck.

So yeah, blah and all that. Go look at pictures or something.

my beautiful girls

Just 60 seconds

Every once in a while, we are reminded how fragile life is. A child gets sick, a parent suffers heart damage, a train gets bombed. Today I stood in my kitchen looking at my daughter as she diligently spooned milky cheerios into her face; her fever dried lips working around the monstrous spoon as she enjoyed each bite. I savored the clink of Lily’s metal spoon against the glass, gathering mouthfuls after a whole day of not eating much of anything. My infant laid in the cradle, arms and legs waving around experimentally, little coos purring from her throat. I stood and I stared at all of this, somehow frozen in time and space. Out of the corner of my eye I only peripherally noticed a bit of dust floating through a sunbeam, my gaze fixed on my toddler, the spoon, her dark eyelashes. I listened to the pull of my breath, actively slowing down and focusing; allowing the moment to calm down my manic morning energy. I couldn’t move, afraid that if I did I would somehow lose her… lose the perfectness that is my child into the mayhem that is everyday life. I held perfectly still for just 60 seconds and I remembered to thank the higher power for all I could see, hear, feel, smell, taste and love.

How will 60 seconds change your day?

You funny lady!

OK, so today sucked toast. My poor baby is sick. Lil’s fever spiked at just under 104 today and this kinda freaked my shit out. You have to understand that we are not doctor people. We don’t do well baby visits (although now I see a value in them, more on that later) and are generally distrustful of what an MD tells us. Why? Let’s just say my experiences with MD’s have been less than stellar and I’ve found a lot more respect and gentle healing in alternative medicine.

But one look at Lily and my resolve started to break down. Her eyes are all glassy, she has a horrid cough, is a cuddle monster (and is usually pretty “myself!” with me), keeps falling asleep in random places and when she awakes, if I’m not immediately there to stroke her head or hold her she starts crying and calling for me in the most pathetic voice I have EVER heard. I called Mark and we talked about what we should do and agreed that if she wasn’t better tomorrow, I’d take her to a Pediatrician. I called around to the two peds in town I had heard really good things about and neither had an opening tomorrow, but one could see her in about an hour. What the hell, I’ll take it.

OMG. Taking two kids to the doctor sucks. The whole thing sucks. The adventures started while I simultaneously attempted to fill out paperwork*, nurse a fussy baby and comfort my sick and sad two-year-old. In the midst of all of this, a nurse shows up and calls Lily’s name. So now I’m juggling a clingy toddler, still nursing the baby in the sling, trying to figure out how to pick up the HUGE diaper bag (why do I carry all this crap around, anyway?) and feeling a little stressed about the incomplete paperwork in hand. I got an assist from the nurse and we trundled off to a room.

After stripping my sad girly naked we weighed her (crying) and discovered she is 23.14 lbs, then the nurse asked me if she’d pee in a cup. Ummm, she won’t regularly pee in a potty, what’s the chance I can get her to pee in a little cup. You funny lady, OK! Love you long time! “That’s OK, we’ll just bag her.” OK, I watch lots of doctor shows and I had no idea what she meant by that but I feared she was casually suggesting shoving a catheter into my child. “What do you mean by that?” I asked, not wanting to jump to conclusions. “Oh, we just put a bag in her diaper.” Well that’s totally acceptable, HAD IT BEEN TRUE. But before I talk about that, let me tell you about getting her temp taken. It is my job, as mother, to avoid having strangers shove instruments up my child’s ass. Even if they are lubricated and thin instruments, I have still betrayed her by allowing it to happen and she let me know all about it. And here I am telling her it’s OK. NOT OK IF YOU’RE THE ONE THEY ARE DOING IT TO. I am such a liar.

Now back to the bagging. It’s no simple matter of sticking a bag in her diaper. NO. They first smear her with iodine in order to gain a “clean catch” which isn’t painful, but it isn’t pleasant when you are a confused and irritable sicky. Then they STICK the bag to her little coochie. OK, I want all you folks to find a smooth spot of skin in your neither regions and scotch tape a ziploc to it. Now try to move around a bit. Can you feel the extreme discomfort? “OFF!” She hollered. “All done? OFF! All done! Hurt, hurt, hurt! OFF!” And so it went. She never did pee in that thing and I’m willing to bet no self respecting toddler EVER has!

At least the doctor was nice, as the people I had spoken to about her had suggested. Oh, and they gave her a popsicle, which went over very well (and was some of the only fluids she took in all day). Doc's all about minimal interventions and is respectful of the choices we have made in parenting. She even made a comment about how she never could figure out how to nurse her child in a sling. I never could do it easily in other slings but in my Planet Zebes sling, it’s totally doable (thanks Daph! MWAH!).

Lily's lungs didn’t sound great and the nifty little device they use to measure oxygen in the blood (without poking any holes in the child, YAY!) showed numbers that were less than inspiring. She’s ordered a chest x-ray and we’re going to attempt to make that happen tomorrow if the fever isn’t down. I took her to Dr. Joe’s afterwards and she got a really good adjustment. He spent a good ten minutes just feeling and subtly adjusting her neck. She also got her first ever serious neck adjustment and while it scared her at first she quickly calmed down. And this brings me to the point I made about the value of well baby visits. Dr. Joe has been adjusting Lily since she was 11 hours old. She knows him very well and despite the fact that she didn’t want anyone touching her today, she allowed him to spend a great deal of time working on her. She trusts our chiropractor to help her and so allows him to do what’s needed. I think our appointment with the MD would have gone hella-better had she known the woman. *Also, if we had been doing well baby check-ups I wouldn’t have had to try to fill out paperwork today.

Anyway, she is now cuddled on her daddy’s lap watching Chicken Run and eating cookies (graham crackers). Mark picked up some popsicles on the way home so at least we have a way of getting her to take some fluids. We’ll go back to the chiro tomorrow for another adjustment and hope we keep seeing an improvement. I don’t like my baby hurting. I don’t like watching her little eyes roll back in her head all feverishly. I want her better. NOW. Someone make it happen.

sick

I love my toddler. She’s a blast.

Today she’s a blast in my ass. She’s having another drama queen day and boy if that isn’t my favorite thing in the whole wide world! Everything is tear worthy. Everything. I’d be ok with a little boo hoo if she didn’t accompany her waterworks with loud screaming/screeching/crying/banshee envying/OMG WHAT IS THAT NOISE… while standing next to the peacefully sleeping baby. Didn’t she get the memo? You know, the memo that states, “If you wake the sleeping baby, Mommy will not only be cranky but will have LESS time to devote to you, the almighty toddler.” I swear I have a signed copy around here somewhere so I know I gave it to her. Darn toddlers and their teeny tiny attention spans.

And I really shouldn’t complain about her eating, she eats anything and everything. But I’m just not a big fan of the have the “one bite of item she whined for, then reject it as evil, then demand something else (that will undoubtedly be rejected) to replace the sin” diet. I don’t care which celebrity actress is hawking it, I AIN’T BUYING!

The One Bite Diet

OH! And the Independence Day diaper-free-fest has been overthrown in favor of the wear-the-same-diaper-all-day-fest. As though her pee is sacred and special and taking it away or putting it in the potty will cause the ascension of evil to take place in our backyard. She won’t let me change her diaper peacefully, yet won’t use the potty. So I let her sit in her royal wetness until it gets on me, and then I hold her down and force a change or at the very least, a removal of the sodden dipe.

Although I have to admit: watching her right now as she tries to figure out how to get breast pads to stay in her shirt is pretty darn funny. OK, but now she’s smacking me with them while saying “touch, touch, touch, touch, touch.” And I was this close to letting her adorableness take all the gaaaah! away. Oh well. At least she's into nursing. And hey, she’ll be sleeping soon and then I can drink myself into a stupor. Oh wait, I have another child to care for and she’s a nursling. My drunken stupor will have to wait.

Hmmm… look out Jenny, I’m in serious contention for the bad attitude award. And Sista, I’m gaining on ya.

Maybe I'll feel better if you all do your homework. I could use me some kick-ass kitchen rags.

Weekend Assignment

Find me the funkiest you can of the following:

Kitchen Washcloths - matching towels and hot pads a plus
Notecards - to be used for thank you’s or random occasions such as when you discover you don’t have time to run to the store before the big birthday dinner
Advocacy tee-shirts - promoting breastfeeding, cloth diapering, home birthing, you get the idea


GO!

.

Who is this kid?

Anyone who knows me knows that I HATE shopping. If I could get away with wearing the same damn thing everyday, I’d do it. But alas, I am not as brilliant as Einstein so rather than seeming eccentric, I’d just seem lazy.

So imagine my surprise when, as we tooled around the local mall with Mark’s mom and sister, Lil goes racing into a kids store, heads right for a shoe display and at the top of her lungs cries out with joy, “SHOES!”

Then she hugged a couple of pairs.

All I could think was, “What have I done?” I kept repeating that question as she then flitted from display to display, happily hugging “PANTS!” “SHIRT!” and OMG, “DRESS!!!!” I finally just went with it and raced around with her saying, “Look at this beautiful sweater/sock/gum wrapper/etc!” She was just so happy. Ah well. What are you going to do really?

I just hope Anya is more like me in that respect. I don’t think we can afford raising two shop-a-holics.

Nothing to see here

I’ve been thinking a lot about anonymity. There have been some weird happenings with those I know online: evil stalker ex-husbands, custody issues, photos being swiped and put onto fetish sites, etc. I don’t have an ex-husband or even any stalker ex-boyfriends. My husband and I are firmly entrenched in this marriage and don’t have any plans to divorce and fight over the kids. I chose to share images of my family with you all and if someone I don’t want shows up and gets off… I just don’t want to know about it. Admittedly, it still gives me pause. How do we protect ourselves and our children when the web leaves you so exposed? What kind of terrors are we opening ourselves up to anyway? Don’t tell me. I really don’t want to know.

BUT, I wonder if I should change the names to protect the innocent. And would changing names be sufficient or should I no longer post photos? What kind of limitations would I go to next? Do I want to worry about every little thing I post? Do I want to live in fear?

I love posting and I love reading and all this CRAP has me just a little depressed. I want to be able to share my life with others and not have to live closed off or afraid of what could happen. I want to have faith in my community. The friendships I have forged based on nothing more than some photos and thoughts are important to me. I don’t want to close myself off from those possibilities.

I guess it just comes down to this: the internet is a wonder of wonders and a cranky bitch. Bahhh!

Edited to Add: The happy family has changed our names. My husband, when I informed him that I was going to hereby be known as "HippieChick", grinned like a fool and asked, "Can I be HippieSkippy?" So there you have it. I will be HippieChick and he will be HippieSkippy. The kids get to keep their names for now. I'll be converting stuff as I can, so don't be surprised if you see both versions of our names for a while!

Edited AGAIN to Add: We switch again... we're annoying like that. See this post for the whole skinny.

It'll hurt you it's so funny

The Birthday Song. I just about pissed myself when the "BIRTHDAY" part came up.

10 worst album covers of all time. The commentary makes this guys post.

Independence Day 2005

Turning two is hard work, but damn if it isn’t fun

Lily had her birthday party yesterday and I am happy to report that nobody was seriously injured, maimed or killed. There was a surprising lack of tantrums by children OR adults; nobody fought over presents OR cake; and handing a bunch of small children a bat and pointing them at a piñata was not as dangerous as one might have assumed. Overall, a rousing success in my book! YAY!

Anya slept most of the party which may have disappointed some but worked out brilliantly for me. Except that I felt compelled to check on her every five minutes as she was sleeping in a strange crib, in a closed room and I couldn’t hear her at all. And I’m paranoid. And somewhat afraid of putting an infant in a crib… they do, after all, call it crib death for a reason. She woke up to nurse and greet her adoring fans and then promptly fell asleep again (in a fans arms, even) so she was super easy. YAY!

Lily was a bit tired by the time the party rolled around as she had taken a short nap that afternoon, but no meltdowns. There’s my little trouper! We were blessed by the neighbor kid Hailey who came on over to follow Lily all over the place and keep her from licking the barbeque. Goddess bless Hailey! YAY!

Mark and I are dead. Tired that is. Even the next day. Yay?

BUT, I have dutifully uploaded picture for your viewing pleasure. Don’t say I never did anything for ya.

Click the photo below for a lovely slideshow. And don’t forget to yell “YAY!”

Mastitis

# of children dropped off with grandma: 1
# of birthday parties for two-year-olds I have to get ready for: 1
Current temperature: 102

Getting Mark to go to Costco without me while I head to bed with the baby: priceless