Monthly Archives: February 2012

I hate the “P” word. But sometimes it is exactly the right word.

Posted on February 26, 2012 | 8 Comments

Just because I am full of Hope and new Habits and dreams and crock pot recipes doesn’t mean I have turned my back on my  demons.

But last night I laid one to rest.

Perhaps other  people’s husbands say just the right thing and it is poetic and full of “sweethearts” and “I love yous” broken up only by tender moments.

But when I need support. True support. I don’t  need coddling. I just need someone to shoot it straight.

“I will not even entertain this conversation” he said.

Always mannerly, even in an argument. He managed to tell me to shut the fuck up in such a way that he eased my fears. I hate that he can do that.  Even while I am simultaneously loving it  - it pisses me off.

When you write about your insides and you don’t seem to edit much out there is an assumption that you put it all out there. Maybe some people do but I don’t. Not out of a desire for privacy or an intent to be misleading. I just can’t write until I’ve figured it out. And then it is an after the fact admission instead of a real time confession. But the writing it all down. It helps me to keep the same fears from cropping up time and again. Once  the demons that I wrestle with in my head  have names they don’t scare me anymore.

Last night in the middle of an argument (the details of which are both private and irrelevant as I have a knack for deviating from the original discussion) I realized I wasn’t making sense. I was pushing MQD away out of fear. So I summoned the courage to be brave for just one minute.

Deep breath and spill it. If something happened to me and Mike, to our marriage, I’d lose everything. He would get Lucy half the time. And Emily, too, if I did right by her. And I’d be lost. Without a home, a job or my children.

As always once I said it out loud it lost a lot of its power. But it was what he said that assuaged it altogether.

He could have asked me what my problem was or been hurt that I’d be suggesting now of all times that our marriage would fail. Instead he just said he refused to entertain this conversation.

“Ok.” And I could feel the weight lift. “I guess it is just as much a waste of time as making a plan for if aliens land in the backyard.”  I smiled.

And even though I’d been yelling at him and being all kinds of hysterical for the last half an hour he smiled too. “No, that would actually be more worthwhile.”

What reason do I have for being afraid? Are there problems in my new marriage I haven’t addressed? No. None.

It’s just me. And February. My divorce from Emily’s dad was final in a February. I saw the date pass in the calendar  recently and I thought about the nail in our coffin. And for a moment I forgot the truth and I began to think that it was all me. And my love for Emily. That I couldn’t be a wife and a mother and our divide began when Em was born. That it was all me that had failed. And the Insecurity Dragon (the only demon with a name that I fear I will never slay) reared its head and went to work on my heart.

Several days later and I am in my kitchen crying. Preparing my heart for the day when my marriage crumbles again because I pour my heart in to being a mother and I don’t know how to be a wife at all.

Only this time I do know how. I stopped yelling. And I stopped crying. And I said “I am afraid”  and I asked for help. That is four impossibly hard things if you’re keeping track.

He stood and took the baby from my arms and jiggled her on one shoulder. With his other arm wrapped around me, there was stereo crying in his ears.
It’s funny. The things I repeat in my head. The moments in my marriage that become touchstones for when I require strength or faith. I’m adding “I will not entertain this conversation” to the pile with what MQD said the day I went in to labor.

Early in the day not long after he came home from work I was pacing in the kitchen when it hit me. Today would be the day I’d realize a dream.  My unmedicated birth.   And then I started to question if I’d have the strength, no the courage, to follow through. He must have seen the fear start to take root and he stopped  me. “You’re a bad ass Kelly. You just can’t be too much of a pussy today to be a bad ass. “

I love that he said “today.”  Because  you can’t be expected to be a bad ass everyday. And sometimes all it takes to be a bad ass is to just not act like such a pussy.

I’m working on it.  Being brave is not so impossibly hard.

In December of 2008 I thought MQD was a kid and I was all Grown Up. I couldn't have been more wrong.



For MQD – Because one day I will be Grown Up.  And it will knock your socks off.  Thank you for being so patient.  I love you.  More today than I have in all our days.  At least until the aliens land.  xo

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Posted in Bad Mood, Family, Parenting

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Thing 1 and Thing 2

Posted on February 25, 2012 | 7 Comments

They say (and in this instance the “they” I speak of is actually my mother) that no two kids have the same parent. I was thinking about just how true that statement is yesterday afternoon while I was in the shower.

Lucy was on the floor, right outside the shower. The sound of the shower generally has the same calming effect as the vacuum (and that kid loves a Dyson almost as much as her mama.) I had just put conditioner in my hair when her wiggly sounds went from cheery to filled with rage. Emily’s mother would have leapt from the shower, conditioner still in her hair, soap in her eyes, one armpit shaved and tears in her own eyes to determine what was ailing her sweet baby.

Lucy’s mother poked her head out the curtain and started down the path of insane nonsense singing “Luuucccyyyyy….. Can you not see I am in the shower???!!! I realiiiize this statement has no poooowerrrrr….. you seem not to give a shit, if i have shaved but one armpit!” and so on. I’ll spare you. She is only a fan of my songs about half the time, there is no reason I should subject anyone but family to these tunes. (Now would be a good time to mention that I actually had a Voice teacher in college fire me. Suggest that perhaps my singing training would be over that semester, I had come to the end of the line.  I was hopeless.)

All my songs bring to the table is my witty and charming lyrics. This I come by genetically. My own mother’s top hits I can still recall. A song penned to horrify my brother “Brassierre!!! Let me whisper in your ear, about my favorite brassiere….”

Not all songs were intended to embarrass us. Occasionally they were delightful, as close as we got to positively sinful. A song popular around Thanksgiving, to be sung at full voice to the dogs. A song perhaps my mother regretted the moment it came from her mouth as it was quickly adopted as an all time favorite. I share with you now, my mother’s greatest hit “Poultry.”

“Poultry gives you gaaaas! You blow it out your…” We rarely even got to the “ass” part as the giggles were convulsive by then.

I digress. Kids. They all have different parents, even in the same family. I was more fearful with Em in the beginning. More doting. Lucy gets a better mother, in some respects. I know what I am doing. But does she get the shaft because I don’t leap to her aid in a nanoseccond? I don’t think so.

It was the first time that we were all home alone without Dad. Just me and Em and Lucy Goose. I was making Em a sandwich. I had put Lucy down for the first time all day. And she started to cry. “Hang tight, little mama, your sister needs to eat, too.” In a family of more than one child sometimes we have to wait out turn. Emily was important, too.

Lightbulb.

So is Mom. I never would have let Em cry for twenty seconds while I finished a shower. But somehow the realization that sometimes Lucy will need to wait a moment so I can care for her sister led me to the understanding that it isn’t wrong to let Lucy wait one moment so I can care for myself. If Emily’s needs are valid, aren’t mine?

It took less than sixty seconds to get a cup of coffee and a glass of water.

As a mother it is unspeakably painful for me to hear my children crying. 60 seconds. I can take it that long and then I crumble and run for them, arms open. But did you know you can eat a hardboiled egg, finish a shower, get fully dressed and brush your hair, make your bed, pee, run a pile of crap up the stairs and put it in the room where it belongs if not actually put it away… you can do any one of those things in only 60 seconds. And when you return, arms wide open, you are forgiven immediately. For taking 60 seconds.

Maybe she forgives me only because the singing stops when I return. You think the one about shaving my armpits is awful, you should hear the one about peeing all alone. Suffice it to say Eponine’s “On my own” from Les Mis was my inspiration.

For the record this message was reviewed and approved by Thing 2. I realize she looks like she is watching a horror show but that is a face of approval.

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Nuts and Bolts

Posted on February 24, 2012 | 3 Comments

I hesitated to devote an entire post to my plans to get my ass in shape… only because “getting fit” is such a cliche goal of the post-partum woman. And it goes against everything I have previously said about loving myself as I am, accepting my “tiger stripes” and so on.

But it’s really not all about the outside. Although that is a delicious benefit of getting your ass up and moving. It’s just as much about the way my head works.

The overwhelming sense of awe I had for my body after Lucy was born stayed with me for weeks. And I can feel it fading. And I want it back. I can do impossibly difficult things. Or at least things that it turns out are not so impossible at all.

I am sitting at the precipice of a new Life.

Life is made up of the smaller moments, the moments in between. There is where you find the Joy, the Beauty. The nuts and bolts of Living, the thing that holds it all together, it is Habit. It is Routine.

I started thinking. I have an opportunity to develop a new routine, new habits that add up to this new Life that are for me. I have a chance to let the Life I build through Habits and Routine be one that is made up of who I am and what I see as important.

These years will not be made of fancy vacations and nights out. The months of planning for our Wedding and our Baby are behind us. There will be no new homes, new schools to distract us from the day to day. This is the nuts and bolts.

The next “impossibly difficult” thing I plan to do? I am going to make myself a priority.

For many years I have said two things.

The first – I hope I have a chance to be home with my kids when they are small. Here I am. At home with my kids for today. I will do everything I can to figure out a way to stay here. To support MQD in providing for us.

The second – I hope I’m in the best shape of my life by my 40th birthday. That’s four years away. Not one crash diet and a half marathon training program away. Not three times a week Zumba class and a low carb lifestyle. But four years from now.

Four years in which I hope to rebuild my Life. Make new habits, new routines. The irony is not escaping me. That this decision to stay home and take care of my family may actually afford me the time to take care of myself.

I may or may not be “at home” for the next four years. But I am damn sure gonna try to find away to be more present. And in the meantime, I daresay, I will write a fair amount about how to do this…. to take care of me. And my family. Make new Habits. New Routines.

So far I have a small plan. Thirty minutes of exercise. Every single day. More water. Less coffee. Breakfast for dinner once a week. Keep writing. Make the bed. Every day ask Em and MQD if there is anything I can do for them. Run the vacuum before dinner. That’s all I’ve got so far.

20120224-140541.jpg

Two and half miles today. I was sweaty. She was hungry. Until she passed out. It was a good day.

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Posted in Exercise, Parenting

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Wellness

Posted on February 24, 2012 | 2 Comments

Everyone tells a new mother “Make sure to take time for you!” and  ”Take care of yourself, you can’t take care of your family if you are not taking care of you.” And unlike so much of what “everyone” tells you, it’s not bullshit.  So this go round, I am doing the very best I can to do just that.

Yesterday was a damn near perfect day.  I had my second post-partum trip to the chiropractor.  One more and I am cleared for  take off.  It is hard to believe it was only a year ago I drank the Kool-Aid but I am convinced that my chiropractic care is somewhat to credit for my bouncing back so quickly after this labor and delivery.

In the same building, I had the pleasure of participating in my very first activity that starts with the words “Mommy &.”  And believe it or not, after I got past the initial “I can’t fucking believe I am doing this” feeling it was wonderful.

Mommy & Me Yoga.  Check that off the bucket list.  I had this idea that somehow it would be guided rolling around the floor with my youngin’ which I had trouble wrapping my mind around.  Around the why you’d need someone to show you how to do that and how I was going to get through it without peeing in my pants (not from lack of Kegel exercises during and post pregnancy, but from hysterics.)

Turns out Mommy & Me Yoga is regular yoga where your baby can loll around on a blanket (hopefully sleeping) and if they should wake you can pop out a boob in child’s pose or do the Mommy sway in the back of a room and no one will give you the glare.  The glare that says “really, a baby?  A baby?  How dare you bring  a BABY here!?”

There is one more thing a new mother needs to do.  ”Get out of your house!” the well meaning advice givers say.  This is easier said than done for some, but I don’t have any trouble getting out.  I was, after all, at work seven days after Lucy was born. But I was out of the house twice this week, socially.  Much harder for me.  I had lunch with an old friend one day this week.  Not a huge accomplishment for some, but slightly more cause for celebration because I initiated this meet up.  And the second time?  With a new friend.

It makes me nervous to say that.  A new friend.  You may recall that I sought acupuncture treatment towards the very end of my pregnancy.  I have since been back twice.  Because I really like the practitioner.  She’s neat.  And cool. In that “I wonder if I am cool enough to kick it with this girl” way.  Can women that have TWO kids even “kick it” at all?

I did the hard thing.  The hard thing that frequently eludes me.  That I had dared myself to do in November in this upcoming year.  I stuck my neck out and tried to make a friend.  Making friends is awkward under normal circumstances, but when you have bullshitted with a gal  a handful of times and at the end you hand them your Visa card it is especially daunting to say “So, I was thinking maybe we could hang out, and maybe I’d not pay you.  Whatcha think?”   But I did it.  And it paid off.

I had the last of my pre-paid sessions yesterday.  And I am certain I will see her when she gets back from her trip to Austin.  Because she likes me, too, guys.  Even though I have TWO kids and am rapidly heading towards having NO job.    And get this.  She has ZERO kids.  Like maybe we could talk about something besides breeding.  Or breastfeeding or how much sleep we got.  There is a place for all that.  A huge place.  I did just finish mentioning that I secretly LOVED Mommy & Me Yoga afterall… but music and tattoos and books and funny stories from your twenties, this is some good shit that deserves some attention, too.

Quite a few of my friends, friends that have known me since Emily was little and before,  have recently sent me an email or a text message along a common theme.  ”How are you doing? Really?” And to each of them I have said the same thing, “I’m good, I think.  I feel really good.”

I am typing this in my “running” clothes.  Clothes that will really be walking with a VERY tiny bit of jogging clothes until I have had one  more visit with the chiropractor and am closer to six weeks postpartum.  It isn’t noteworthy that I am writing and wearing pants with a forgiving waist band.  But these clothes are already sweaty.  (Tell me that is not gross? I  wear exercise clothes more than once unless I wear them to a Bikram Yoga class.  I don’t really care if I already smell if I am heading out the door to sweat.)

Day one of a 5K training program was completed day before yesterday.  And I am headed out the door to do day two as soon as I hit Publish.

So, to answer the question, how am I doing, really?  Awesome.  Really, really good.  I am taking care of myself.  And I drank a Heineken while I cleaned out the fridge after Em told me she did not have a boyfriend.  Yet.  I got this.  It’s gonna be cool.

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Posted in Exercise, Parenting, Pregnancy

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Really Really Like is the new Like Like

Posted on February 23, 2012 | 5 Comments

In the morning we stand on our porches and watch the kids go to the bus stop. The “bus stop” is the end of our neighbor’s driveway so they don’t have far to walk.   So while it does not require supervision it is supremely entertaining to watch Em and Kellan interact with one another in the morning.  Somehow their behavior in the morning is a glimpse in to the secret life they have at school.  By the time they get home in the afternoon and run around in the yard before the darkening sky indicates it is time to head in for dinner they are no longer kindergarteners, school children, it has all but worn off and they are just kids.

Yesterday morning as Em raced across the street Amy called from her front porch, “Em has a boyfriend.”  My eyes (without my glasses yet, admittedly) went right from Amy to Emily.  She continued on her path, darting across the street, but when Amy shouted the boy’s name, Em switched gears and suddenly instead of a six-year-old girl headed to the bus stop she was a linebacker, racing towards Kellan with all the strength her little 45 pound body can muster.  There was some truth to this story evidently.

She came home from school and was playing in the yard with Kellan while MQD and I made dinner last night.  ”I want to ask Em about her boyfriend tonight, but we have to be cool, not push her and not laugh at her.  I want to make sure she can talk to us, yanno?”

We concluded that we could of course laugh at her behind her back all we wanted, the grand prize of parenting.  The laughter behind closed doors at your children’s expense.  (In case you think your parents never laughed at you, call one of them right now and ask,  I’d bet without hesitation they could recount a time when you did something completely absurd and you thought no one noticed at all. )

“I heard you have a boyfriend.  Kellan says he is nice. Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Because he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Do you like him?”

“Yeah. But I don’t really really really really like him.”

I waas only slightly less stunned when I heard the words Emily and boyfriend in the same sentence. How I miss that fuzzy haired girl.

“Did he ask you to be his girlfriend?”

“Yup.  I told him I had to think about it. And I think  I’m gonna say no.”

 ”Why no?”

“Well. Because he pushes me down. Just when we are playing chase but…” And she curls her lip and shrugs. “They think I really really really like him. But I don’t. I mean I like him but…” And she shrugged again.

“Have you ever had a boyfriend before?”

“Well when I was in like preschool pretty much Kellan was my boyfriend but you already knew that.”And she smiled.

I think she will tell me. When there is something to report.

I’m proud of my girl. Not gonna win her over so easy.  Even though he does evidently wear “checked shirts, like, nice shirts.  Like Dad wears to work.”

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A Dirty Business

Posted on February 22, 2012 | 11 Comments

Before you say ‘”Awww… look at the sweet baby” let me remind you – Parenting is a dirty, nasty job.

I combat the filthy nature of the job with my disgusting sense of humor pretty regularly. The reality of parenting an infant is that they are not particularly entertaining.  Falling in love is magical.  But magic won’t make your sides hurt with laughter.  So, I really can’t look to Lucy to keep me amused.  I have to take responsibility for that.  Luckily I find myself pretty entertaining on a regular basis. Add in the delicious hilarity of being wildly overtired and I am like my own personal stand up show all day long.

I talk to my kids.  A lot.  Even when they are not listening. Especially when they are not listening.  I can remember a day that I was jabbering away at Emily.  We were taking a walk, she was in her jogging stroller and I was yammering on  about someone we had just seen at the beach and it dawned on me… someday she will understand what I am saying.  And lawd almighty she might even repeat it.  I was going to lose my most frequent audience member.  It was only a matter of time.

Enter Lucy. The newest and biggest fan to my twenty-four hour a day comedy show.   The biggest difference to my parenting this go round? She is not my ONLY audience member.  I have to mind my tongue as I jabber mindlessly when Em is in the room.  And MQD?  Will he appreciate my antics?

So far, so good.  This morning was a good morning.  Em left to catch the bus and MQD and I hopped back in bed with Lucy Q for a spell.  She is her cheeriest in the morning so I have been encouraging him to spend a few minutes in the morning and take in that face.  Because the evening, when the witching hours reign supreme, that makes up the lion’s share of his time with her. And that’s just no fair.

As she wiggled and squirmed and her face turned bright red I started to blather.  Keep talking and you can often distract the little one from crying I have found.  ”Let it go, kiddo.  That’s a poop face, isn’t it? Liberate the poop prisoners!!!” In the middle of chuckling over my fine moment of alliteration I looked up to see MQD’s face.  The moments when you know you married the right guy, they can come in so many different forms.  ”From your ANAL PRISON!” and he smiled.

The man gets me.  And evidently he embraces my perverse parenting style.

Give me an inch and I will take a mile.  He encouraged me.  Big mistake.  ”Hurry up and poop, little miss, and I have a BIIIG breakfast for you.  No piece of fruit.  No continental breakfast. Fuckin’ french TOAST on some thick ass bread, this shit is FIR REEAALL.  They’ve got CHEESE BLINTZES!”

“And creeps.  And Organic Coffee!” chimed in MQD.

And then breakfast was served.  Evidently someone had sidled up to the all night buffet a few times during the night.  But only one side.  I woke up more than a little lop sided.  I wasn’t kidding about that big breakfast.

Lefty is for breakfast. Evidently Righty was open all night.

And lest you think this entire elaborate tale was just a complicated plan to post a picture of my grossly uneven boobs?  You should know that the Poop Prisoners were liberated.  All over my shirt. Turns out this shit IS for real.

Lucy's idea of a Party. With a capital P. For Poop.

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Snow & Comfort Food

Posted on February 21, 2012 | 6 Comments

The snow has melted.  Less than 24 hours later and there is almost no evidence of what may prove to be the only snow fall we see this winter.  But my refrigerator and my stomach still tell the tale.

Em had the day off school yesterday and we had big plans.  We were going to eat.  And stay in our pajamas.  (And watch Judy Moody’s Not Bummer Summer, but I was slightly less excited about that than she was. ) I checked in with MQD mid-morning to see what he’d like for dinner and he responded immediately “Shepherd’s Pie.”  I’ve never made Shepherd’s Pie but as far as I know, there is no way to ruin meat, gravy and mashed potatoes in a casserole dish. 

Early yesterday afternoon it seemed like my dreams might not be realized.  By lunchtime I was out of my pajamas and running to the store for a five pound bag of potatoes.  An hour later I was peeling that bag of potatoes while Lucy slept in her car seat.

While the potatoes boiled Em and I watched some of her movie and I fed the little lady.  I erroneously thought she might get back to sleep.  In case you are wondering, if you are ever preparing to enter a contest that includes the Triple Dog Dare Challenge  ”Mash five pounds of potatoes with your right hand while you jiggle an eleven pound baby with your left hand” I’m your girl.

Later that evening MQD says “Dinner looks good, baby” and I suppose I could have been more humble.  ”It damn well better, the potatoes alone took me two hours.”

I promise it is not my lack of employment that is making me all cook-y.  It’s the cold weather.  Two winters ago was the Winter of Italian Wedding Soup.  This month marks the start of the Winter of Shepherd’s Pie.  I cheated a bit and used McCormick’s Brown Gravy mix because I forgot to grab Worcestershire at the store.  But it was a smashing success.  I will be eating and then repeating this meal.

Em was Clean Plate Club all the way.

Lest you think I am gonna get all whole foods, hippie dippy on you…. fear not.  We had dessert, too.  A certain little lady turned one month old yesterday.  So a cake was in order.  I’ve seen this recipe before but decided to give it a go.  The Two Ingredient Cake. Pick your poison – One can of soda, one box of cake mix. Mix.  Cook and enjoy.  We opted for Sprite and Strawberry cake.  Cream cheese frosting, of course.

It has that Pop Rocks  ”Holy shit what I am eating is totally artificial” flavor and it makes my teeth feel like they are wearing a sweater but damn… it is tasty.

I cooked this entire dinner with a wide awake one month old Lucy bouncing on my shoulder.  Evidently it wore her out.  Because she fell asleep in the middle of her party.

The Pre-Party can sneak up on you, little lady.  Take it from your mother.  She has slept through a few parties in her day.

 

 

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Like a baby…

Posted on February 20, 2012 | 7 Comments

Co-Sleeping, specifically bed sharing,  is a hot button for a lot of parents.  Whether you sleep with your kids in your bed, in a crib, in a bassinet, it seems to matter to people.  How often do they wake  up?  How long do they sleep and even more importantly how do they get to sleep at all?  Do you hold them? Rock them? Nurse them?

When Em was little I spent a fair amount of time thinking about why everyone seemed to care so much about how long she slept?  Even strangers in the grocery store would say “What a pretty baby…” and then quietly ask “How does she sleep?” in a hushed, secretive  tone as if they were asking after your 85 year old great uncle’s 20 year old girlfriend.

I thought there was certainly a right or wrong answer.  And I quickly realized that for every person that asked there was a different right and a different very, very wrong answer.  I developed a quick and easy response “She sleeps like a baby, of course.”  That seemed to satisfy the strangers.  And I am fortunate enough to have friends and family that largely believe that how we choose to parent (including feeding and putting to bed) our kids is really not their problem.

That having been said… I feel pretty strongly about the choices we make as parents.  And one of the things I feel most strongly about is where my babies sleep.  With me.  Maybe some day I will write a big long informational blog post about safe bed sharing  and the numerous reasons that I believe it benefits both the parents and the baby.

But today?  Today I just want to share one reason why I like to sleep with my babies.  And it has nothing at all to do with the attachment, the ease of night nursing, the increased safety and decreased risk of SIDS in belly-to-belly, nose-to-nose sleeping by the mother and infant…. it has nothing to do with the sleeping at all.

It’s the waking up.

I am a morning person generally.  I like the morning. The quiet.  The promise that a fresh day holds.  But now, when sleep often eludes me for hours, even days at a time, it is harder to awake with a song in my heart.  Or even a kind word.

But if Lucy slept in another room…  I’d still be waking up just as often, to comfort her, to feed her, to change her.

But I’d miss the morning.  The moment she opens her eyes.  And finds the whole world all over again.  I’d do anything to spend five minutes inside her head.  See things as she does.  And the moment she wakes, her grabby hands on my face, her little feet digging in to my pajama pants, her big toe stuck in my belly button, this is as close as I can get.  And I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

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Man Cave

Posted on February 19, 2012 | 14 Comments

I am a firm believer that every man should have his own Man Cave.  This is not always possible.  But it’s a great idea if there is any way you can swing it.  Before you convince yourself that this is a belief I have only recently begun to have in the last few days (since deciding to become a capital H Housewife) I should mention that the Man Cave is not just for the man.

The Man Cave benefits everyone in the family.  ”Wanna listen to shitty German metal bands, Dad?  Feel free.  Let me invite you to spend the morning in your Man Cave.”

“You like that painting do you, Dad?  Go ahead and buy it, sweetheart.  It will look lovely in the Man Cave.”

MQD had a Man Cave in our old house.  We had a three bedroom.  One for us, one for Em and one for MQD’s desk, his creepy painting, his porn-addled single guy computer and his Don’t Tread on Me flag push-pinned to the wall.  It was perfect.

And then we moved.  To our Grown Up house.  And we have three bedrooms.  One for us, one for Em and one that is theoretically Lucy’s, but it is actually for the grandparent’s.  The Guest Room for now, but frankly, a new baby brings just one kind of frequent guests.  Grandparents.

We no longer have a Man Cave.  I campaigned briefly to turn the shed in to the Man Cave.  But it fell on deaf ears.  Occasionally we discuss getting a new shed, and wiring it.  And then I start to get jealous, and say we need TWO sheds if it will actually end up an auxiliary living room in the back yard.  Indoor/outdoor carpeting and a window unit air conditioning unit and it starts sounding like a dream come true.  Add in a thrift store couch, a mini fridge and a three foot tall bong and suddenly I’m in college and foot loose and fancy free… I need only step in the back yard turn up the Beastie Boys and…. Sigh.  I got lost there for a moment.  Mom Caves are a totally different animal.  They exist only in the recesses of my mind.

And really the main reason every house needs a Man Cave is because  the rest of the house is Mom Town.  Let’s face it.  I don’t get to ban the rest of the family from any of the rooms.  I pee with the door open and frequently entertain a guest while pooping. But much of the house is my domain.

And now sometimes there are moments that I think “Damn, I wish we had a room for weird shit that I know Mike will LOVE.”   Today I wished I was that footloose gal with expendable income and a boyfriend that had his own place.  Because I saw something that I wanted to buy for this boy I am crazy about.  He would have been over the moon.

Not only do I not have $60 to piss away, but there is no Man Cave in which to store it.  MQD, you’ve probably already guessed what it was.

For now, just know I haven’t forgotten.

I went to the mall today.  And I wanted to bring this woman home for my husband.  But sadly we don’t have a spare bedroom or a basement. Some day, my love.   Some day…

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Baby Butt!! What ! What!

Posted on February 17, 2012 | 5 Comments

There are few times in the course of our lives as women that anyone says “Holy hell, look at the dimples on that butt!!  Love it!”  or “Oh man, I just love the chubby elbows!” And I for one think we should embrace it!

Last weekend I had the pleasure of a visit from a dear friend and our wedding photographer, Carrie Roen.  She has posted a sneak peek  at  a few of the images from her shoot and I am drooling over Miss Lucy Q’s adorable butt.  Someday Lucy will roll her eyes and say “Mom, someone told me that my butt is on the internet.  Is that true?”  And I will, of course, say “It damn well better not be, young lady!” and promptly delete this post.  But for now… Lemme introduce you to the young lady’s best side.

I can’t wait to see the rest of the images.  Carrie has an incredible talent for capturing moments that you would not believe if you’d not seen them yourself.  For example, as I sit here this morning, with toothpicks holding open my eyelids, I’d swear to you that Lucy does not actually EVER sleep.  But photgraphic evidence, kids. She does.  She will again.

When I was younger my dad used to say that I was a great kid…  ”when you’re alseep.”  Not until I had kids of my own did I truly understand the majesty of a sleeping child.  You have the time to see them, to smell them (even if they do smell like old noodles!) and to just absorb them when they are at peace.  And quiet.  And not moving.  And quiet.

Shout out to Moonshine! And a stellar picture of Kellan's dad!

 

My other favorite moment in time that Carrie captured for me?  After MQD and I were wed.  After the toasts.  After the family portraits.  (And maybe after a wee bit of moonshine) she took MQD and I out in to the grass and we just walked.  We walked and we laughed and we talked and we had a few minutes to ourselves.  I have since told everyone I know that is about to get married to take these few minutes for themselves, you won’t get them back.  There has to be a more romantic way to describe it than as the “Holy shit we just got MARRIED” moments, but for me… that is what it was.

And either I was cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, or I was pretty damn excited about what we’d just done.  Thanks, Carrie, for amazing pictures to help me remember some pretty special times in the last few years.  And thanks even more for a conversation in my kitchen at the beach so long ago.  I felt brave that day.  And you were part of it.

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