Category Archives: Parenting

MQD 3.0

This is the last year with the MQD 2.0. On July 5th, 2013 MQD 3.0 will be released.  I think I get an automatic upgrade.  There is no option to keep the 2.0 that I have even though it works beautifully.

Before Mike got his hair cut, when he was inclined to punish can upon can of PBR and wear band t-shirts to work and sleep in his favorite hoodie and hoot and holler like a twenty-some year old boy he would occasionally get a little tanked. And if something happened that was in the least bit awesome…. you were fucked. Because he would announce that it was SO METAL.

Only he would not just announce it. He would holler as if he was in the fiery pits of hell with nothing to save him but the sound of his own voice. And if you rolled your eyes in the least bit it got worse. And louder. He lost his voice one night declaring time and time again that our friend Jenny’s sister’s mini-van was SO METAL. We were not giving it the respect it deserved evidently.

Maybe you haven’t heard. But twenty nine is so metal.

For Mike’s 29th birthday there was only one option for a theme. TWENTY NINE IS SO METAL. And that is where my creative juices came to a screeching halt.

It was Em that said there had to be a band.

I can take credit for having Iron Maiden’s “Wasted Years” playing as he came in the house.  But c’mon “Realize you’re living in the golden years…” that song is begging to be played at a twenty-ninth birthday party.

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Lucy’s dad rocks.

We laughed. We ate cake.  We listened to Judas Priest.  It was a good birthday.

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I hope the drummer goes home before MQD’s 30th birthday.  He is still hanging out on the wall in the kitchen.  Luckily he is smiling.

We wrapped the entire kitchen in black sheets.  And what wasn’t wrapped in sheets was wrapped in tin foil.  Because tin foil is very, very metal.

Last year we made a tin foil hat for MQD’s Alien Birthday.

I’m not really sure how we are going to keep the tin foil alive for his 30th birthday next year.  Somehow THIRTY IS SO TIN FOIL SWANS FILLED WITH LEFTOVERS just doesn’t have the ring to it I’d like.  Fortunately I have a year to think on this.  In the meantime I’m having trouble figuring out how my adorable twenty five year old boyfriend turned in to my almost thirty  year old husband.

Road Trip!! Part 2: The Beach

I used to go to the beach.  On vacation.  I got up early and I spent as much time as possible over the week with my feet in the sand.  I read.  I took walks as an excuse to parade my teenage bikini-clad body back and forth.  I ate dinner and went back to the beach again at night to look for shells.  I filled grocery bags with shells and had plans to wash them when I got home and make something spectacularly crafty.

Then in my mid-twenties I moved to the beach.  “Beach days” were good days. Locals don’t camp out on the beach all day nearly as often as they should and a solid beach day was a good day.  I stopped my car at a beach access and took a long look at the ocean nearly every day.

It is the only way to justify your outrageous mortgage payment.  I no longer collected shells.  In fact, I grew to hate the beach motif.  “How do you like living in the Outer Banks?” people would ask me. “It’s fine unless you want to buy some place mats that don’t have a lighthouse on them.”

I have had my fill of sand between my toes.  But “going to the beach” is more than just sitting in the sand.  We trucked it down to the ocean a handful of times.  Enough to get some sun and some sand in our swim suits.  We rode waves.  We peed in the ocean.  We put on sunscreen religiously.

We went to the beach.  But I am at peace with my decision to go to the pool just as often.  So we could just sit.  And relax.  And not pack up the entire house.  20120707-122457.jpg

And I find an even greater peace with our decision to spend one entire day at the outlet malls.  Ahh, Delaware.  Where the beaches are wide…. and so are the outlet malls. 

 

 

 

 

Road Trip!!! Part 1

The battle cry of ROAD TRIP! used to mean something totally different to me. I would stock up on Marlboro Lights and Diet Cokes.  I might organize my tape case on the front seat of my Geo Metro convertible.  If I was trying not to feel totally reckless I’d apply sunscreen to the part between my pigtails and I’d hit the road.  I always arrived at my destination earlier than I thought I would because I could drive for hours and hours without stopping to pee and I held steady at ten to fifteen miles over the speed limit.

Things are different now.  Lucy and I hit the road early in the morning.  It was almost two weeks ago and I have only just now recovered enough to write about it. To say that we made frequent pit stops would be an understatement.  She was hungry.  She needed a new diaper.  But mostly?  She just needed her mama.  And I cave like a wet paper bag.

I know you, rider…

I picked up Emily and it was smoother sailing from then on out.  Lucy loves her mama.  But her big sister is supremely entertaining.  We laughed.  We sang.  While sitting in traffic I thought I might pee in my pants.  Emily informed me that if she had a magic wand she would turn all my pee to blood.  Not eliminate the traffic, mind you.  We made it to DC.  We regrouped.  Lucy, my mom and me in one car.  Em and my step-father in the other.  We took off for the beach.

A hundred years ago my mom and I went on road trips.  Sometimes they would be small adventures.  Denny’s for breakfast in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep.  She would come down to Williamsburg to visit me in my twenties.  We would tear up the town.  In the summer we would usually steal away for a night or two at the beach.   As we hopped in the car to head to the beach I was reminded of those long ago beach trips.  In spite of the car seats, the pool floaties, the sleeping kids in the back seat, the sun shades and the SPF 3 Million in my car for a moment it was like I was sixteen and we were headed out just “us girls.”

Twice in the car she laughed until she spit her water.  Her Perrier.  My mom likes “bubbly water” without it seeming like a “thing.”  I have some on my dashboard right now and I might not wipe it off.  Not because I am a slob (which I am, in my car only) but because every time I see the splash marks on my window and my dash it makes me laugh.

Rarely is your Vacation complete before you arrive at your destination.  But it had been too damn long since I had made my mom laugh until she spit her drink.  Too damn long.

Annie, showing Lucy that the Party never stops. Folding laundry is fun even on VACATION!

Home!

The car is all packed.  I am sure I forgot something.  Heading to the beach for a week with the girls while Dad and Fisher hold down the fort.  I will miss my husband.  My own bed. My rocking chair.  And these babies that were born this past weekend on my front porch.

I hope MQD’s girls don’t seem so big to him after a week.  I am sure my babies will be all grown up.  They may even have left the nest by the time we get home.  20120618-182301.jpg

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Hot Stuff

I figured it out. The sexiest thing I have ever heard a man say. It is not what you’d think. Not a compliment to an often overlooked body part. It’s not romantic.

But it makes me want to jump his bones all the same.

“Where’s the diaper bag? What should I put in there?”

It’s a little thing. But it is a huge help.

Babies need their mama. Big girls want their mother. Spare outfits do not care who shoves them in the diaper bag. Wipes do not care who replenishes the travel wipe case. But when I am standing in line somewhere and notice I have a shit covered baby in my arms I care very much.

So, listen up dads. Find out what Mom likes in the diaper bag. Offer to pack it for her as she is racing to get out the door. Panty. Dropper. I promise.

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Next to the bed he keeps his book, his blood kit, his wallet, his phone… and a sparkly headband. Just in case…

Twinkle Toes

I thought my new running shorts were giving me a rash. Two red patches on my thighs. I was getting annoyed. I love those shorts. I don’t want to get rid of them….

It is 5:45 in the morning and I am wide awake. Can’t sleep…

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Someone else is waking up, too. She rubs her eyes and she smiles sweetly. She rolls over on to her side, facing me and I noticed how long she is getting.

She nuzzles up against me and helps herself to breakfast. She is excelling in the area of time management already, combining her morning stretches and her breakfast. She arches her back and points her toes.

She rolls over again. Stretching completed she gets down to business nursing. Such a big, tall girl. Her feet resting against my thighs as she is nursing.

When Fisher dreams he wiggles his feet back and forth. I don’t know where he is running or what he is chasing, but always in his deep sleep his paws are humming along.

Lucy!!! As she is nursing she is wiggling, wriggling, inch-worming her way around the bed. Her little non-slip grippies on her pajama’d feet slowly digging a hole in the tops of my thighs! It’s Lucy! Not my new running shorts.

And that’s good news. I didn’t want to get rid of them. The new shorts. They make my butt look good. And Lucy? Well, she is the reason my boobs are so big right now so I guess she is staying, too.

But the pajamas? They may have to go. Who needs non-skid feet at less than five months old? C’mon.

First Love

When you fall in love for the first time you think that you are the only person that has ever felt this way.  Your dreams are filled with thoughts of this person and they occupy your heart in every moment of every hour.  You can’t breathe without them and you believe that your life will cease to exist without this person.20120618-182402.jpg

You don’t ever imagine loving someone else.

Emily was my first love.

If you are very lucky you can hold on to your first love and never let them go.  Keep them in your heart and let them show you how to love another.

I am so damn lucky that I get to hold on to my first love and keep her in my arms!  I was silly to think that loving my children would be like loving a seventeen  year old boy.  That somehow I’d have to fall out of love a little to fall in love again.  Or that falling in love for the second time would make the first less special.

I fall more in love with my second love every day.  I can laugh at the foolish girl that was scared that she couldn’t possibly love two children.  I love them both to pieces. I can’t imagine having one without the other.  My big girl showed me how to do it. And this little one?  She just makes it so damn easy with her cheesy grin.

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My girls… they are both silly.  They are both so sweet.  They both give kisses that are to die for.  They both make my eyes tear up when they put their little hands on the sides of my face.  They are both my girls.  And I love them.  Both.

The Diva

So, how did it go with the new Bridge to 10K app?

It really could not have been better. The new app is helpful, a little learning curve as I was used to the robotic “Run Now” of the Couch to 5K. I was anxious about the run ten minutes and walk one minute idea. Once I stop jogging and start to walk it is sometimes hard to start again, to keep going. In the first 45 seconds of that walk I can think of a thousand reasons I should just stop altogether. And four cycles of walking means four opportunities to convince myself that I should stop, that Lucy looks too warm or that I need to make a phone call.

But I didn’t stop. Even when the diva was not cooperating.

*Chest clips unbuckled in the stroller. It is our version of a wild and crazy time, letting loose.  Clearly it was overwhelming.

Not this diva. She was a dream.

And the big little diva has a new best friend in less than five minutes anywhere and everywhere. A few people have asked me what I do with Emily while I jog now that she is home from school. She plays on the play ground at the local park. Or she rides her bike on the trail. She wears a light blue helmet. When she rides I can see her little helmet whizzing down the trail ahead of me. She has mastered riding slowly enough to keep me company but she doesn’t usually stick with me for very long.

She likes to go fast.  She loves to swing. She will swing and chat up the mommies at the playground for an hour if I let her. Sometimes I don’t see her for a moment. And then she comes around the bend. Or she pops put of the tube slide. I am unafraid. She is smart. She is careful.

We have two rules.  She never goes in the bathroom without telling me. She waits for me to pass by and I circle around near the bathrooms until she comes out. If she crashes on her bike, and she did often for a while there, she is to wave her arms.  If she can move she will live, and I need to know that from 100 yards away so I don’t have an aneurysm on my way to inspect a scraped knee.   But aside from that she is free. And she is thriving. At almost seven years old I was at the creek. I was riding bikes to another neighborhood near mine. I was free.

I didn’t think about it much. I am raising her like I was raised. I didn’t think there was a name for it. But as the helicopter parents got a name so, too, did kids like Em. Free Range kids. And before you read me the riot act or tell me that things aren’t like they used to be, no, they are not.

But anyway the diva. I think I’ve griped about this already. I am in that small percentage of women that get their periods back even though they are nursing around the clock.

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Diva cups come in this discrete fabric bag. And you get a pin, perhaps so you can warn your loved ones as to the arrival of Aunt Flo.

After Emily’s birth when I first became more aware of my lady bits and how I treat them I fell in love with the menstrual cup.  That is a bold statement for a product designed for use during your period.  But it is amazing.  I didn’t get my period back after Em was born for more than a year.  After nearly two years without it I was loathe to return to the tampon.  Enter The Diva. Not only is it a one time expense but you don’t need to mess with it more than once or twice a day.  Good stuff in my book.  (If you are already icked out by this you might want to stop now.)

There is a learning curve.  And somehow in the year of being pregnant I had lost my touch.  I didn’t quite have it in right.  So how was my now 50 minute exercise experience?  It was good. It was great.  But I did have a baby not long ago.  And everything is not exactly how it should be just yet.  So, even though I have a size 2 (post childbirth size) Diva Cup, it didn’t feel quite right. But on I ran.  For fifty minutes.  While doing kegels.  If you’re wondering how I fixed this issue (since sadly fifty straight minutes of kegels did not immediately fix my .. issue – flip your menstrual cup inside out if it is slipping, it will be perfect, I promise.

That’s my two cents for this morning.  Let your kids outside.  They’ll be fine.  And get a Diva cup, or a Moon cup or my personal favorite brand name the Lady Cup.  You’ll be glad you did.

The one where we buried the placenta…

My husband is a scientist. He labels everything. He once asked me if we could talk about keeping the refrigerator more organized. He volunteered to make labels. Dairy. Vegetables. Condiments. We had only just moved in together so I bit a hole in my lip and smiled and said “if you’d like to take on that project I will try really hard to put things back.”

It was never mentioned again.

That having been said there is  no placenta shelf in our freezer. Just a ziplock bag with the tell tale biohazard bag inside crammed in the back of the freezer.

For four months and nineteen days. Lucy is four months and twenty one days old. The nurse practitioner that stopped at our house to see us when Lucy was two says old brought it to us. We left it on the counter when we headed home four hours after Lucy’s birth.

Some people leave their purse. Or their cell phone charger. We forgot our placenta.

I was lucky. I did not experience post-partum depression after Emily was born. So I elected not to dehydrate and encapsulate my placenta. But I liked the idea of doing something with it.

Different cultures do different things. We decided we would bury it under a plant or shrub (I can’t bring myself to say bush, although the comedic possibility is enticing.)

We decided to plant a gardenia. When we were picking out flowers for our wedding we considered gardenias. I imagine opening my front door next spring and smelling them for the first time of the season. Lucy will be walking by then.

Emily chose a hydrangea for her plant. I am hopeful that our soil will produce blue flowers as that was what helped her make up her mind. The September birth stone is the sapphire and she favors the blue sapphire. Not to be confused with her mother’s favorite gin, Bombay Blue Sapphire.

I’ve said it before. I am smitten with my husband. Married a little over fourteen months and he still makes me smile. He hollers up to me as I stand on the deck out of the rain “get a picture! You’ll never see your home again, Lucy!!”

I hope our plants survive. But the benefit of being a mom the second time around? Our kids will make it. Of this much I am certain.

Word to the Wise: “call before you dig” is no joke. We spent our first weekday of summer without cable television or the Internet. MQD wisely elected to not put the plants or the placenta in the hole until after the cable guy came lest he accidentally dig it back up.

It meant we put our plants in during a gentle rain shower on Monday evening instead of on Sunday afternoon. And MQD looks totally hot in wet blue jeans and a tshirt, I mean… our plants were well hydrated and the rain had some kind of poetic symbolism and…. Yeah.

Lucy and I supervised.  And Emily?  Well, the cable guy came about thirty minutes before MQD got home from work.  She established that a placenta looks like a brain and then she decided she’d had enough.  There was tv to watch.  It’s Summertime.

Focus

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It is said that mothers have eyes in the backs of their heads. I wish I had a second set in front. Mine have been working overtime.

My big girl had a bang up week. Last day of school on Friday and a soccer trophy the night before that. I put my constant surveillance of “the baby” on hold for the week. My big girl was getting bigger by the minute and I didn’t want to miss it. Friday morning before she left for school I said “grab your backpack, baby” and she said for the very first time “I’m not a baby.”

I’m glad I was watching this week. I sat on the steps with a cup of coffee in my hands watching her head down the driveway to the bus stop on Thursday morning. I don’t know what made me sit down and watch her. But I’m glad I did.

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Emily’s graduation was Wednesday morning. Soccer game on Thursday. Last day of school on Friday. I don’t think I took my eyes off of her for 72 hours. It is like she was made of bamboo. She was growing up. And I could see it.

Friday morning I sat down on the back deck and had a cup of coffee and a chit chat with Lucy. Maybe it was just the shorts. But I don’t think so. She grew, too. While I wasn’t looking. Dammit.

I need to get these two on a schedule. Because they can’t keep growing at the same time. I’m gonna miss something.

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