Category Archives: Parenting

A Dirty Business

Posted on February 22, 2012 | 14 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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Posted in Attachment Parenting, Family, Parenting

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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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Posted in Parenting

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Seriously?

Posted on February 15, 2012 | 4 comments

I have written numerous times over the last two years about how Emily June has a knack for saying just the right thing.  When I am questioning a big decision or an outfit or cutting bangs, I often look to her for advice.

So, naturally, last week I asked her what she would think if I were to quit my job and stay home with her.  “We can spend the whole summer together, Em.  Get our chores done and work on a little homework in the morning, spend the afternoons at the pool.  I’ll even be able to help out in your classroom next fall if you want me to.  I’ll never miss a field trip.”

So, I was selling it big time.  Trying to anyway.

She stopped what she was doing and looked at me.  Really looked at me.  “Seriously?  Are you SURE you want to do that?”

To say it was not the reaction I’d hoped for would be putting it mildly.

I don’t usually eat fortune cookies unless it is with a meal, but on Friday before I went to work I needed guidance.  Since I did not get the guidance I had hoped for from my six year old, it seemed wise to seek advice from a mass produced dessert item.   I opened the junk drawer and I fished out a fortune cookie.

It was just what I was looking for.

 

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Posted in Family, Parenting

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Lucy, the Perfect Sweater

Posted on February 14, 2012 | 9 comments

Have you ever had a sweater that was the Perfect Sweater? As hard as you try you couldn’t find anything wrong with it. You can wear it with everything, blue jeans, sweatpants and a dress.   It is precisely the right temperature no matter what it is like outside.  You show this sweater a lot of love.  Adding to its perfection – it never seems dirty.  No matter what has spilled on it, it smells fresh and clean and remains unwrinkled.

And then one day you decide you should wash it. It’s not even dirty you just feel like you should wash it. So you’re really careful.  No Woolite, no fancy detergent.  Just water for this Perfect Sweater.  No dryer, no washing machine.  Wash that sucker by hand in the sink.

Then after you wash it it’s just never the same.  It is like a kleenex.  Little bits just fall right off.  It’s a disaster.  If someone saw you in your favorite sweater they’d ask you “What did you do to that sweater?”

And if you were say, overtired you might reply “I just fucking WASHED it, okay?  I had been wearing it every day for two weeks, I just thought I should wash it.  I was trying to do the right thing!!!”

Yeah, that’s what I did to my baby.  Lucy is the Perfect Sweater.

Babies have dry skin. Babies have sensitive skin and I know that. And it would not be a problem if it wasn’t that I am psychotic.  I’d just lube her up with olive oil and not bathe her again for a week. 
But I am psychotic.  And I did have The Talk with my boss last Friday.  Not “The Talk” because that kind of chatter has no place in the workplace unless you are a Sex Ed teacher, but the one where I said “I think business is too slow to justify me being full time, so I kind of think you should lay me off.” And he said “okay” and by the first of march I will be a stay at home mom.  That talk.
The same talk that was slightly less terrifying because of another talk MQD and I had before we bought our house.  That one was about how we shouldn’t buy a house while we were pregnant unless we knew we would be okay if we had a baby that needed me full time, a baby that was not perfectly healthy.  Because we were dealing with 35 year old eggs after all.
And so now I am stuck in this awful moment in time where the only way to get unscared is to look for the monster under the bed. Which for me is to say it out loud.  I am scared that since I quit my job to stay at home Lucy will get sick and it will be all my fault.   Breathe.  See?  It is slightly less scary now since I can see how crazy that sounds.
Intellectually, I know there is no reason to google “infant dry skin symptom of deadly illness.”
So, last Monday I had a job and a baby that had new baby smell with milky white skin and a Perfect Sweater.
This week?  I will have no job very shortly, Lucy’s face is rotting off and she smells like old noodles… but I am not ever going to wash this sweater.
Stay tuned for the saga of the stay at home mother and her epic battle against dry skin and what will eventually be a foul milk smelling sweater.

...and the baby, ashamed of her flesh eating disorder.

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Posted in Parenting, Pregnancy

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Which way did he go, George? Which way did he go?

Posted on February 8, 2012 | 18 comments

In the past nineteen days I have been to work eight times.  Lucy has been with me.

I have showered eighteen of the first nineteen days of Lucy’s life.

I have eaten pizza for dinner only twice.

I have zero dirty clothes right now and only a small basket of clothes that need to be put away.

My kitchen floor has been mopped four times and my bathrooms are clean.

I made burgers on our new grill.

I have written eight blog posts.

I helped Em make a project for her hundredth day of school.

I went to Staples.

I have vacuumed at least every other day and the couch has been vacuumed three times.  Every day I make the bed.

I have walked my dog three times.

And only twice have I stayed in bed past 7:30 am.

And yet it doesn’t seem like enough.

It’s been almost three weeks and this morning is the first time I just stayed in bed and held her. It goes too fast.

And I’ve been missing it. In an effort to not miss a beat I’ve missed the only beat that won’t be waiting for me in weeks, months and years.

I know what Lucy smells like, the way the top of her head feels against my lips.  I know the sound she makes me when she nurses because she is hungry and I know the way she sighs before she falls asleep.  I know what her toes feel like because I have taken to sleeping face to face with her, her foot in my hand.  She is in my arms or nursing or snuggled against me in a wrap nearly all of her waking hours.

I have taken more than 300 pictures.

But until this morning I don’t think I knew what she looked like.

My baby girl, Lucy Quinn, is nineteen days old and this morning we stayed in bed until 10:45.  And I took a long look at her.  And at me.

I started working full time for a general contractor on January 28, 2008 as their office manager and bookkeeper. In the last four years we have seen business ebb and flow.  But lately it has been slower than not.   As I sat down to go over the finances with my boss the other day we were discussing needing to make payroll in the coming weeks.

He said  ”Let’s talk about what is realistic for you.”

I’m afraid I know what is realistic.  For me.  I have a full time job.

Life has a way of putting what you need out in front of you. Whether or not you reach out and grab it, that’s on you.

This morning when I woke up my dream job was staring me right in the face.

And I think I have to reach out and grab it.

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Posted in Family, Parenting

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The Square Root of 49 is a PRIZE!!

Posted on February 6, 2012 | 6 comments

Gee whiz!!  You spill your guts on the internet and you get a prize, guys!!  My birth story and my postpartum post had a zillion more page views than my ordinary posts (although perhaps it was the pictures that did it, I am fairly certain there is a stray nipple in there somewhere!) and I thought that was prize enough.  While I certainly do not write with the intent of generating traffic it is a pleasant surprise when something that I questioned posting at all is a hit.

Last week I received the 7×7 link award from The Waiting.  She is an Emily, but a pregnant one!!  She is also in the Cackalackey so we have that in common as well.  I enjoy her pregnancy related tales, but suspect I’d have enjoyed her tales prior to this shared  experience as well.    Go.  Read her.  She is smart and funny.  That’s Win Win.

The rules are simple – list seven of my own my favorite posts and then nominate seven other bloggers for the award .

My favorite seven posts

Security – This is an all time favorite because it is the beginning of what has become a valued friendship with my friend Karen.  And the first time I realized that barfing my feelings on the internet really makes me feel better about my Universe.

When I Grow Up  – another post that was prompted by a question from an old friend.  The answer to the question of why I didn’t grow up to be an actress.

A Test of Patience – Sometimes I need to remember that I have come a long, long way.  And I have been patient.  Occasionally it would serve me to be a little less so.

How Symmetrical is Your Face – I miss This Book Will Change Your Life.  I need to get back on the horse.

Express Your Views – Alternately titled “I Told The Internet About my Abortion” – a tough one to write.  But impossible not to.

The Post Where I Coined One of my All Time F avorite Phrases – And in what I declare a moment of genius told her that “our hearts are like earthworms. We have endless regenerative powers.”  Hillary is a tough cookie.  And when I didn’t hear from her I assumed that she was toughing it out.  Her earthworm heart mending itself in time to be torn in two for perhaps the gazillionth time, but all in all, no worse for the wear.

And a couple bonus entries to make you laugh….

Magic 8 Ball of Crazy – Pregnant and Bat Shit Crazy –

How My Monday Was Like a Primus Song – Why  I love the DMV

Have You Met My Wife – another reason I love MQD

And now 7 blogs I enjoy!!

Toulouse & Tonic: –  Read her.  Comment.  Be engaging and witty.    This delightful gal is on bedrest and needs you to entertain her.

Xanax or Running Shoes – Jeanna has an amazing gift for  telling a story.  She is engaging and funny even in trying times.

Squatch Makes Three – A DADDDY to be blog!  He is clever and a fine representation of a real dad to be.

I’ll Sleep When They’re Grown – She is newly pregnant again and a good time.  Another good sense of humor.  Are you detecting a trend?

Great Big Question Mark – Kim.  Kim is a real life person.  She was an internet person and made the leap.  Kim held my hand through some of my darkest days and it was her sarcasm, her kindness, her smarts… that more than once saved my ass.  Kim is smart.  And the only really short person I have ever truly loved.

Real Life Homes – Karen had a genius of an idea.  Send her pictures of your real life home so we can all stop feeling like rotten homemakers when we look through catalogues.  I ruined the curve when I sent her pics of my pregnancy induced nesting home.  

The Adventures of the Family Pants – Collen and I have never met but we will.  She is a delight, she makes me cry and laugh and makes me want to squeeze her kids and make up songs and pay and wear a lot of glitter.  She is good people.

And a bonus nominee because I can’t say enough how you should really read Karen’s blog.  She is a hundred times smarter than me.  And her kids are way cute.  And even her husband has won me over.  Uncomfortably Honest & Honestly Uncomfortable.  

 

Muchas gracias, my blog friends.  I promise I will get my shit together and get back to more regular posting.  I am trying to give the Facebook page a little love, bonus pictures and the like in the meantime.  So, come on,  Like me!  Heh.

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Posted in Bad Mood, Family, Nonsense, Parenting, Pregnancy, This Book Will Change Your Life

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Runnin’ just as fast as we can…

Posted on February 1, 2012 | 6 comments

Sometimes I try to think of the perfect song to capture how I am feeling.  And sometimes it is the song that pops in to my head that draws attention to the feelings I have just beneath the surface.

Here I am on my “babymoon,” falling in love with my Lucy Quinn, carefully managing the sometimes mixed emotions of the big sister Emily June and I have room for MORE emotions?  Of course, I do.

And beneath the surface, Mama has it bad for her man.  As evidenced by the fact that I have had Tiffany’s teenybopper voice in my head for days….

I think we’re alone now,
There doesn’t seem to be anyone around.
I think we’re alone now,
The beating of our hearts is the only sound.

Look at the way
We gotta hide what were doing…

Maybe it is a side effect of a Honeymoon Baby.  I’m still pretty smitten with the guy on a regular basis.  But the other day I turned around in the kitchen and there he was.  Emptying the dishwasher.  I can’t deny that may have played in to it.  But I felt myself catch my breath like I did that first week we were dating.  Lucy was sleeping.  Not in my arms or his.  And I put my arms around him and… if you’ve been reading for any length of time you surely know what happens next… I began to cry.

I hadn’t hugged him in months, not like that.  I fit again.  Just like I did before I was pregnant.  He seems taller now that I can slide in under his chin again.  “I forgot you were so dainty,” he said.  I looked up at him, the moment beginning to break apart, assuming he was kidding.  I have been called many things, dainty is not one of them.  But he wasn’t joking, he’d closed his eyes and pulled me closer.

Smiling through my tears I let him hold me close.  This time not because I was afraid, or tired, or overwhelmed.  Just because he likes me.  He like likes me.

I absolutely adore being one of your girls, MQD.  But I can’t wait to be “alone now….”

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It takes one to know one.

Posted on January 30, 2012 | 10 comments

I have had a dozen half written blog posts in my head for the last few days and little time to sit down and write them.  As we fall in to a routine as a family, as I slowly return to my job and try to figure out how I will begin working from home, as I try to take whatever extra time I have and pour it in to Emily June…. writing, the most “selfish” thing I do is the first thing to fall by the wayside.

But I have to remind myself that it is the writing, the processing, the churning through my emotions  and finding words to express them that has gotten me to this place where I feel so capable.  Capable of being a wife, a mother of two, a full-time employee and still be me.  I am finding the time to shower.  To eat.  I need to remember that it is the writing that makes me feel sane.

So here I sit.  Trying to churn out a blog post that can follow my birth story.  The support, the comments, the emails that I have received have left me feeling that way that a woman often feels when she receives a compliment. I’d like to shrug it off.  Or make a sarcastic and self-deprecating joke to deflect.  But I can’t.

Because I am proud of myself.  And oddly… As excited as I am about this experience I’m having a hard time taking all the credit for it.  Because it isn’t my birth story.  It’s Lucy’s.

My mom always says that you can’t take credit for your kids successes or blame yourself  for their failures.  This is the single best piece of parenting advice that has ever been handed to me.  When you boil it down it is a simple sentiment.  Do the best you can. That’s it. The rest is on them.

I assembled the right team.  I can be proud of that.  I prepared myself mentally, emotionally and physically for the labor and delivery I had hoped to have.  I can be proud of that.

But at the end of the day…. the beautiful, happy, healthy girl and her arrival in to this world…. that is the beginning of Lucy’s story.  And only a very small part of mine.  So, I’ve spent some time trying to  figure out what exactly I did that day.

Sweet Lucy Quinn, I have told your sister that she made me a mother.  I have told her this since she was small, thanking her for giving me the title for which I am the most grateful .  While pregnant with you I would tell her that as hard as it will be to share me with a sibling she must never forget that no one will ever take away her claim to being the one that made me a mom. Emily June made me a mother.  And I was proud of that.  I am proud of that.

But you, little Lucy, you made me know in my heart of hearts that I can do the tough stuff.

I walked away from my life once.  And it was tough.  But I had to.  I did it for Emily.  She gave me the strength and the courage to do that.

But this hard thing, this unmedicated birth, it was my marathon, my Iron Man, my mountain climb, my backpacking trip around the world.  While I believe there is sufficient evidence to prove that an unmedicated birth has benefits to the baby, that was not my motivation behind choosing this path.

I just wanted to know that I can do hard things.  For me.    So while our  birth story might be just one day in my thirty-five years, it changed me.

Lucy, my sweet Lucy…. you’ve made me so proud.  Of me.  This is a tremendous gift you’ve given me.

Sweet Lucy Quinn, who burst in to the world with your fist raised.  You are a champ.  A fighter.  I can see it in your determined little scowl, the way you hold your head while you nurse. You’re gonna be one tough cookie, I think.

But so is your Mom.

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