sheers, sheering, shorn

It's that time of year again- time to review the year, assess the state of life, resolve to improve multiple aspects of exercising and eating habits, and for me at least, to cut off all my hair.

So it's actually been a complete year since I last had a haircut. A year. I went to see my beloved 95-pound, stereotypical hairdresser on December 30th of last year asking for a change. A big change. He gave it to me in the form of the shortest haircut I'd had since a foray into the short-short do in college. I absolutely loved it! The really cool part was that as it grew, it kept morphing into new hairdos, that were workable and cute. Until June or so, I was good to go with an actual hairdo. Then it became long enough that I reentered the world of wash-hair-then-put-in-ponytail. I've been solidly in that world since C was born-- sometimes not even qualifying for the first half... so it became clear that a cut was in line.

I returned to my hairdresser, admitting with much shame that I had not done anything to my hair in the 12 months since I had seen him last. (In the world of a hairdresser, this is WAY more than a misdemeanor!) I talked to him about what he had done on that previous visit, and asked him to do it again. What I had forgotten to do was to bring a photo of his handiwork from 12 months past. Ooops.

So I have another short-short hairdo, albeit not exactly what I was sporting last year. But I have fulfilled my need to be shorn for the passing of the old year and the coming of the new one. Short hair is fantastically easy to care for- a major plus when you have approximately 7 minutes each morning to complete your personal grooming. Winter hats are a major downside, but one I'll have to work around for now.

twas the night before Christmas...

And two out of three children were snug in their beds at 7:49 pm?!?!

Well, in the spirit of full disclosure, one is snug in our bed after nursing himself into a slumbering stupor. Hopefully he'll stay like that for at least a few hours, and maybe, just maybe, he'll stay asleep for a transfer to the co-sleeper (a new addition to Mommy's bedtime routine, not so successful track record just yet). And the other one is snug in her crib so early because she didn't so much nap today, and she's running a fever. It was 103.1 earlier this afternoon. Merry Christmas.

The remaining member of the wacky trio is camped out in front of the television watching the end of The Polar Express. It's an interesting thing that he's watching this movie tonight, as he has initiated several conversations with me in the last few days regarding the 'realness' of a jolly old fat man in red. J and I have regularly had our best conversations while we walk together, and being that rare adult who doesn't drive, we've taken many a long walk together over the years. The most recent was down to the nearby shopping center today to get some final stocking stuffers for lovely husband. As we walked, J stated again for the third time in as many days, "So, I really don't think Santa is real, Mom." He went on to state his case- very well-thought out. Different people must volunteer to play him every year. He just cannot get everywhere in one night. He's just not real.

The funny thing is, in all these conversations, he never really asked me to confirm his arguments. And at this very moment, he's somewhat-jokingly asking Dad if he can "please sleep down here tonight." "I just want to say hi to Santa," he says with laughter in his voice. Earlier tonight, he asked his little sister, "Is tonight the night that Santa comes when we're sleeping?" He's clearly got a lot on his little 7-year-old mind.

So, I don't think he truly believes the way he used to, but I don't think he's ready to abandon the idea altogether either. I guess that's most appropriate- he's at such a delicate time of childhood in the big picture, not a young child anymore, but not yet the pre-adolescent that these days is the teenager of days gone by either. I like this tightrope that he's walking, because it means that there are still moments that I get my snuggly little boy back, or I get to watch him succumb to complete silliness with us, minus the ever-increasing eye-rolling.

Santa, come on by, we're all ready for you. Well, I have a feeling that belief or no belief, someone will be having a harder than usual time falling asleep tonight.

I do love me a good list

As the year draws to a close, the heat is on for list-making. Holiday Gift lists. Dinner Party Food shopping lists. Christmas Card lists. Naughty and Nice lists. Endless To-Do lists. And the reigning king of all lists- the Top Ten Review List. You know what I mean, right? The top songs of the year, the top movies, the top break-ups. These lists create our definition of pop culture, and they saturate the cable channel line-up as December 31st creeps closer and closer.

Even Time magazine gets in on it. The line at top of the last cover reads "Inside: The Top 10 Everything of the Year." Wow, claiming to be able to top ten EVERYTHING... show some humility, will ya? I love this magazine, and I adore these lists. I literally laughed out loud when I read the final page of the mag, an essay by James Poniewozik called "The Power of 10: Why do we go list-crazy at the end of the year? Here are the Top 10 reasons." Funny, funny stuff. (I wanted to link to this article, but it is currently not working on Time's website... go pick up a copy, or come over and read mine- you'll get a kick out of it, trust me!)

So, in the spirit of list-making (which I LOVE), here is my official end of the year list:

The Top Ten Things that I Liked, Laughed At, Smiled About, or Generally-Remember-in-a-Fond-Way of 2007.

10. A bird in the hand may be worth two in the bush, but a bird pooping on Bush is priceless.
Remember this? Not only did the bird make a statement, but the President didn't think twice before sweeping the bird poop away with his bare hand. People, amazing as it sounds, I've been pooped on three separate times- twice on my head- so believe me when I say that it's not a dry clean-up.

9. They're really just five fully-clothed guys from Canada.
Barenaked Ladies released their second new album in February, Barenaked Ladies Are Men, just five months after they put out Barenaked Ladies Are Me. Two new CD's in that short of a time-- heaven, I say.


8. Some days I actually wish I worked there.
The Office. Michael Scott. Jim Halpert. Dwight Schrute. These guys have made me laugh something fierce this year. Even when I was hugely pregnant and uncomfortable as all out and basically hating everyone and everything, this show cracked me up.

7. The Other Dawn.
Yes, sometimes I do crack myself up, but this lady slayed me. I was introduced to her via her now infamous ebay listing for Pokemon cards, and I now regularly read her blog. She's got a fantastic sense of humor, she writes about her crazy kids, and now she's got a book deal. (Jealous, party of one...)

6. I dreamt about this teenage boy for weeks and weeks.
That was weird to type. But you know who I mean, that unmistakable hair, those distinctive round glasses, that manly scar. Harry Potter (in print, mind you, I'm not a book-to-movie kind of fan) ruled my train of thought for so long this year. Staying up by myself and reading into the night, sobbing on the couch at 3 am, ahh, good times.

5. "I put you on the streets!"
If you don't recognize that line, then you are obviously not as big a fan of little two-year-old Pearl as I am. Yes, this is shameless, getting a young child to say things to amuse the adults. Yes, she even says a bad word or two, but what can I say, it still makes me laugh so hard I could pee.

4. All he wants for Christmas...
J has official 'grown-up' teeth on the bottom and a gaping hole up top. Most times you look over at him, you'll find his curled tongue sticking through the hole. He can't say anything remotely close to the 'S' sound. This will only happen once in his life (unless he takes up hockey...), and I want to always remember how darned cute he looked with his holey grin.

3. She's a potty animal!
H surprised me this year, not once, but twice, by pooping in the tub. (I've exhausted that topic on this blog, I know!) But now, she's asking to use the potty once or twice a day, and she's actually doing pee and poop when she sits down! (Only a mom could type the words pee and poop without a second thought.) She's 19 months old. Trust me, I'm not expecting this to be a permanent thing right now, but it's exciting nonetheless. (No picture of her on the potty... so this one will have to fill in.)

2. He's gainfully employed!
Lovely husband lived a stress-filled spring and summer of looking for jobs, interviewing for jobs, being offered jobs, declining jobs, getting called back to reinterview for jobs... you get the point. But the fantastic day came in August, when he was offered a job that 1. he liked and 2. could pay the bills. He's working hard everyday, and he's learning a lot, and he's the best husband a girl could ask for.

1. "Three is the new two."
This statement got me through the first-trimester fears of becoming a family of five. And you know what, the more I look around, the truer it seems. Lots of women out there are trying to stay sane while parenting three children! C joined us on November 15, 2007, and it was the best day of the year, by far.


Happy Holidays to you all. May your 2008 be filled with happy lists galore!

your thoughts and prayers

Although I am not a religious person in that I don't subscribe to any particular denomination, I do have a strong belief in a higher power, and I'm asking that any of you who may read this send up your thoughts and prayers for someone I know.

At the beginning of the school year, I met another mom at the bus stop. She and I are the only two 'regulars' at J's bus stop with about 15 kids. When we first talked, we shared our pregnancy news with each other- she was about 4-5 weeks behind me. Throughout the fall, we've shared stories of our sore backs, sleepless nights and growing bellies. Although her native language is Spanish, she knows enough English to get by in simple conversations, and I can supplement with my VERY few memories from high school classes. It's also amazing how much can transcend a language barrier when you're talking about pregnancy and babies.

I saw her husband at the bus stop yesterday morning and knew immediately that something was seriously wrong. She started having contractions on Wednesday, about a week before her due date, and they went to the hospital only to find out that there was no longer a discernible heartbeat. She apparently had just been at her last doctor's appointment a day or so before, and everything had been fine, but by Wednesday night, the baby had passed away. She delivered the baby and is now at home. Her grieving husband and I stood together at the bus stop, and he told me this terrible news. She has her mother staying with them right now, but he said she is just inconsolable.

This is every pregnant woman's worst nightmare. I cannot even imagine, and I'm not sure how it will be when I see her next, especially as I am always at the bus stop with my two littlest ones in tow. My heart aches for her and her family, and I ask that if you are the praying type, to please ask God to watch over them and help them find peace, as impossible as that may sound.

whose life is it anyway?

When do you think your life truly becomes yours? Weird question, huh? I've been kicking around this thought process for a few days, but I'm not even sure that I can fully articulate what it is that I mean. Here's my attempt.

So right now, my kids are 7 years, 1.5 years, and almost 1 month old. What happens to them each and every day is almost completely determined by me (for the two younger ones) and other adults-in-charge (for my public-school-educated child). For the most part, their days are filled with experiences that they will not even remember 20 years from now. But I will. I will remember that yesterday H decided to poop on the potty (WHAT?!) and that she followed it up with two encores over the next 24 hours. She may hear me tell her the story someday, but it will never be her own memory. C will not remember spending time in his bouncy seat, but I will always remember how cute he looked enveloped in the blue seat. He may see a picture someday, but he'll never have that picture in his head on his own. J will probably not remember his first forays into team sports, but lovely husband and I will definitely always remember him running after the ball looking so handsome in his first uniform.

So here's the question. At what point will the decisions and experiences and memories become theirs more than they are mine? Does that even make sense? I don't know if I'm a good representative for the average person when it comes to memory (or anything else for that matter...), but I don't seem to remember much before 3rd grade or so. Up until that point, my life experiences reside in the realm of my parents' memories, I guess, if anywhere at all anymore.

Isn't it strange to think that these little people are living each day, but only I will remember what they were doing? Will I realize when the shift occurs- when the majority of their lives are spent away from me (which is where J is right now in a way) and they are amassing memories that I have no role in? As inevitable as it is, it is also incredibly sad to me. The primary focus of my day to day life right now is caring for these children and making a home for my family. (I know, I know, 1950's housewife, that's me!) That's my reality at this point in my life, and I'm happy. I know I don't want to be responsible for these three little people forever, so it's necessary that they grow up and develop lives away from us. But still, it's very strange to think of a time that they are no longer my babies, but are their own people.

I don't know that I did my thought process justice with this post. I'm not sure I can really even find the right words to express this, especially without sounding overly sappy or emotional. I'm actually thinking about this with less emotion than just awe, I guess. It's a stage of life that I have yet to enter, so I look toward it with a level of disbelief in a way. I guess if I think about it, my 17 year old self who left home for college and soon acclimated to my new life would in no way have been able to fully contemplate or understand my 32 year old life as it is now, either! We'll get there someday, and then all we'll be able to do is look back and reminisce.

what's a little torture among family members?

Is sleep deprivation considered a form of torture these days? (I guess it would depend on who you ask...) If it is, then my three-week-old is trying to kill me.

I don't know how anyone else does the whole nighttime routine with new babies, but I just don't know if I'm doing the right thing with C. He's in this whole stage of being sleepy for the majority of the day still, but for the most part he will only sleep when being held. It doesn't matter how deep of a sleep he may be in while I'm holding him, as soon as I lay him down, BOOM- wide awake. I could lay him in the bouncy seat, or in his car seat, or on the couch, or on his back, or on his side, or in a house, or with a mouse... you get the point, dude likes to be held. I know that you can't spoil a newborn, so for a lot of the time, I'm holding him. It's amazing to see all that I can successfully do essentially one-handed: eat my meals, wash some dishes, load the washing machine, type (VERY slowly and with many typos...). It's okay some of the time, but I have to admit that I'm getting frustrated more easily these days. So, for much of the other times during the day, C is laying in a seat crying his bloody head off. I cannot cook dinner one-handed.

But, back to nighttime. So, he is very, very tired right around the time that we're getting the others off to bed, so I've been putting him 'to bed' around then too lately. That's where I'm having a hard time. At night, it's not that he needs to be held so much to fall and stay asleep, it's that he needs something in his mouth, it seems. Since I'm nursing him that something is me. Here's how it goes: I lay him in the bed, all swaddled up and nurse him on one side. He eats and then falls asleep, and I try to shimmy out of the bed without waking him. Many nights he has stayed asleep for a little while after this, and I'm allowed to have a little bit of time to myself to do the things I like to do at night (like this very blogging thing!)

We have a co-sleeper all set up right next to the bed, but the problem is that if I move him after nursing him, he wakes right up! Then we're back at square one. So for now, he's sleeping in the bed. That creates its own problem it seems, in that he's been nursing essentially all night. Last night, I swear that I was attached to him for hours. Every time I shifted to move away, he's start struggling and rooting around and grunting like a little pot-bellied pig. If I went back to nursing him, boom, within minutes he'd be back asleep. I felt like a cow hooked up to a machine last night. Ugh. I just can't actually sleep like that. I may have my eyes closed, but it's never really a deep sleep-- just that first level of sleep, you know? I'm aware of every elongated breath he takes, every grunt he makes, every movement S makes. I'm constantly making sure the covers aren't near the baby, and I'm aching from lying on my hip. (Ugh- I'm not old enough to complain about hip pain...)

Don't get me wrong. I love breastfeeding. I cannot even imagine getting up once or more during the night, coming downstairs to prepare a bottle and then having to be in an upright position to feed him. We did that with J, and guess what, when we'd lay him down, he'd wake right up. So, same problem, just additional work. At least this way, I get to be lying down during the all-night-chow-fests.

It totally sounds like I'm complaining big time, when for the most part, it's not too bad. I know this too shall pass, but some days it's hard to remember that, especially when I've been holding him or nursing him for hours and hours and hours. I'm not that physically strong a person, and man, do my back and arms ache. I hope we can soon move onto a new nighttime routine that involves more actual sleeping for me... sleeping that doesn't involve being on my side all night, propped up and feeding someone else. I find it quite ironic that I actually long for the third trimester sleep-- even with all the bathroom trips and the crazy active child in utero, I got to sleep. Ah, that actually sounds good.

wheeee!

Wii have a growing obsession in our house lately. Wii aren't usually like this about things, but wii just can't seem to stop wishing for this. Wii thought it would pass after the initial 'coveting of our neighbors' goods' phase, but wii want it more than ever now. Wii are getting desperate.

Okay, maybe not desperate, but it has been the topic of many conversations lovely husband and I have had lately- the Wii, of course! It all started a while back when good friends of ours got one. These guys have a veritable playhouse for grown-ups with gaming systems being at the top of the list-- and when all their friends get together, it's a fantastic time. When they got the Wii, I actually thought, "Now this has games I might actually play!" S, meanwhile, immediately fell in love.

I am, in no way, a gaming kind of person. I've never been one for video games or computer games (excepting of course online crossword puzzles, which are in a different category). But there is definitely something different about this system. This can actually be used by all kinds of different people. If you've seen any of the ads for it, you'll see that's exactly what they're pitching. Their ads might as well just voice over: Kids can play games, 30-somethings have their own games, and look, even old people can play things, too!

I absolutely love the guys in the commercials who bring the wii to the people, then bow, and then the little letter i's bow, too. Gets me every time.


Any way you look at it, it's a ton of fun. We spent time at said friends' house last weekend, and played carnival games on it. Carnival games! Skee-ball, knock down the milk cans, get your horse thing to the end of the line before anyone else- carnival games! How refreshing is that-- video games that don't involve shooting, killing, maiming, or any other version of a deadly sin.

So we are on a quest... find a wii. S asked at Costco last night, and the guy said they are expecting a shipment any day now-- should be 72 systems. He recommended calling first thing in the morning, and then booking it down there as fast as possible. Do we have the money for this? No, not exactly. But here's the thing- how often do we splurge on something for us? Hardly ever. So, if the wii-force is with us and we actually get the opportunity to buy one, then Merry Christmas, Happy Valentine's Day, and Happy Birthday to us for a while to come. Wheeeee!

Epilogue:
S tried his hardest to get to Costco this morning, but with the 'inclement' weather (in MD that could be as little as two snowflakes...), traffic was horrendous. After sitting forever in traffic, he finally got there and got in line. They had 24 Wii's for sale!

S was number 25 in line.

The quest continues...

they're like machines!

Apparently my quest to simultaneously bathe two children under two years of age was much too big a feat for accomplishment. What was I thinking? It all started just fine, I even managed to capture some photos.











Then it all went to poop. Literally. Remember H's little 'tub surprise' for me back in September? Well, we had a repeat performance today. Actually, you could call it a duet.

This was C's first ever bath in the baby tub. I've only done sponge baths up until now because of the umbilical cord and circumcision issues. Today was the day to see how he'd react to being immersed in water. And, of course, things have been crazy around here, so H hadn't had a bath in a good day or two (or three??!!). So, I figured I'd get them both in there- you know, two birds and all. Lovely husband kindly stayed home a little later this morning so he could take J to the bus stop, and I didn't have to bundle the kids all up only to undress them again and get them in tub when we came home. It was a nice start to the day. I got H in the big part of the tub first, then undressed C, and placed him in the warm water. He had a moment that looked like it would turn into a big reaction, but then he just got calm. He really seemed to enjoy the water. He didn't flinch as I dripped water on his head or as I soaped him up. I'm predicting he'll be a water baby like the others.

What I didn't predict was that he'd be a tub-pooper like his big sister. So there I am, snapping away with the camera, and all of a sudden I hear bubbles. It honestly took me a moment to even realize that C had farted and along with it came all that mustardy-seedy-breastfed-baby-poop. Yum. All in the water of his little tub, of course right after I finished washing him.

Okay, I get him out, clean him off, wrap him in a towel and hurriedly tell H not to touch his tub. I have to leave it right there in the tub with her, because I figure I better get a diaper on him quickly. H is saying, "Baby potty. Baby potty." Yes, H, baby potty, nice huh? I lay him on the bath mat and start to dry and diaper my little shivery boy.

Then I hear, "OH OH OH! NO NO! POTTTTYYYY!!"

I turn to see H standing in the tub frantically pointing at three of her own little floaters and beginning to get hysterical. Okay, okay. I finish his diaper, wrap him in the towel and turn to begin fishing for turds. I'm amazingly good at it now. I get them in the toilet, all the while trying to calm the older poopy machine and hoping that the younger one doesn't start screaming.

When all was said and done, I got both kids clean and dressed eventually. H and I talked some more about not pooping in the tub, but I don't think she's anywhere near the point of being able to hold it, so it's probably a moot point anyway. I even got C to take a little nap once he was all swaddled back up. (Hence the middle of the morning post!) Now to readjust my day's to-do list: cleaning the upstairs bathroom has shot to the top of the list.

that so-called show

In August of 1994, I had my freshman year of college behind me, but high school wasn't all that far in the past. And, for the so-small-we-think-we're-pretentious college I went to, high school wasn't all that different an experience in the long run. College for me was kind of like high school with non-supervised sleepovers. All the drama, fewer adults in charge. So, even though I was in high school no longer that summer, I fell hard for a new high school themed show: My So-Called Life.

I loved this show. I loved the character of Angela Chase, which then led to my love for the actress Claire Danes. I related to this introspective girl. I so understood her rantings in the voice overs- they were the same things I was writing in my journals or saying to myself in my head as I imagined myself an oh-so-tortured soul. I got her desire to be someone different than who she had always been... I just didn't really act on it (well, maybe not in high school... college, as I said, was a bit of a different story). The portrayal of the hallways in school were so accurate for me- I always felt that everyone was staring at me, and this show said, "Yes, they all ARE staring at you." The insecurity, the frailty, the self-consciousness, the constant 'thinking about yourself' of adolescence was framed absolutely perfectly in this show in my opinion. Dude, I even had the same mid-length, straight hair parted on the side and tucked behind my ear hairdo as the main character. I LOVED this show.

Sadly, the show lasted only one season. I remember the TV Guide giving the show a label like "The Best Show No One is Watching." It produced only 19 episodes. I cried, I believe, when I found out it was cancelled. It was one of the first television shows that I saw as something more than a quick laugh. It made me think. I was only slightly past the age of the main characters, but in so many ways, I was still living the same experiences. I could relate to this show, yet it apparently wasn't good enough to stay on TV. That kind of gives you a sad perspective on your life, huh?

Well, the series has just recently been released on DVD, and boy oh boy, was I ever elated to move those discs from the 'SAVED' section of our blockbuster queue right up to the top. Today I finally sat down and watched the pilot episode. Let the series begin again!

It was a very different experience, even in those first few minutes. First off, rather than perched on my parents' couch or my dorm bed as a 19-year-old, I was sitting on my own couch as a 32-year-old... and I was breastfeeding my third child. That's perspective right there for ya. But I watched enraptured. I still love Claire Danes. I still love Angela Chase. This time around, though, I think I can relate way more to her parents. I watched her actions from a parent's viewpoint, and I was frightened for her. I was sad to think that she felt so badly about her teenage life- it seemed pretty easy in hindsight. Did I really think I had it so bad in high school? Did I really disregard my parents' feelings and concerns so nonchalantly? Did I really obsess that much about boys?

The answers are yes, yes, and GOD YES. And you know what? I was supposed to. I think that's the point of the show. This is adolescence. Judge if you will as an adult, but you have to remember that feeling that no one truly understood you. No one knew what you were feeling, and if they tried to profess that they did, it just made it all that clearer that they DID NOT. There's no getting past that feeling with an adolescent, and I remember it so clearly from that side.

The scary thing is that I'm not on that side anymore. I will soon be on the other side of the parent-child relationship in adolescence. I'm no longer the eye-roller. (I'm the eye-rollee?) I'm the recipient of the infamous 'attitude.' I will be the boundary-setter and the curfew-creator, and probably the in-the-dark parent at least some of the time.

When we get to that point, I do wish I'd somehow be able to get through to my children that I was there once, too. I understand. I dyed my hair, and I tried out new friends, finding some good ones and being let down tremendously by other not-so-good ones. I loved my own versions of Jordan Catalano, and I obsessed about the smallest of things. (Well, that one hasn't changed so much...)

The point is, this show rocks. I'm so happy to have it on DVD, to be able to watch it with my older eyes, and to reminisce about the parallel days I experienced.

"People always say how you should be yourself. Like your self is this definite thing, like a toaster or something. Like you know what it is, even. But every so often, I'll have, like, a moment when just being myself, and my life, like, right where I am, is, like, enough."--Angela Chase