Lest you think my recent happy post meant that things had changed around here:
This afternoon I tried to coax Sascha into one of the three costumes we had for her (one was bought, two were borrowed). She would have none of it. Even after I tried the headpieces on myself, and put her in front of the mirror to show her how she would look, still-- no dice. So she was the only kid in regular clothes at the neighbor's party, which was fine. She clung to me, but couldn't decide if she wanted to get down from my lap or crawl up under my skin, so she was in constant motion.
As I was feeding her in a quiet corner, she started to retch... I held her plate up under her face and she filled it. But then, she took both hands and smeared vomit all over her mouth, face, and jacket. I felt like a deer in headlights as a neighbor asked if she was okay. Me: she just threw up. Her (head cocked in sympathy): awwww!! I thought to myself, how about giving me a hand, lady? Nick was out picking up a pizza so I was on my own; I sent quick mental kudos to superhero single parents. I just decided to take her home, out of the chaos of the party. I had to pick her up (hooray, my second pukey outfit of the week), juggling the octopus with pukey tentacles and the vomity plate.
I sat her on the kitchen sink to wash her hands. Just as her hands were all soapy, she put them right up to her mouth. Yum. I guess puke didn't taste bad enough?
At some point in the night, she managed to spill half a cup of juice all over the floor (sidenote: sticky floors are my #1 dirty-house pet peeve... I think stinky toilets are my second... we are afflicted with both, often) and then had an end-of-the-world meltdown when I took the cup away. I swear, this child is like four kids in one. I am petrified for Nick when I go away for five days. He's going to have to take a day off work just to stare at a wall for 8 hours.
We didn't go trick-or-treating. The dog lost her ever-loving mind every time the doorbell rang.
And I ate too much crap. I feel awful. I need a stomach transfusion.
Happy Halloween!
Friday, October 31, 2008
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
False Alarm
My parents looked at it and said it's not the pox; probably just bites. Whew. But that begs the question: what the hell bit her? Poor kid. And she still threw up yesterday while walking over to my sister's house. Right there in the street. Then she came to me for comfort (not the first or last hundredth time I'll be marred by her bodily fluids), and I had to take her home. Knowing we'd been headed to her favorite aunt's house, she cried "Auntiiiieee!" like she was being punished for puking. Broke my heart.
Here's something totally unrelated that I've been wanting to write about for a while. It should be a separate entry, but ehh.
The guilt that Nick and I feel about how much TV she watches is getting worse. She can play with all of her toys and read all of her books and still have at least an hour to kill each afternoon before dinner. And she's restless, and we're exhausted. It's worse if the weather isn't nice enough to go outside. I feel bad that she's an only child, but even if I were to get pregnant today, she'd still have two years before she could play with her sibling. So she watches A LOT of TV. A shameful amount. If we try to get her doing something else, she goes over to the DVD player and turns it on herself. For the past two nights, I have had songs from her Sesame Street DVDs stuck in my head, playing in an endless loop as I try to sleep.
I've said this before-- I shouldn't worry about it, because her social skills are pretty good, she still loves books, and she is freakin' brilliant. Is it normal for a kid who's not even two to know the entire alphabet and count to 20? And recognize those numbers out of sequence? To correctly use plurals? I don't know, I have nothing to compare her to.
But back to the TV. A few weekends ago, I spent a Sunday cooking and cleaning while Nick hung out with her (and, okay, Ernie & Bert). All I could think was, how the hell did women do this in the '40s and '50s, when women were basically their husbands' servants? The image of older kids playing together comes to mind, but what did they do when they just had one toddler? And what if the kid was nuts like mine? They didn't have DVD players to get the kids off their hands. The men were free to do whatever they liked, unlike Nick who is usually the primary parent while I cook and do a lot of the cleaning (I can't even say most, because Nick really does a lot too-- easily half). And dinner still had to be made. The grocery shopping still had to be done. It blows my mind. I literally cannot imagine what they did. And that was the life most women aspired to. I'm not saying I didn't want motherhood and wifehood-- I totally did-- but it's a different story when I've got Sesame Street On Demand to help me out. And a microwave, and a washing machine, and a dishwasher, and a fully involved (and evolved) husband, etc.
Granted, these women didn't have to go to work every day. Well, go to a job, I mean. But still, even on weekends when I'm "free" all day, I still have to rely on TV to get anything done. I bust my ass, and I bow down to the women who came before me.
PS: one more week until the election. Yeee! I actually heard some seniors in the hall this morning talking about the ballot questions, and what they were going to vote for. Teenagers! And these weren't honor students, either. I got chills all over. (in the interest of full disclosure, there is a question on the ballot this year that involves marijuana, but hey-- whatever gets them involved! They were talking about the other questions, too.)
Here's something totally unrelated that I've been wanting to write about for a while. It should be a separate entry, but ehh.
The guilt that Nick and I feel about how much TV she watches is getting worse. She can play with all of her toys and read all of her books and still have at least an hour to kill each afternoon before dinner. And she's restless, and we're exhausted. It's worse if the weather isn't nice enough to go outside. I feel bad that she's an only child, but even if I were to get pregnant today, she'd still have two years before she could play with her sibling. So she watches A LOT of TV. A shameful amount. If we try to get her doing something else, she goes over to the DVD player and turns it on herself. For the past two nights, I have had songs from her Sesame Street DVDs stuck in my head, playing in an endless loop as I try to sleep.
I've said this before-- I shouldn't worry about it, because her social skills are pretty good, she still loves books, and she is freakin' brilliant. Is it normal for a kid who's not even two to know the entire alphabet and count to 20? And recognize those numbers out of sequence? To correctly use plurals? I don't know, I have nothing to compare her to.
But back to the TV. A few weekends ago, I spent a Sunday cooking and cleaning while Nick hung out with her (and, okay, Ernie & Bert). All I could think was, how the hell did women do this in the '40s and '50s, when women were basically their husbands' servants? The image of older kids playing together comes to mind, but what did they do when they just had one toddler? And what if the kid was nuts like mine? They didn't have DVD players to get the kids off their hands. The men were free to do whatever they liked, unlike Nick who is usually the primary parent while I cook and do a lot of the cleaning (I can't even say most, because Nick really does a lot too-- easily half). And dinner still had to be made. The grocery shopping still had to be done. It blows my mind. I literally cannot imagine what they did. And that was the life most women aspired to. I'm not saying I didn't want motherhood and wifehood-- I totally did-- but it's a different story when I've got Sesame Street On Demand to help me out. And a microwave, and a washing machine, and a dishwasher, and a fully involved (and evolved) husband, etc.
Granted, these women didn't have to go to work every day. Well, go to a job, I mean. But still, even on weekends when I'm "free" all day, I still have to rely on TV to get anything done. I bust my ass, and I bow down to the women who came before me.
PS: one more week until the election. Yeee! I actually heard some seniors in the hall this morning talking about the ballot questions, and what they were going to vote for. Teenagers! And these weren't honor students, either. I got chills all over. (in the interest of full disclosure, there is a question on the ballot this year that involves marijuana, but hey-- whatever gets them involved! They were talking about the other questions, too.)
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Ain't parenthood grand?
Tonight when Sascha was in the tub, we discovered three red spots on her.
Chicken pox. Shit.
I know nothing about it. But while Nick was checking with Dr. Internet and reading aloud from his laptop, Sascha pooped in the tub.
It's a regular three-ring circus around here. Whee!
Chicken pox. Shit.
I know nothing about it. But while Nick was checking with Dr. Internet and reading aloud from his laptop, Sascha pooped in the tub.
It's a regular three-ring circus around here. Whee!
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Okay, okay
I haven't posted at all because nothing's going on. Nothing interesting, anyway.
The busy-ness is killing me. I took on advising a new club at school for the extra money, and the kids in it are SUPER MOTIVATED which means I now have to show up at evening events that last five hours (uggghhh). I am making a wedding cake-- that I haven't started yet-- for a very close friend of mine. I have to put it in my freezer because I'm leaving town five days before the wedding. I love this girl so very much, but I don't think she loves the guy she's marrying. She doesn't read this blog, but I've told her how I feel (she is a very good friend). She sort of agrees with me. It's kind of a shame. Anyway, yes, big cake. Gaaah, stress.
Of course, I am also still obsessed with politics. Every spare second I get at school, I'm on Salon.com trying to reassure myself. Everyone please read this article. Scary.
About leaving town: I am going to a 20-year high school reunion. (Insert moment of speechless, head-shaking disbelief.) I say "a" reunion instead of "mine" because it's actually for my sister's class a year ahead of me, and I didn't actually graduate from that school. We grew up in the military, and were in Europe for 9 years. My first three years of HS were in Germany, then I moved to England for my senior year. (That's where I met Nick, even though we didn't actually date until 2001-- a story for another time.)
I think most people roll their eyes and dread reunions, but this group of people is different. When we were overseas, every single person had the dubious honor of being The New Kid at some point. We needed each other. We were culturally isolated in our little American bubble, so we were like a family.
So my sister and I will be going to this reunion in Austin in two weeks, and the only way I can describe how I feel about it is emotionally overwhelmed. Since I left that school in Germany, I haven't been back and over the years I rarely saw any of my classmates. Not being around any reminders of my past, the wonderful memories have become almost dreamlike. As in, did that really happen? Did I dream those people? And now I'm going to see them again. It makes me simultaneously excited and sick, like I'm about to go skydiving. Because the internet has really only developed in the last decade or so, for most of the past 20 years I thought many of these people had just vanished. And they're going to be there. Yeee!
I haven't done a damn thing to prepare (read: lose weight). Nope, just as chunky as ever. And I don't care one bit. All I care about is that I'm wearing something comfortable so that my pants aren't digging into my spare tire while I laugh and cry and hug.
Also? I am going to get to fly by myself! No baby! Hello, that itself is a vacation, woo-HOO!!
On that note, I think I am experiencing Delayed-Reaction Motherhood. I am finally feeling the way I thought I should have felt from the very beginning. The way other women say they do (but I think they're secretly lying). I am finally feeling like a fierce Mama Bear. I'm supposed to make a doc appt. for her soon, and I've been avoiding it because I know she's going to get a zillion shots, and the thought kills me. I don't know why it didn't before. It's dawning on me, in retrospect, how detached I felt from her for the first two years of her life. It wasn't malicious, like I wanted to hurt her. I knew I loved her, in a vague, obligated sort of way, but I didn't really like her, and I even sort of resented her. In almost all of the pictures I see of myself from the past two years, despite my smiles I remember feeling bitter.
This video says a lot, I think. Look at my face right at the end. It breaks my heart now, because I look at that little melon head of hers and just melt. I want to apologize to that baby. But at the time, I was miserable.
A LOT of it had to do with the breastfeeding issues, and the way my life changed was the complete opposite of fun. It was prison. All work and no fulfillment, every single day. I remember a day as recently as this summer, when I was so over the screaming tantrums, when I thought to myself that sometimes I wished I'd never had her. A brutal confession, I know. But this is my place to be honest, not a scrubbed-up baby book.
And now? Whoa. She is a blast. This Rosemary Clooney thing has turned into a full-blown impression, with the scarf draped over her head and facial expressions (in case you missed it last time, check out this video-- Sascha's spot-on complete with whipping off the scarf). She says "bless you" when we sneeze, and "thank you" when we hand her things, and she's just hilarious and adorable about 90% of the time. She is her old self during the other 10%, throwing tantrums; but since it's not all day anymore, they are so much more tolerable. She's so cool. I miss her the second we drop her off in the morning and as soon as she goes to bed. I wonder if it's healthy. She's going through this phase where she can't sleep when we put her to bed. She'll lie there and talk to herself for two hours, and sometimes she'll cry. I don't think twice before going right up, because she's not going to be this little forever. I lurrrrve picking her up and having her rest her head on me.
Gotta wrap this up, I'm meeting a girlfriend for dinner. Nick is on full Sascha duty tonight. Sigh... The benefit of my feeling guilty all the time is that I've become a little desensitized to it.
The busy-ness is killing me. I took on advising a new club at school for the extra money, and the kids in it are SUPER MOTIVATED which means I now have to show up at evening events that last five hours (uggghhh). I am making a wedding cake-- that I haven't started yet-- for a very close friend of mine. I have to put it in my freezer because I'm leaving town five days before the wedding. I love this girl so very much, but I don't think she loves the guy she's marrying. She doesn't read this blog, but I've told her how I feel (she is a very good friend). She sort of agrees with me. It's kind of a shame. Anyway, yes, big cake. Gaaah, stress.
Of course, I am also still obsessed with politics. Every spare second I get at school, I'm on Salon.com trying to reassure myself. Everyone please read this article. Scary.
About leaving town: I am going to a 20-year high school reunion. (Insert moment of speechless, head-shaking disbelief.) I say "a" reunion instead of "mine" because it's actually for my sister's class a year ahead of me, and I didn't actually graduate from that school. We grew up in the military, and were in Europe for 9 years. My first three years of HS were in Germany, then I moved to England for my senior year. (That's where I met Nick, even though we didn't actually date until 2001-- a story for another time.)
I think most people roll their eyes and dread reunions, but this group of people is different. When we were overseas, every single person had the dubious honor of being The New Kid at some point. We needed each other. We were culturally isolated in our little American bubble, so we were like a family.
So my sister and I will be going to this reunion in Austin in two weeks, and the only way I can describe how I feel about it is emotionally overwhelmed. Since I left that school in Germany, I haven't been back and over the years I rarely saw any of my classmates. Not being around any reminders of my past, the wonderful memories have become almost dreamlike. As in, did that really happen? Did I dream those people? And now I'm going to see them again. It makes me simultaneously excited and sick, like I'm about to go skydiving. Because the internet has really only developed in the last decade or so, for most of the past 20 years I thought many of these people had just vanished. And they're going to be there. Yeee!
I haven't done a damn thing to prepare (read: lose weight). Nope, just as chunky as ever. And I don't care one bit. All I care about is that I'm wearing something comfortable so that my pants aren't digging into my spare tire while I laugh and cry and hug.
Also? I am going to get to fly by myself! No baby! Hello, that itself is a vacation, woo-HOO!!
On that note, I think I am experiencing Delayed-Reaction Motherhood. I am finally feeling the way I thought I should have felt from the very beginning. The way other women say they do (but I think they're secretly lying). I am finally feeling like a fierce Mama Bear. I'm supposed to make a doc appt. for her soon, and I've been avoiding it because I know she's going to get a zillion shots, and the thought kills me. I don't know why it didn't before. It's dawning on me, in retrospect, how detached I felt from her for the first two years of her life. It wasn't malicious, like I wanted to hurt her. I knew I loved her, in a vague, obligated sort of way, but I didn't really like her, and I even sort of resented her. In almost all of the pictures I see of myself from the past two years, despite my smiles I remember feeling bitter.
This video says a lot, I think. Look at my face right at the end. It breaks my heart now, because I look at that little melon head of hers and just melt. I want to apologize to that baby. But at the time, I was miserable.
A LOT of it had to do with the breastfeeding issues, and the way my life changed was the complete opposite of fun. It was prison. All work and no fulfillment, every single day. I remember a day as recently as this summer, when I was so over the screaming tantrums, when I thought to myself that sometimes I wished I'd never had her. A brutal confession, I know. But this is my place to be honest, not a scrubbed-up baby book.
And now? Whoa. She is a blast. This Rosemary Clooney thing has turned into a full-blown impression, with the scarf draped over her head and facial expressions (in case you missed it last time, check out this video-- Sascha's spot-on complete with whipping off the scarf). She says "bless you" when we sneeze, and "thank you" when we hand her things, and she's just hilarious and adorable about 90% of the time. She is her old self during the other 10%, throwing tantrums; but since it's not all day anymore, they are so much more tolerable. She's so cool. I miss her the second we drop her off in the morning and as soon as she goes to bed. I wonder if it's healthy. She's going through this phase where she can't sleep when we put her to bed. She'll lie there and talk to herself for two hours, and sometimes she'll cry. I don't think twice before going right up, because she's not going to be this little forever. I lurrrrve picking her up and having her rest her head on me.
Gotta wrap this up, I'm meeting a girlfriend for dinner. Nick is on full Sascha duty tonight. Sigh... The benefit of my feeling guilty all the time is that I've become a little desensitized to it.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Who needs spin?
When there's this? And this? And this? What liberal media? These are YOUR OWN WORDS, people.
Watch them. Listen to who is sharing our country. I am stunned. I shouldn't be; I went to Texas A&M University. People sounded just like that, except they were a little louder and meaner.
This just in. What is this, professional wrestling?
Watch them. Listen to who is sharing our country. I am stunned. I shouldn't be; I went to Texas A&M University. People sounded just like that, except they were a little louder and meaner.
This just in. What is this, professional wrestling?
Thursday, October 09, 2008
"May-wee? May-wee?"
I have to talk about this Rosemary Clooney thing.
That's-a nice!
It all started months ago with the "Big Night" soundtrack, which I love. Of course, "Mambo Italiano" is on there. She loved that song and would dance in her high chair and call out "Mambo!" I think I wrote about it once, ages ago.
One night Nick was showing her some random muppet videos on YouTube and decided to look for that song. He found it. Wanting to keep her occupied, he then showed her this one. And now? She is obsessed. Hence the title of this post, which is how she begs us as she pulls us toward the laptop by our thumbs every night. The girl who can't sit still through Sesame Street is positively rapt when Rosemary is singing. Full attention, her facial expressions ranging from soft, smiley delight to intense concentration. It is awesome. She'll even watch videos like this where it's just a still shot of her face.
Why? Why Rosemary Clooney? I mean, Sascha could certainly do a lot worse. I can't say I mind going through my day with "Botch-a-Me" stuck in my head (although the bastardized Italian spelling irritates me). I'm actually getting to know this woman's personality just through those old videos, and I really dig her. She seemed like a real firecracker, much like her half-pint #1 fan here. Nick and I are trying to find a good DVD for her birthday next month.
If I believed in reincarnation, and I'm not sure if I do or don't, I'd say Sascha's a remastered version of one of Rosie's old flames. Or even... well, you just never know. They do have similar eyes.
That's-a nice!
Saturday, October 04, 2008
The Perfect Birthday.
Today I am 37.
The weather was storybook autumn perfection. I made us waffles for breakfast, we took Sascha to the park, and I had a long, fantastic run. I also pulled weeds for 45 minutes, which was so cathartic (in part because I've been shielding my eyes from those bastards for two months now). Then we tried to go apple picking, but apparently so did everyone else within 50 miles of this farm (see: perfect fall weather), because it looked like Armageddon there with the masses of humanity. My crowd phobia had us skedaddling after about 15 minutes, empty handed.
Last night Nick gave me this and this. They're cookbooks if you're too lazy to click the links, and cookbooks written by two men I have tremendous crushes on. The Bourdain book is great; it's all recipes I learned in school. It's actually inspiring Nick to cook-- but then, he has a crush on Bourdain too. The Jamie Oliver one is food/gardening porn all the way. I should mention that for the past three months, I've been reading Animal, Vegetable, Miracle and I am thoroughly brainwashed. It makes me want to quit my job and become a farmer. I am already planning a huge garden, although it's going to have to wait at least two years. If any of you have read it, tell me so that we can discuss. If you haven't, then go read it.
Anyway, the Jamie Oliver book got me crazy inspired. My poor brain was like a kid with ADHD let loose in a candy store. I want to make roast chicken! No, wait-- butternut squash ravioli in sage butter sauce! No wait-- lobsters are on sale, I'll make lobster ravioli! And apple pie, and pumpkin bread, and everythingthatsaysfall-- ALL TODAY!!
I had to take a deep breath and accept reality. There is, in the end, a chicken roasting in the oven (with organic red potatoes, sweet potato, and tiny beets). Sascha is tucked away in front of the electronic babysitter. I'm going to go pick out a ridiculously expensive (by our standards-- it's about $17) wine, one that we had on our honeymoon at their winery, break out this lovely stinky cheese I wasn't allowed to eat when I was pregnant, and toast to an embarrassment of riches.
37 is great.
The weather was storybook autumn perfection. I made us waffles for breakfast, we took Sascha to the park, and I had a long, fantastic run. I also pulled weeds for 45 minutes, which was so cathartic (in part because I've been shielding my eyes from those bastards for two months now). Then we tried to go apple picking, but apparently so did everyone else within 50 miles of this farm (see: perfect fall weather), because it looked like Armageddon there with the masses of humanity. My crowd phobia had us skedaddling after about 15 minutes, empty handed.
Last night Nick gave me this and this. They're cookbooks if you're too lazy to click the links, and cookbooks written by two men I have tremendous crushes on. The Bourdain book is great; it's all recipes I learned in school. It's actually inspiring Nick to cook-- but then, he has a crush on Bourdain too. The Jamie Oliver one is food/gardening porn all the way. I should mention that for the past three months, I've been reading Animal, Vegetable, Miracle and I am thoroughly brainwashed. It makes me want to quit my job and become a farmer. I am already planning a huge garden, although it's going to have to wait at least two years. If any of you have read it, tell me so that we can discuss. If you haven't, then go read it.
Anyway, the Jamie Oliver book got me crazy inspired. My poor brain was like a kid with ADHD let loose in a candy store. I want to make roast chicken! No, wait-- butternut squash ravioli in sage butter sauce! No wait-- lobsters are on sale, I'll make lobster ravioli! And apple pie, and pumpkin bread, and everythingthatsaysfall-- ALL TODAY!!
I had to take a deep breath and accept reality. There is, in the end, a chicken roasting in the oven (with organic red potatoes, sweet potato, and tiny beets). Sascha is tucked away in front of the electronic babysitter. I'm going to go pick out a ridiculously expensive (by our standards-- it's about $17) wine, one that we had on our honeymoon at their winery, break out this lovely stinky cheese I wasn't allowed to eat when I was pregnant, and toast to an embarrassment of riches.
37 is great.
Friday, October 03, 2008
On Teaching
There is just never a dull moment around this place.
Two days ago, one of my kids threw up in the hallway. It was in the middle of class, and they were working quietly, so we all heard it.
Yesterday, another one of my students lost his marbles and started punching the wall, screaming expletives the whole time, in the stairwell right outside my room.
Today's special? Someone just smoked pot in the same stairwell, then tried to cover it up with body spray. The smoke smell was so strong that I actually got a teeeeeny-tiny bit high walking just one floor up through it. The kids were all in a tizzy. One kid in the hallway said "it was probably a teacher!" I was eating a piece of banana bread at the time, and I said, "yeah right, it was a teacher." Then I realized what I must have looked like, saying that while stuffing my face... Heh heh heh.
This job is never boring, I'll say that much. Cracks me up. I actually love it. And I make it sound like I work in some sort of Michele Pfeiffer-esque cave (why are the schools in those movies always so poorly lit?), but it's a typical suburban high school with good lighting. Sheesh.
Two days ago, one of my kids threw up in the hallway. It was in the middle of class, and they were working quietly, so we all heard it.
Yesterday, another one of my students lost his marbles and started punching the wall, screaming expletives the whole time, in the stairwell right outside my room.
Today's special? Someone just smoked pot in the same stairwell, then tried to cover it up with body spray. The smoke smell was so strong that I actually got a teeeeeny-tiny bit high walking just one floor up through it. The kids were all in a tizzy. One kid in the hallway said "it was probably a teacher!" I was eating a piece of banana bread at the time, and I said, "yeah right, it was a teacher." Then I realized what I must have looked like, saying that while stuffing my face... Heh heh heh.
This job is never boring, I'll say that much. Cracks me up. I actually love it. And I make it sound like I work in some sort of Michele Pfeiffer-esque cave (why are the schools in those movies always so poorly lit?), but it's a typical suburban high school with good lighting. Sheesh.
Thursday, October 02, 2008
The obsession continues
With politics, that is. It pains me to know that so many people, even smart, reasonable people, won't take this seriously because of who wrote it. But damn, it just makes so much sense to me. Too much sense. Oh, this country makes me so sad. The stupid, stubborn idiots.
On the Sascha front: she's going through a little hunger strike. I think all toddlers do this. I know her laid-back pediatrician would just ask if it's affecting her energy level, which it isn't, and then he would tell us not to worry, so I'm not. But she's been getting crankier around dinnertime, and Nick thinks it's because she's hungry. We can't exactly force-feed her. Ugh. It will be nice when this phase is over.
On the Sascha front: she's going through a little hunger strike. I think all toddlers do this. I know her laid-back pediatrician would just ask if it's affecting her energy level, which it isn't, and then he would tell us not to worry, so I'm not. But she's been getting crankier around dinnertime, and Nick thinks it's because she's hungry. We can't exactly force-feed her. Ugh. It will be nice when this phase is over.
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