What were the other babies wearing?

I know it's strange, but when the Big Dubya took the 'Lil Dubya to school (daycare) for a visit last week.... I had a hundred questions about the visit. Not the usual questions either.... I wasn't quizzing him on the quality of care, the credentials of the teachers, the cleanliness of the center.... no, no, we'd already gotten comfortable with that stuff during the lengthy (and I mean lengthy) selection process.... no, I wanted to know the other stuff. Like, what were the other babies wearing? were they fully dressed in "outfits"? or were they wearing those one-piece-stretchy-sleeper-things? What was in their cubbies? I guess my biggest fear was that I'd drop him off on Monday and fail to supply them with all the things they need to take care of my little miracle. I didn't want to be that parent who dropped her kid off at college without a microwave.... everyone has a microwave. I'm not used to being such a novice..... I've got a fairly good job, where I'm considered pretty competent..... but when it comes to parenting, I feel like such a poser -- and constantly fear that someone is going to figure out that I haven't got a clue what I'm doing.

I had gotten the Big Dubya to take the 'lil guy on his first visit -- I was chicken. I've never been an emotional type.... not a big crier, but since the arrival of 'Lil Dubya.... I cry all the time, I can't help myself. So, I figured that if the Big Dubya went on a visit.... he could prepare me for what it was like and then I might be able to remain composed when I went for a visit. So, today.... armed with the information gathered by the Big Dubya... me & the 'lil guy went to school. We got there and it was chaos..... there are lots of rooms..... the infants are in the back, so I got to see what all the big kids were doing first. There were finger paints in one room, blocks in another and a group of kids being assembled for a trip outside.

As we made our way back to the infants room I was overcome by a good dose of the parent-guilt, but managed to keep it together..... I decided that if I was good today, I could cry when we dropped him off on Monday (now there's a rational bargain to make with myself). We met the teacher in the infant room, she's wonderful with the babies. The big guy is 5 months old and 18lbs.... he looks a little Eurasian or Hawaiian.... maybe the descendants of sumo-wrestlers.... 'Lil dubya should definitely stay on his good side, otherwise he'll be this kid's mid-morning snack. Then there were the girls..... they haven't missed any meals either.... I'm starting to think we'll need to safety pin some protection money to his jammies.

So we sat, we played.... I tired to give the teachers a heads-up about the colic and the teething.... without scaring her too much, she didn't seem too concerned -- brave woman . I also tried to observe what the other kids were wearing.... she's got overalls.... he's got a one-piece-sleeper-type-thing, oops wait...he just puked on it... what'll she put on him????..... another one-piece-sleeper-type-thing..... okay, and she's got on a one-piece-sleeper-type thing.... okay... got it. Then the 'lil Dubya took a mighty dump in his tiny diaper.... good thinking 'lil guy, this will give Mammy a reason to go examine the cubbies (located next to the changing table). Diapers, wipes, changes of clothes, diaper cream.... okay, all the things I expected.... we can do that.

All in all it was a good outing.... I'd say Monday will be tough for me, but the Big Dubya will be there to dry my tears.

Good Morning

Once upon a time, the alarm clock would go of – I would hop in the shower, then while I was getting dressed the Big Dubya would shower, while I was drying my hair the Big Dubya would be getting dressed (and warming up the cars if the weather called for it)…. We were a well-oiled machine…. We could get out of the house in no time.

‘Lil Dubya’s arrival changed all that, and we aren’t having an easy time establishing a new routine – the scary part is that we have yet to have a day where we were both going to work and dropping the little guy off at “school” (guilty-parent-speak for daycare).

Monday and Tuesday Granny stayed at our house and babysat – so other than my having to feed him…. the little guy was off our hands. Yesterday and today the Big Dubya’s at home with him and again, I should have been able to feed him and hand him off. Tomorrow is Mommy and ‘Lil Dubya day – I’ve got nowhere to go, so the Big Dubya can get up and out at his leisure. But, starting next week, not only do the Big Dubya and I have to get ourselves off to work, but we’ll also need to drop off the little guy UGH!

You wouldn’t think that this would require intricate choreography…. But it does! I have to ensure that the little guy gets fed, changed, dressed and is prevented from sustaining any injury that the “teachers” (guilty-parent-speak for daycare people or babysitters) would feel compelled to report to the authorities – not to mention put together and pack up all bottles of breast milk required for the day. All the while, I also need to be getting myself ready for work, meaning -- shower, get dressed, dry hair (in the interest of time, this step has been surrendered lately), pack lunch, pack up all pumping necessities (pump, pump parts, icepacks, cooler, bottles….)

Don’t get me wrong, the Big Dubya also has an incredibly full morning routine…. he gets up, showers, offers to burp the ‘lil guy, checks to see if the RedSox won (they didn’t) and then to see if the Yankees lost (they didn’t), grumbles some really foul four-letter-words the baby probably shouldn't hear, gets dressed, fixes himself a cup of coffee, checks email, looks to see if we won PowerBall, surfs the internet…..

The human Barbie Doll

We all have them…. those friends who are always “put together”.

You know, those women who always look perfect….. never overdue for a haircut or an eye brow wax, their flawless peaches & cream skin has just a hint of makeup, they can wear linen without looking like they slept in their clothes, their stockings never run, they are never missing a button. They are the women you imagine always wearing bras & panties that match….. and not just on special occasions or on the day after doing seven loads of laundry. I am ashamed to admit that I’m envious of these women…. And honest enough to know that I will never be one of them. Most of the time I enjoy my friends’ perfection… most of the time I find it amusing or entertaining – perhaps even something to strive for – not today.

Since returning to work, I’ve been a little self-conscious. Sure, I’ve lost the majority of the baby weight, but…. I’m still shall we say… what’s the word?…. lumpy. It’s not that I was in terrific shape pre-‘Lil Dubya, but this body of mine is kind of foreign to me now. I’ve never had boobs before and my pre-pregnancy clothes don’t all fit the way they used to…. maybe they never will, so when one such perfect friend stopped by to welcome me back to work the other day… it was hard to reel in the envy. To add insult to injury, she is the nicest girl…. so sweet – I want to hate her, but I can’t. So there she was, in her size zero Ann Taylor suit, perfectly styled (yet natural looking) hair and french manicured nails telling me how great I looked…. Me, in my big girl clothes, still damp from morning shower hair and whatever makeup I could slather on at red lights on the way into the office could only say “thank you” and then watch as she strolled off to her meeting (bet she’s never late or unprepared for meetings either).

A woman who happened to be in my office at the time said “You know, she’s got a part time job – she’s a stomach model” Okay, c’mon -- can I please hate her now?

Jameson anyone?

So, for the past week or so, the 'lil Dubya has been waking up with red cheeks.... he's been drooling, crying, gnawing on his hands...... he's teething. Yes, I know.... he's very young to be teething, but...... what can I say? my kid likes to do things early.

People are very kind, so they are always asking how my son is doing -- everytime I've said "oh, he's teething" -- all the women roll their eyes and give me that "Oh, isn't the new mother cute & stupid.... she thinks her three-and-a-half month old baby is teething" look. Some have even gone so far as to tell me that he's hungry or tired. This weekend is a perfect example..... Granny and I took the 'lil man to NY to see Granny's two sisters (my aunts) and my cousins and their children. Upon arrival, Granny's sister held and cuddled 'Lil Dubya. He got fussy and began chewing on his hand -- immediately, I was ordered to "feed this child" -- I tried to explain that he was just fed and that unfortunately, he's teething -- I promptly got the look. I took him back, soothed him and gave her back a look of my own.

Interestingly enough, later in the day the 'lil guy drooled all over the same aunt and she announced in front of everyone "Mrs Big Dubya, 'Lil Dubya is teething!" -- as if this was brand new information and I hadn't told her that just a few hours earlier! It took great restraint not to couple my look with some foul hand gestures.

The poor kid, he's very uncomfortable -- all the teething rings we have are terrific, but he's not coordinated enough to use them yet. He's great at putting his hands in his mouth, he's not bad at holding things.... but putting the two together... notsomuch. In desperation.... I put out a call to some experienced mothers.... asking for any miracle cures, home remedies, wives tales..... anything that might sooth his pain. The old school mothers offered a few.... Irish Whiskey came up more than once, apparently I enjoyed it quite a bit as an infant (explains a lot). The Big Dubya's mother suggested paregoric, apparently the Big Dubya was quite fond of the stuff..... we soon learned that it's opium-based..... a narcotic..... and as such, no longer available (explains an awful lot!). I'm starting to think the 'Lil Dubya is shit-out-of-luck..... his mother's a drunk, his father's an opium junky...... good grief, the kid doesn't have a chance -- and all he's gonna get for his trouble is some children's tylenol and a teething ring that he can't manage to find his mouth with.

The men of the house

So, yesterday and today I trotted off to work leaving the Dubyas (Big & 'Lil) to fend for themselves at home.

The Big Dubya has taken care of the 'lil guy on his own many times, but this was by far their longest stretch of togetherness. Unfortnately for the big guy, the 'lil guy didn't have one of his better days yesterday. As mentioned in both of our blogs, the 'lil guy suffers from colic -- and in our desperate attempt to sooth this affliction, we discovered gripe water. Now back in the day, gripe water had alcohol in it (I'm thinking that explains a lot for many of us) -- these days, it's primarily ginger and fennel -- although some have chamomile as well. We did find that the gripe water does sooth the 'lil man somewhat, we have also discovered that it constipates him. Yes, a breast fed baby that is constipated -- many thought it couldn't happen, but it can!

To add insult to injury, one of the gripe waters that I found also contains charcoal...... which only after I administered to my child did I read would turn his poop BLACK!!!!! So, not only has the child not pooped in several days (and yes, his "toots" stink to high heaven) but when his tiny ass finally exploded, and I mean exploded, yesterday his tiny diaper was overflowing with BLACK paste-like poopies! It's only a tiny-bit funny that the Big Dubya had to contend with this on his own and that I was at a safe distance working 40 miles away.

By the time I got home, the Big Dubya looked a bit haggered..... but he's tough, he can take it -- and the 'Lil Dubya was as happy as can be. I'm hoping they have a better day today, as they are supposed to go on a field trip to the day-care center..... that ought to be fodder for a good post.

Off topic, please, please, please check out our pal Cape Buffalo...... my tummy still hurts from laughing yesterday -- probably because I too am "really a guy with a passion for jewelry and really nice shoes" maybe throw in an unhealthy obsession with the foodnetwork, but I'll leave that for another day.

Rest in Peace

First of all, as we knew she would.... Granny (my mother) did a phenomenal job babysitting yesterday and was so considerate to make herself scarce when I got home so I could have some private cuddle time with my little man.... coming home to him was the best feeling ever.

This morning started off terrific.... I didn't wake up crying.... I kept it together while I fed the 'lil guy..... the Big Dubya rocked him back to sleep.... we were like a well-oiled machine, then I heard the phone ring. Like most houses, our phone doesn't ring at 6:06 a.m. for just any old reason. I heard the Big Dubya coming up the stairs, he didn't have to say anything.... he opened our bedroom door and I said "She's gone" and he said "I'm sorry" -- It had been my Dad on the phone, his mother, my granny, 'Lil Dubya's great-granny (she preferred "super-gran") died last night, she was 90.

By the time Dad called us, Aunt P was already booking flights -- when you grow up in a house like ours, with families overseas, there's a system.... when "those" calls come, time is short. There is usually only one or two flights out of Boston each day, so we all have a job. Usually one of us books the flights, the other packs the suitcase and does any necessary last minute shopping, Granny goes to the bank, Uncle RoRo takes care of whatever's left -- this time it'll probably be a ride to the airport.

Super-Gran will be waked at her house (they still do that in Ireland) and she'll be buried on Thursday. She lived an extraordinary life, in an extraordinary time -- it's hard to think of a way to pay tribute to her. A few years ago, she wrote a memoir to commemorate her home town -- I thought posting an excerpt might be an interesting read:

My name is Mary, born on the 6^th day of July 1915 in Logboy of parents named Joe and Nellie. My father was a farmer and a hard working one and so were all the other farmers in the area. Their wives also worked hard. They were thrifty, made much of their own bread and butter, and reared chickens, ducks, geese and turkeys. In those days there was no running water, electricity or stoves for cooking. When it rained, water for washing and cleaning was secure as there was always a barrel or two to collect water from the down-pipe off the roof of the house – that is if the roof was slated. The first house I lived in was thatched. I remember the present house being built and the excitement of moving into it and the fear of going up stairs.

My father and mother had a country shop, mostly grocery. The women brought their eggs and sold them to pay for the groceries. Flour, sold in 8 stone and 10 stone bags, was always available. Feeding stuff for animals was also sold in the shop. The flour bags were made good use of. The large ones made excellent sheets. First of all the brand name “Early Dawn” had to be removed by bleaching. There were many other brand names I cannot recall. Other uses made of the flour bags included pillow cases, underwear and bodices for skirts. They were very hard-wearing, easily washed and they had to be as every drop of hot water had to be heated on an open turf fire. Some people had a small wood on the land and were able to burn some timber.

All baking and cooking was done on the open hearth. Bread was baked in an iron pot oven with a lid. There were red coals under the oven and on top of the lid. The heat from the oven baked the bread, and lovely bread it was. In the finest hotel today one would not be served roast chicken as tasty as that served from the pot oven. The skillet, which was another iron pot, was used to make porridge. It hung from a crane over the open fire. Porridge was a very nourishing, healthy, part of the diet in those days as the oats grown on the land were taken to the mill and oatmeal was ground from it. There was a big pack of oatmeal in the corner of every kitchen.

The land was used and cultivated to the limit. First of all there was a vegetable garden near the house where cabbage, a few ridges of early potatoes, onions, lettuce and scallions were grown. Nobody sows a vegetable garden now as farmers are often employed in other jobs as well as working the land. All sorts of vegetables are readily available in the shops at not too exorbitant prices, and great variety also.

The potato crop was considered very important. It was the failure of the potato crop caused the famine and so many deaths. The people on the land did not want that to happen again. I was talking to a cousin of mine lately and we talked about the famine and remarked that in our childhood we never heard a mention of the famine or the hunger and there were many very old people alive in our neighbourhood in our youth. One aspect of the potato growing I remember very well is four or five old women, dressed in shawls and caps, sitting on cushions of straw slitting potatoes which were used as seed. Even in that time the farmers were particular about the variety of the seed used as a good crop was necessary for people and animals alike. The women always seemed to be in great form, chatting away and singing. One song I do remember “Tis all around my hat I wear the tri-colour ribbon o”. This all went on in a barn which was cold. There was always a little drop of whiskey at hand to keep the cold out and the spirits up.

Other crops were equally important. Hay making was always one to cause unease as weather was most important. Mowing the hay was slow as scythes were used. The mowing machine was not available ‘til later. Dry weather was very necessary to save the hay. Bringing in the hay to the haggard was a big event. There were many hands needed and for that reason neighbours helped each other in turn. We had one neighbour who lived alone and a cousin of mine and myself cooked a meal for about eight men the day of bringing in the hay. There was no shortage of food. Many flitches of cured bacon hung from the ceiling in the kitchen and eggs were certainly no problem. So we fried and fried and served as best we knew how until all were satisfied.

The turf was another important crop. Cutting and saving the turf was hard work and dependant on weather also. Early May the men set off for the bogs with a turf barrow, slane, spade and an old kettle for boiling water for the tea and, last but not least, an old saucepan for boiling eggs of which many were consumed. The bog is a hungry place. The tea and sugar were too important to forget, also salt and cutlery. Nowhere has tea ever tasted as nice as in the bog. First the turf bank had to be scrawed. Then the turf cut in sods and allowed to dry fairly well. The sods were then put standing up in “grógeens” to allow the air and sun to dry them out. This was all very hard work on the hands and back. After further drying, somewhat bigger clamps were made of the turf and it was left in the bog until it was dry enough to bring home by donkey and baskets or by horse and cart. There were no tractors in those days.

There were some farmers who had other occupations. One man at a certain time of year killed pigs and cut them up suitably and cured them either by coarse salt or putting them in brine. This was a very skilled job and took at least two full days. There was at least one pig killed in every household every year. It was very necessary to make the dinners for the family. Cabbage or turnip was cooked with the bacon and to this day is one of the most popular meals in Irish households. There was a very nice custom practiced with the killing of the pig. Black puddings were made from the blood of the pig, oatmeal, onions, lard chopped up from the animal, spices salt and some sugar was added. The mixture was put into the thoroughly cleansed intestines of the pig and cooked in boiling water. Then the pudding and other tidbits were given to the neighbours as a treat. They in their turn did the very same. Likewise if the cows were dry and had no milk, the neighbours would supply the household that had none ‘til their cows calved. There was no charge.

Another farmer was a brilliant tailor. He made suits of clothes for many, many, men and he also employed other tailors to help him out when trade was brisk. There was another farmer who did a lot of carpentry. He made the specially made turf barrow, spinning wheels, kitchen chairs, ladders, stools and churns. He sold these very necessary articles at his own house or at the fairs and markets.

Another man had a kind of forge. He did not shoe horses but did repairs to spades, shovels, ploughs and scythes. He was in constant demand to repair butter dishes which were made of timber and broke in two very easily from the constant scalding with boiling water. This was necessary to ensure cleanliness for the making of the butter into rolls. The man who repaired them did so by a riveting method. He used a particular type of metal for the riveting so as not to taint the butter.

My own father had his own sideline. He had a garden in which willow rods grew. I don’t suppose he ever planted them but they were there year after year. He cut them, pointed them, tied them in bundles and sold them at the market and they were bought and used as scallops for thatching and possibly basket making.

As you can imagine there was much hard work and long hours necessary to get it all done. Being Irish, the social side of things was not forgotten. There was much visiting at night from one house to another. Relations visited, often on a Sunday. I had an aunt who came to Mass in our church and visited afterwards and enjoyed a cup of tea and possibly her dinner at times. Other relations would come by special invitation on Sunday for dinner and refreshments. Then there were weddings and funerals which were attended by traveling by sidecar. There were two lamps on the car for night time but I could not imagine much light from them. There was no such thing as a hearse for funerals in my early days. My father and his horse and car were in demand to take the coffin to the church and graveyard. The coffin was placed on the well of the car and the bereaved sat each side of the car on the seats. Later on there was a hearse available, drawn by two black horses. The driver sat in the middle at the back of the horses and wore a black hat and a white scarf. I always thought it looked an elegant turnout and very suitable for the occasion.

The night before a fair was a very important one for farmers. If they had animals for sale they were anxious to have some idea of prices. There was one progressive man in the village and he had some sort of a receiving set (I think it was a crystal set) and he was able to get the prices from the Dublin market. The set was kept in a bedroom, it was so precious. The men sat in the kitchen and the first man near the bedroom door got the prices from the owner of the set and passed them on from one to another. I wonder was the last price received the same as the first one got from Dublin ? There was no such thing as a radio at that time, not as we know it today...

As a result of this news, I got to stay home with 'Lil Dubya today (yeah, I really did call in on my second day back). Super-gran lived a long life -- leaving behind 6 children, 18 grandchildren, 2 great-grandchildren (with another on the way). She knew the end was near, she was ready and she didn't suffer -- there'll be another angel in heaven tonight.

I'm Baaaaaaack

So, today was my first day back at work.

Let's begin by saying, I cried most of the weekend -- I pretty much woke up crying this morning.... and it was almost like the 'Lil Dubya knew what was happening or at least that I was sad and he actually hugged me back this morning....

I cried on my way out the door and for most of the ride to work. But, I'm a professional -- I pulled myself together, I went into the office and got misty when I put his picture on my desk, but I was okay, I was going to get down to business -- the day'll fly by. Then my boss stopped by to welcome me back and ask how I was doing -- and I promptly lost my shit all over again. My poor boss -- nice guy, but totally unequipped to deal with the blubbering idiot who used to be his tax manager.... he started yammering about an 8:00 meeting and having to run to it .... I barely saw the back of his head through my tears

That's pretty much how my day went.... didn't do a whole lot of work -- cried more than a person should at work.... took a two hour lunch (had a pint of Guinness to sooth my sadness)

They say it gets easier.... I'm not so sure. But, for the first time in my life I got home from work and didn't see dishes in the sink, didn't see the carpet that needs to be vacuumed or the laundry that needs to be washed -- all I saw was the 'Lil Dubya's face and I've never been so happy to be home.

I'm not going to tell you what to do, but...

Since 'Lil Dubya's arrival, my mother (Granny) has done her very best to stick to her role as Granny.... rather than that of mother. 'Lil Dubya is her first grandchild and she's tickled.... my mother was born to be a grandmother.

It's been a bit of a challenge for her to realize that we are going to do things our way..... and they may not always be her way. I think she's convinced herself that starting a sentence with "I'm not going to tell you what to do, but..." turns her statements from directives to advice. The Big Dubya's mother is quite different.... the 'Lil Dubya is her sixth grandchild.... so she keeps her advice to herself unless she's asked. I'm guessing that the Big Dubya's sisters-in-law broker her in for me. Now that she's up to number six, she probably just goes back to all her friends and let's them know all the things I'm doing wrong!

Another thing that's quite amusing (and drives the Big Dubya bonkers) is that being off the boat from Ireland, Granny's old school -- mothers are the primary caregivers. When we were small, she did all the feeding, rocking, diaper changing.... it's not that my Dad didn't pull his weight, but his contributions were in other, non-baby-related areas. Granny is constantly amazed at how the men in the 'Lil Dubya's life handle and care for him. When she sees the Big Dubya rocking, diaper changing or soothing -- she's quick to remark "He's so good with him".... prompting me to think "Well yeah Mam, he's his father!"

She's even more shocked that my brother (Uncle RoRo) is "good with him". Granted, Uncle RoRo isn't first in line for diaper duty, but he didn't shy away from holding the little guy -- even when he was an intimidating 4lbs.

Truth be told, I'm still not really sure what "good with him" means.... does it mean "gets him to stop crying", "makes him laugh", "doesn't let his head flop around" or does it mean "dresses him in clothes that match", "turns the swing on with great finnesse" or maybe it simply means "hasn't dropped him yet". I dunno.... Granny's coming to babysit for a couple of days, as I have to go back to work tomorrow (sniff), so maybe I'll ask her.

Wanted: Roommate in hell

Maybe I'm a bad person.... or maybe I'm just mean-spirited, but I can admit it..... sometimes, I'm just not nice.

For example.... I stopped at Dairy Queen a couple of weeks ago, and the woman who waited on me was a dead ringer for my husband's ex-girlfriend. Not just any ex-girlfriend.... the one who immediately preceded me.... the one we had countless arguments about.... the one who his friends liked, and wanted to see him get back together with... the one his family liked... the one everyone expected him to marry, the one who probably still hates me. I'm a wee bit ashamed to say that I was like a giddy school girl because this woman (who of course, wasn't Dubya's ex -- just resembled her) looked terrible. She was more like Dubya's ex if she gained 75lbs and fell seriously behind in her grooming & hygiene tasks. For some reason, it just made me feel like a million bucks. I even mentioned it to Dubya.... he too saw the resemblance (he'd seen her on a previous visit) -- and he, being the good and dutiful husband that he is, quickly declared how relieved he was that things turned out the way they did.... our life together, 'Lil Dubya.... it was an aw shucks moment.

Isn't it sad how someone else's misfortune (or in this case, the misfortune of someone who looks like someone else) can make me feel good? I'm sure I'm not the only wife out there whose husband has an ex-girlfriend that we wouldn't mind seeing get really fat or really ugly. And, if we are all being honest, I'm sure there are husbands out there who would delight in seeing their wife's ex-boyfriend gain weight or go bald. It's like thinking that the mean girls from high school got what they deserved when you see them fat and drunk trying to pick up old men at the 99.....

I'm going to hell, and I know it..... let me know if anyone wants to be my roommate.

"This man will make you money guaranteed"

My maternity leave is quickly coming to an end.... and as I'm up late at night feeding 'Lil Dubya, some of those money-making-scheme infomercials have started to look mighty attractive. I mean if this slimy dude with the Eddie Munster hairdo and the cheesy Miami Vice suit was able to make $20,000 in 30 days, then surely I can make enough to stay at home with the 'Lil Dubya. I don't need to make a lot of money... just somewhere in the neighborhood of what I make now.... a little more would be nice, but I won't be greedy.

If I were to buy into one of these schemes, it would be hard to decide which one.... hmmmm, would it be Carleton Sheets' No Money Down Real Estate Scheme (I mean Program), -- probably not.... I'm not very handy and all the properties on the infomercials looked like ghettos (I mean fix 'er uppers). Maybe it would be the Internet Treasure Chest -- yeah, probably not, they don't tell you what the "products" are.... probably stuff the Dollar Store turned down. Maybe it would make more sense to buy one of those vending machines.... the ones that rent movies or allow public access to the internet.....

On second thought, Big Dubya, could you stop and get PowerBall tickets on your way home? Thanks sweetie -- I'm off to do some deep breathing... Greer Childers is teaching me to breath away the last of the baby weight.

Mobiles

Every baby has a mobile.... some like 'em, some don't.... and then there are kids that L-O-V-E 'em. My kid falls into the latter category.... he loves his mobile. He loves anything that moves over his head... he's even mesmerized by our ceiling fan.

Now, the 'Lil Dubya hates to sleep.... I think I've mentioned that once or twice (or a dozen times) but.... the mobile soothes him, calms him down a bit..... what I can't figure out is why the f*ck these things only go for 3 minutes. Every mobile we have (and there are many) runs for 3-5 minutes..... that's not long enough to put him to sleep.... it's just long enough to make him cry when it stops.

I think that's going to be my new money-making racket.... I'm going to make baby stuff that makes real sense..... stuff that doesn't use so many batteries that you need to take a second mortgage, a mobile that runs for longer than it takes for you to make it to the bottom of the stairs and a swing that doesn't only go front-to-back and right-to-left but also up-and-down.... the 'Lil Dubya likes up-and-down (way easier when he weighted 4lbs.... I'm gonna have arms like Popeye)

Batteries, lots and lots of batteries

Duracell, Energizer, Eveready.....

How many things do we have that now require batteries...... (get your mind out of the gutter people)

Baby Papasan Chair
Baby Aquarium Swing
Baby Rocking Chair
Stroller book thing that lights up
Baby Aquarium Chair
Baby Monitor (Optional)
Basinette (has a vibrator, noise maker thingy-do)
Pack 'N Play (also has a vibrator, noise maker thingy-do)
Flutter Bye Gym
Kick 'N Play Gym
Flutter Bye Crib Thingy

I'm sure there are more, those are just the ones I can see from here -- and let's not forget about our camera & camcorder..... When I found out I was pregnant, I thought I'd be prepared and so, when I got a coupon or saw a good sale, I bought diapers & wipes.... figured I could never have too many of those -- but gee, I should have been stocking up on batteries. Now, Aunt P suggested getting the re-chargeable ones, and there seems to be some wisdom in that, but.... I'm not the wise and fiscally responsible type.

If you know somebody who's expecting.... skip the onesies and the cute, but over-priced outfits from Baby Gap..... buy them a case of Energizers -- doesn't matter what size, they'll need 'em all.

Your name in lights

My friend Miss America, is due to have her baby any day now...... and still, she & Mr America (well, Canada actually) don't have the little dude/dudette named yet (Yes, she's one of us who didn't "find out")

Naming your child is quite difficult..... when she had her first child, she had it narrowed down to a couple of names but as soon as she saw her little angel's face -- the choice was clear. Same is true for the Buffalos... their little Buffalo's name was decided, and then once they saw her -- the middle name & first names were flipped..... the Big Dubya & I didn't meet Maggie until she was 3, but we can't imagine calling her anything else.

Miss America has chosen her step-father's last name as her baby-to-be's middle name -- so that is decided, but the first name seems to escape them. They've got several candidates, but they just aren't 100% on the same page.... Mr America has suggested waiting until they see the child.... thinking that again, the choice will be clear. Miss America (like myself) is a bit more of a control freak and wants to have the decision made.....

The Big Dubya and I had the 'Lil Dubya named before he was even conceived (I told people we were still deliberating so that I wouldn't have to answer questions if we changed our minds).... yet, had he been a girl we would have been screwed -- we were all over the road. I knew what I wanted, and I suspect the Big Dubya would have given in, but... it was by no means decided.

I'm sure the Americas will choose something perfect and I can't wait to meet him or her.

Movin' on up

Cape Buffalo called the Big Dubya last night, she was taking a packing break, and although I'm not sure.... I suspect part of their discussion was dedicated to trashing Red Sox pitcher David Wells, who screwed the pooch in last nights outing against the dreaded Yankees, UGHHHH I'm sure plenty of 4-letter words were used.

I don't envy the Buffalos this weekend.... moving is not one of my favorite things. Of course there is the anticipation and wonder of living somewhere new, but you are also faced with evicting the dust bunnies that have taken up residence under the couch and the drawer/cabinet/closet that has all that stuff you don't know what to do with, but are certain you can't live without. Everything you plan to do takes at least twice as long as you thought -- and everything you plan to pack takes up at least twice as much space as you allotted.

Of course as time winds down and stuff gets chucked into bags & boxes that you vow to sort through upon arrival, you swear that you'll downsize and never go through this again. You'll promise that you'll finally get rid of those jeans that no matter how you try you'll never fit into again.... you'll swear to discard the Christmas cards from three years ago that you kept because they were cute, you'll dedicate yourself to putting all of those pictures into frames or albums... oh promises, promises.....

The Buffalos have moved a lot, so they are probably doing just fine..... but, I know I'd be giving the Big Dubya icy glares for all those CDs that he hasn't listened to in years while he'd be grumbling under his breath about why a person with only two feet needed so many shoes. Talk about stress....... makes me want to stay in my small, cluttered house forever!

Well, the Sox have a chance to redeem themselves in about a half hour.... and the Buffalos are far more mature than the Dubyas, so..... better them than us!

Irish Twins!

No, we are not expecting again, but......... it is quite tempting.

As I mentioned in yesterday's post.... we have enough tiny chairs to welcome another tiny ass into our little family.... in fact, we have enough baby gear to cover a couple more 'Lil Dubyas and.... we could even spare some stuff to get Baby Buffalo #2 started if the Buffalos decide to expand their herd (is "herd" the right word for Cape Buffalos?).

Both of the Big Dubya's brothers had their children close together.... Medium J's two sons are only 13 months apart, while his youngest brother's children are 16 months apart. Oh, and did I mention that the Big Dubya and Medium J are almost exactly a year apart. For the children, it's like having a built-in best friend.... for the parents, it's somewhat practical.

Sure, there are arguments against having them so close together. I know my close friend Miss America is expecting her #2 any day now.... and she cherished the 2 3/4 years that she had to dote exclusively on her daughter. Aunt P and I are almost 3 years apart, Uncle RoRo and I are 7 years apart -- yet, we are all still very close despite the age difference.

If we decide to give the little guy a brother or a sister.... I hope it's soon. I say "hope" because there is still the matter of convincing the Big Dubya that this is the way to go. He hasn't ruled it out, yet he isn't quite on board yet either. I think this is where the "maternal amnesia" comes in..... when the 'Lil Dubya arrived early (see here and here for a refresher) the Big Dubya had the bajeezus scared out of him -- in fairness, we both did. Had he not demanded that we call the doctor and subsequently go to the hospital (I wanted to tough it out at home), the baby and I both could have died. I don't mean to be overly dramatic, but -- plain and simple that's the truth. He remembers it all so vividly that he still gets a little misty when people talk about those first few days. Me on the other hand, maybe it's the "maternal amnesia" that makes mothers forget the horrors of childbirth or maybe it's the drugs there were lots of drugs -- and they were the good ones, it's as if it's a story -- it's like it happened to someone else.

The doctors say that it could happen again, but it's just as likely that it won't. But we are so much smarter this time.... we know what to watch out for, the doctors would monitor me closely and would see it coming so much sooner...... The Big Dubya initially said he couldn't go through it all again.... but it has since changed to "maybe" so, who knows.... it's too late for Irish Twins, but... I won't throw out the maternity clothes just yet.

Our house

It's strange... when we got married and moved in together, we had an odd collection of furniture.... college left-overs, stuff our parents had replaced, a couple of new pieces that made IKEA look high-end, some stuff that had been inherited.....

So, when we built our house my goal was to replace all that stuff with "grown-up" furniture... or at least stuff that wasn't mostly plastic and required assembly with an allen wrench. Well, a year ago I'd say we were on our way.... granted, we weren't Ethan Allen, but we weren't sitting on patio furniture we picked up on sale at Stop & Shop either.

As I sit in our family room today, it seems like we've abandoned all progress in the "grown-up" furniture department -- yes, we've got tons of new "furniture", yet it's ALL plastic and was ALL assembled with a tool that came in the box.... I'm talking about 'Lil Dubya's stuff.... we've got a rocking chair, a papasan chair, an aquarium chair, a Bumbo chair...... not to mention the stuff in the basement still waiting to be put together..... our child is 3 months old and approximately 8lbs now -- yet, he has three chairs in our family room alone. I keep threatening to give some away, but he likes different ones depending on his mood.... did I mention that most of them vibrate?

I swore we wouldn't be "those" people who surrendered their house to furniture by Fisher Price, but.... that's what's happened. I keep asking the Big Dubya if we could start working on a brother/sister for 'Lil Dubya... thinking that at least if we had two tiny asses we could justify all the tiny chairs, but he's still a bit traumatized from our last maternity-ward adventure.....

Looks like I'm gonna have to get him drunk!

The kindness of strangers

I'm ashamed to admit it, but I haven't been watching the coverage of Katrina.... I just can't handle it, so I've done all I can to avoid it.... but it's near impossible. I saw a report profiling a group of new mothers in a maternity ward.... their babies were being air-lifted to distant hospitals, but there was no room in the helicopter for the mothers -- they pinned notes to their babies' clothing, begging the people on the receiving end to care for their little angels until they could be reunited -- maybe it's because I was separated from my own baby for his first 5 days of life, but I shut the television off -- I couldn't watch anymore.

So much coverage has been devoted to the who said what, who did what, and mostly who failed to do what..... there is plenty of blame to go around. The government didn't do nearly enough, the people are not blameless either -- they were advised to leave, but didn't -- the local government didn't ask for help soon enough, the federal government knew the risk was there... they've known since the 60's, so.... we can blame this administration and the dozens that preceded it. Politicians and celebrities are very quick to say very stupid things and they get headlines.....

But what about the random acts of kindness..... the countless number of people who have given more than they could afford to give to help strangers -- sadly, those stories aren't sensational enough to grab headlines -- you'll see a lot of media coverage when a rap star calls the president a racist, but you don't see much about Curt Schilling & his wife anonymously seeking out a family of 9 (2 parents with 7 children) and offering them housing for a full year (it was the father of this family that outed the Schillings -- they wanted to remain anonymous). My sister works with a man who cleared out an in-law apartment and called Red Cross shelters looking for a family willing to relocate to Massachusetts....yes, he's bringing an entire family into his home indefinitely -- this site pairs up prospective hosts with families in need. There are children putting up lemonade stands and churches taking up collections.......

As the water pours out of New Orleans, the stories on the news will likely get more sad, more gruesome -- the celebrities and politicians will continue to say stupid things while pointing fingers in a variety of directions -- but, God willing, the kindness of strangers will continue to ease the burden of the true victims.

Allez Cuisine!

Over the past three months, I've spent a fair number of hours watching television..... something I honestly don't normally do. Like most people, I have a few shows that I follow -- but beyond that I don't watch much television. 'Lil Dubya's arrival changed all that.... when you are up at all hours feeding a small baby, the television becomes a welcome companion. I always dreamed of being up late at night with my baby -- all bright-eyed and energetic -- wearing coordinated pajamas -- looking into my beautiful baby's eyes. The reality is exhaustion, wearing old college bar tee-shirts that are stained by spit-up and using old episodes of the Iron Chef to drown out the sound of the Big Dubya's snoring and to keep myself awake.

The Iron Chef and the new Iron Chef America are hugely entertaining.... anchovy ice-cream, noodles made from pizza dough and all the things they manage to do with foie gras, who'da thunk it? I'm not sure why this show fascinates me so.... I couldn't replicate the recipes (in many cases I wouldn't want to), but I keep tuning in...... and am on the edge of my seat to see what they are going to make with the mystery ingredient and can they possibly get all 5 dishes plated in the allotted 60 minutes.

The alternative, I suppose, would be another late-night favorite.... the infomercial. Sadly, they don't seem to as good as the used to be, they don't have the characters...... anyone remember Susan Powter and her Stop The Insanity!?


I remember watching her infomercial in college.... she was raw and angry and we didn't dare turn her off -- no matter how many times we'd seen her. Today's infomercials don't have what it takes to be addicting..... remember the first time you saw Suzanne Somers' thigh-master? You knew that thing wouldn't work, but..... you watched anyway... some people even bought them!

Today's gizzmos and contraptions are just as goofy, but.... they just don't draw us in. I mean, does anyone get mesmerized by Chuck Norris & Christie Brinkley swearing that they use only the TotalGym? or by Lindsey Wagner's sleep number bed?

I think I'll stick with the Iron Chef!

40 years of love, laughs....

Recently, friends of ours (see Cape Buffalo) celebrated their 10th wedding anniversary.... 10 years ...WOW. Of all of our married friends, these are among the most happily married.... but still..... 10 years is a long time....WOW. They are an interesting twosome because although they are very, very different.... they compliment each other incredibly well..... I can't really imagine them any way other than together (along with their Baby Buffalo of course).

On Friday night, the Big Dubya and I traveled to Boston (with the 'Lil Dubya in tow) for a surprise celebratory dinner with my in-laws. The Big Dubya & I, along with his two brothers and their wives, treated Dubya's parents to a night on the town to commemorate their 40 years of wedded bliss. We arrived at their house for pre-game cocktails and they were shocked..... imagine their surprise when the limo driver arrived at the front door and ushered the eight of us to a steak dinner at Morton's.

We had a lovely evening of laughing, story telling & reminiscing..... these days it is quite rare for the 4 couples to be in the same place... even holidays seem to be spent apart, and as time goes on, I suspect evenings like this one will become more and more rare. It was the least we could do to mark a momentous occasion.... I couldn't help but wonder if the 'Lil Dubya would be coordinating a similar dinner for us in 36 years..... hmmmmmm..... and would he have a sibling to help him?

The Buffalos, my parents, the Big Dubya's parents..... all living breathing proof that the institute of marriage, as antique as it is, still works -- there is something very comforting about that.