even the computer smells funny

When I got into my top choice for law school, I was shocked. Really, really shocked. The acceptance letter came in a thin envelope, and everyone knows what that means. Applying to the school had been such a stretch that I wasn't even particularly stunned about the thin envelope, and as I sat in the campus mail room, I considered throwing it away without even opening the envelope, to spare myself that additional twinge of seeing the actual words written out. I settled on sliding open the envelope over the gray trash barrel, and I barely slid the letter out, opened the top flap, and almost lost my lunch as I read "We are pleased to inform you..." I spent the next two hours blubbering into the phone as I read the letter to my mom, and Josh, and his parents.

When Josh proposed, I was also shocked. We'd been dating only 2 years, and had just entered the foray of long-distance dating when I moved to Connecticut and he remained in Boston. I'd come up for the long weekend after my first semester finals, and he woke me early on a Sunday morning and began professing his love to me. A proposal was the furthest thing from my mind, and I was terribly annoyed that he was waking me up so early to state the obvious. I rolled over to give him a dirty look, and then I saw it, the look on his face, the box in his hands. So I made him start all over again because I missed the proposal the first time through. I was seriously surprised, and seriously wasn't expecting to even talk about married for another year at least. He definitely succeeded in blowing me out of the water.

Over the years, I've had many other moments of surprise. When I got a job offer I wasn't expecting, when I got a high or low grade in a class, when Gabe said "mama" for the first time, when my car broke down on the highway in rush hour traffic, when a childhood friend finds me on Facebook after 20 years of not talking.

This, though, this takes the cake. I spent a week thinking I had some horrid form of the flu. Some vicious flu that made you weak and lightheaded and achy and nauseous. A virus that made it difficult for me to even sit through Gabe's music class because dancing in a sitting position was too much exertion for me. Turns out, I didn't catch the flu. I caught the pregnant bug.

I'm totally pregnant.

And it was very much a surprise, a surprise that had my heart pounding in a way I have never experienced, and had Josh staring at me dumbfounded when I blurted it out to him. Don't get me wrong, we're excited and happy and anxious, but we were definitively holding off on trying for another 3-6 months, at least. We were actively preventing. Turns out the best laid plans, blah blah blah.

It's early, I'm about 6 and a half weeks, almost 7, and we saw the wee little flicker of a heartbeat yesterday on the ultrasound after I called my doctor to tell her the unbelievable news. I'm also horribly, terribly, disgustingly nauseous and dizzy and sick in a way I wasn't with Gabe. I am barely making it through the day, and nothing seems to help. Not crackers, not nausea reducing wristbands, not eating throughout the day, not drinking water or juice or flat soda, not lying still, not walking around, not special prenatals that claim to reduce morning sickness, not anything. I was sick with Gabe, but it started much later than this has, and if you have any crazy advice that worked for you, I beg you to share it, even if it sounds totally wacky. I'm willing to try anything at this point.

Despite the nausea, we're really excited, and yesterday I looked at Gabe from my position on the couch and wondered if it is even possible for us to make another as amazing as he is. It isn't, right? It can't be possible. I have to wonder about the timing of all this, too, given all the drama going on with my parents. I almost feel as if this is an imposed distraction, something to take me away from my place in the middle of all the problems. We're definitely lucky, that's for sure. In the meantime, we'll be keeping all fingers and toes crossed for a healthy pregnancy.

Now if only I could stop gagging, everything would be perfect.

the travel never ends

Gabe and I arrived late last night from another trip to California, where we've been for the last 10 days. It was a looooonnggg trip, and both of us are relieved to be home. I could tell by the way Gabe kissed each of his toys as he pulled them out of his toy basket, and the squeals of glee when he saw the dogs. I could tell how relieved I was by the way I threw myself at Josh when we got off the elevator at baggage claim. What can I say? It was a long trip, followed by a long flight with Gabe on my lap the whole time. I'm shuddering just thinking about it.

We were in California dealing with some family issues, and also attending the wedding of a law school friend. The wedding was this past weekend, and I had the best time I've had in quite some time. My law school girlfriends and I met up at the wedding locale and went out on Friday and Saturday nights until the wee hours of the morning. My mom took care of Gabe while I lived it up at restaurants and tourist spots and karaoke bars. Why did no one tell me how fun karaoke is? I don't think I've laughed that hard in months. I spent most of the time during karaoke doubled over in tears from all that laughing.

I really needed the release, because the truth is that things on the home front aren't great. My parents appear to be in the process of separating, and there are painful, raw emotions running all over the place. I don't want to talk about it much, because it is complicated and difficult and I'm very sad about it, but that is what is going on.

Gabe, as seems to be the norm around here, is sick again. He has been up coughing for the last few nights and was running a low-grade fever for several days. Tomorrow we have his 15 month visit, and I'm hoping they can shed some light on what is going on with him. Besides this sickness, though, he is cuter than ever. Now I understand how you can stand to see your baby grow up, because the person they turn into is just as adorable as the wee babe they were! He is scrumptious.

He is running around like a maniac, climbing on everything, jabbering nonsensically in the cutest possible way. When he wants you to sing him a song, he moves his fingers as if he were singing the "Itsy Bitsy Spider". He does that sign ALL THE TIME. Once I've shown him a trick once, he almost always remembers how to do it the next time. He can throw things in the garbage, put toys away, give hugs and kisses on command, go up and down stairs, feed himself with a fork (somewhat), open and close doors, retrieve things by name, throw a ball and kick a ball, share a bite of food with you, and the list grows constantly. It is a lot like living with a tiny monkey that learns things instantly, a little like a sponge. And it is so much fun.

So despite all the sadness, life is still really great. We are still really lucky. In the meantime, I'll be enjoying life at home while the three of us are together. At least until we have to leave again for Florida next Tuesday. Ugh, someone shoot me now.

my split personality

So... It went well. I'm totally conflicted about this situation, so it's hard to get very enthused about a potential job, but I'd say it went about as well as it could have gone.

Apparently there are a few different options at different law firms that might work, but most of them want me to come into the office, rather than work out of the home. This leads to the always present problem of working out the economics of having to hire a babysitter or finding a daycare. The starting pay for contract attorneys isn't that high, although they assured me that the rates go up as you go along. Josh and I need to work the numbers, because it is possible that tutoring in the evenings and on weekends might even pay more than doing legal work because I wouldn't need childcare. How crazy is that?

My headhunter did make one comment that introduced a whole new idea into the mix. She has tons of contract work that requires a full-time commitment, but they are short projects. One week, maybe two, tops. It is conceivable that I could go in for one intense week per month, or two intense weeks over a couple of months, rather than a smaller amount every week. I don't know why, but that resonated with me. I might find it easier to leave Gabe for 40 hours in one week, knowing that I wouldn't have to leave him again for another 3 or 4 weeks. Is that nuts?

Basically, I'm waiting to hear the final word back from the headhunter, and in the meantime, I'm scouring my own brain to see if this is what I want. Do I want to take a break from law and jump somewhere totally new and fun? Or am I not ready to make that decision? Should I do contract work just to keep law on my resume and figure it out as I go along?

Ugh, decisions, decisions. For now, I'm taking a break from thinking about it and snuggling this adorable boy on the floor while he points at everything in the room and calls it a "cahhhhrrr". Maybe a babysitter could teach him some new words?

let's hope those skillz are impressive

Well, I finally did it. I revised my resume and sent it into a couple of places, and I have an interview tomorrow afternoon for some legal contract work.

I am intermittently excited and depressed about this. We need the money, and frankly, I'll be relieved to stop worrying about money for a bit. This could turn out to be a great situation, because allegedly all of the projects we are going to discuss could eventually turn into a working from home gig. I'll need to come into the office in the beginning, at least, so that the employer can see that I am a qualified and capable attorney. But the hope is that I can continue working from home once I show my "skillz".

On the other hand, I'm still going to have to leave Gabe, even if it is just for a little while. I wish there were parts of being at home that I hated, just so I could feel relief at leaving for a while, but there just aren't. I really never thought I'd love this pace so much, and I certainly never thought I'd love hanging around with a 14 month old as much as I do. He isn't the best conversationalist, and he doesn't have the best table manners, and he sometimes exhibits some crazy grumpy behavior, but I would never want to spend my days with anyone but him. His kisses and smiles make my whole day worth it.

I have a new mantra- it isn't forever. It isn't forever. Maybe it'll be great, and if it isn't, well, we'll figure something out. But wish me luck, anyway.

now we need to address the leftover cellulite

I have two goals to accomplish before I am ready for us to start "trying" for baby number 2.

The first was to get back to my pre-pregnancy weight. I cannot believe I gave birth 14 months ago and there is still pregnancy weight lingering around. I dropped most of the weight within just a few months, but couldn't shake those final 5-8 pounds, and I cannot believe what a difference 5 pounds makes in the fit of my clothes.

The second goal is to have 6 months in which I am neither housing a child, nor nourishing a child, with my body. I just feel like I need a tiny bit of space for my own mental sanity, and I want to give my body a chance to recover from any kind of nutritional deficiencies. I stopped breastfeeding Gabe right around his first birthday (a story for another post), so six months from then is around July.

I am happy to report that yesterday was a monumental day around here, because as of 10am, I am one pound below my pre-pregnancy weight. Hurray! One goal down!

I was rather surprised by this turn of events, because a few weeks ago, I'd accepted the fact that maybe I wasn't ever going to get back to that weight. I thought maybe my body had changed and this was my new "normal" weight. And to tell you the truth, I was okay with that. Having Gabe has changed my life for the better in a million different ways, and if a few extra pounds is all I have to sacrifice, I'm happy to do it. Plus, pregnancy and labor and motherhood have given me so much confidence in myself, I've noticed that I place much less emphasis on the physical side.

As I came to this realization, though, I decided to make a few "spring resolutions" that I thought might improve my life in general, rather than focusing on the number of the scale.

My new resolutions are:
1. Watch less television. I am ashamed to admit that I tend to turn on the television first thing in the morning to watch the news, and then leave it on all day long as background noise. I don't let Gabe watch any television, but I still hate that he is going to get used to seeing the television on all the time, even if he doesn't pay much attention to it.

2. Have some form of exercise 2-3 times per week. We joined a gym in January, but getting Gabe dressed and out the door, over to the gym, and then back in time for nap time was proving impossible, so I was going to the gym less than I'd hoped. In the afternoons, Gabe wakes up late and there is barely enough time to work out and get dinner on the table. I end up feeling harried more than anything else when I find the motivation to get over there. When I couldn't make it to the gym, rather than feeling motivated to try some exercise around the house, I would feel defeated and just sit around for the rest of the afternoon. With this new resolution, I have made an effort to throw Gabe in the stroller most days and take a walk around the neighborhood. I figure, even 15 minutes is something.

3. At the risk of sharing too much information, have sex at least 2-3 times per week. I think I don't need to elaborate on this one.

4. Go to bed by 11pm during the week. This one will have a direct impact on Goal #3, I think. I am a night owl, and love to stay up late watching movies or recorded television shows, but it really impacts Josh and my time together. I stay up late, then I wake up late in the morning, and we end of being on totally different schedules. If I can get myself to go to bed early during the week, then I'll save up the staying up late for Friday or Saturday nights, and both of us will be happy.

I made my resolutions a couple of weeks ago, and I really think the walking during the week and turning off the television during the day were what pushed me to lose the final few pounds. So I guess that old saying of 9 months on, 9 months off, doesn't really apply to me. 9 months on and 14 months off is more like it. I'll take it, though. I'm happy to have accepted my weight for what it was, but I'm also selfishly happy to fit into a few more outfits in my closet.

a round of naps for everyone

I am clawing my way to the surface amidst piles of snotty tissues and Infant Tylenol bottles and dirty diapers.

Yes, yes, Gabe is sick AGAIN. This is coming on the heels of a cold while we were in California. It is starting to feel like he really is sick all the time, and it makes me crazy because he isn't even around that many other kids! He isn't in daycare, he doesn't have daily play dates, he doesn't run around outside licking sick people. He does take a music class every Friday, and another developmental class on Mondays, but we didn't even attend this week because he was so sick.

He is moaning and groaning around the house with nose running and huge unhappy sounding coughs. He doesn't want to sleep during nap time and he doesn't want to go to bed at night. He is perfectly content to play downstairs indefinitely, but once we hit the bedroom and get near the crib, the screaming starts. Last night he stayed up until 11:45pm, refusing to sleep. I was desperate and exhausted after a loooong day of no napping and lots of whining, and when he refused to sleep at bedtime, I was close to tears.

I sat up in his room rocking him in his rocker, singing song after song, but he wouldn't calm down and just kept gesturing toward the door and throwing his pacifier back at the crib in a show of "take me out of this room now!" I finally put him down and walked out, amidst hysterical screams, and a few minutes later the screaming stopped and he lay down and slept until 10am this morning. I felt horribly guilty for walking away from a sick baby, but I didn't know how to help him give in to the sleep. He was sad and overtired and couldn't seem to let himself relax.

This morning we headed into the pediatrician's because I wanted some confirmation that he was fine, and OF COURSE, it turns out he has an ear infection. We're not going to jump in with antibiotics just yet. I'd rather treat the pain and see if maybe he can get rid of it on his own. We'll be doing another ear check on Monday, and in the meantime, I'll be hoping for some relief for all of us.

As the day has continued, I've started acquiring an aching body, a sore throat, and a general feeling of ickiness. Now at least I have an inkling of how poor Gabe feels. I hope Josh feels good when he gets home from work, because it looks like he has 2 patients to take care of tonight.

pants on fire

Is it just Gabe, or do all kids make liars out of their mothers? It seems like every time I make a statement about him, whether it be what he likes to eat, or what he does, or what tricks he can accomplish, or words he says, he turns around and does the opposite of what I said.

Evidence #1:
Gabe knows how to moo like a cow and woof like a dog. If I ask him in front of people, though, he'll just look at me blankly.

Evidence #2:
I told my mother in law that he didn't like broccoli. That night for dinner, he scarfed down all the little chunks of broccoli we put in front of him.

Evidence #3:
I told friends at dinner the other night that Gabe likes almost everything except pasta. Of course, when a friend offered him some penne alfredo, he ate it happily and then begged for more throughout the rest of the meal.

Evidence #4:
Josh went into the bathroom today, and clear as a bell, Gabe ran toward the closed door and called out "Dyosh!" I was cracking up and told Josh the story when he came back out, so we tried to get him to say it again, but he kept sweetly looking at us and saying "Da da".

Evidence #5:
When we're not paying attention to him and music comes on, Gabe boogies down to the beat. He bends his knees up and down, shakes his booty from side to side and bobs his head. If you put on music to show people his rhythm, though, he acts like he's never heard music before.

Evidence #6:
Gabe naps every day, Monday through Friday, like clockwork, for three and a half to four hours. When Josh is around on the weekends, though, and we could use some time to do things around the house, he'll nap for an hour, tops. Josh thinks I'm the hugest exaggerator ever, but I think it is all part of the conspiracy against me.

Evidence #7:
Gabe's vocabulary is skyrocketing by the minute. On most days, he'll surprise me by repeating words I've said to him earlier, but never in front of Josh or his grandparents. The other day, I finished getting him dressed and told him in a teasing voice, "Oh Gabe, you look so pretty!" He smiled at me and said "dyat dyoo" (thank you). It was the cutest thing ever, but he won't do it for anyone else.

Is Gabe particularly gifted at making me look like I tell tall tales? Or is this a regular occurrence among children? Maybe it is the same gene that tells him to stop doing whatever cute thing he was doing as soon as the camera comes out. He has a special gift for that too.

nightmares about work is a step too far

On Sunday and Monday nights, after the last post, I spent hours tossing and turning in bed. I was up until the wee hours of the morning with insomnia, most likely attributed to my anxiety about the employment and money situation. It is getting a little ridiculous, I'm starting to wonder if I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from work or something crazy like that. I know it sounds silly, but I can't explain why I have such extreme anxiety every time the topic of work comes up.

Thank you for all the advice. I'm still not sure what to do, and one of the questions I'm wrestling with is whether I should jump right into something serious, like starting my own practice, as some of you suggested, or start simple. I've been tossing around the idea of tutoring, or even working part-time at a local Spanish program for kids. If I started with something very temporary, I'd be able to better decide whether I want to take the plunge into something more.

Starting a practice out of my home, or looking for clients of my own, is a hefty undertaking. I would need some kind of insurance, and I'd have to create a special account required by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts in which to hold client funds. Not to mention that my chosen fields, international financial transactions, securities, venture funds and private equity, don't necessarily lend themselves to working out of the home. Still, people have suggested real estate closings or wills and trusts as an easier choice, and I could certainly find a way to get trained from someone and then go out on my own. These are all great ideas.

I guess what I really need to do is embrace the anxiety and take the leap. Maybe if I update my resume and start sending out feelers, my fear will lessen and I'll start to worry less about working. Or maybe once I start working, I'll finally calm down. Who knows, but I need to do something because I can't keep feeling like this. It is way too stressful for me, and it is way too stressful for Josh to listen to me complaining about the stress. Wish me luck!

decisions, decisions, decisions

We've been doing some number crunching lately, and the bottom line is that money coming in is not equaling money going out. Even when we spend zero dollars on non-necessities, we still aren't making enough to cover all of our expenses. To be fair, we knew this was a possibility, and before I had Gabe and while I was on maternity leave, we saved as much as we could so that we could have a cushion to cover our expenses. Of course, now that we have the money saved up, it is painful to watch it be drained away by expenses like groceries or gasoline.

Don't get me wrong, Josh makes a good salary, but it is still less than half of what I was making at my law firm. We bought our house based on my salary, not his, so our mortgage takes up a monstrous chunk of our income. We've considered making all kinds of changes, like selling our house, moving to a less expensive suburb, getting rid of a car, or losing our cell phones or cable television. The housing market isn't what it used to be, so selling this house doesn't make much sense, and we really can't survive without both cars. Josh works long hours, and I'm responsible for the bulk of errand running, so I need a car to get around during the day. We're trying to cut our costs wherever possible, like eating only at home, not making unnecessary purchases, taking hand-me-downs for Gabe from friends where possible.

In the end, though, I really think I'm going to have to get a part-time job. Josh is adamantly against it, mainly because he sees that I hate the thought of having to leave Gabe. We're also hoping that this May, at the one year mark of employment for him, he'll receive a raise that will make all the difference. Once we make enough to cover our expenses, enough not to drain our savings, I'm more than happy to live like a pauper. Our parents are extraordinarily generous and are happy to cover our plane tickets to visit them, and all of our expenses once we are there. My mom bought me some new clothes and Gabe some new books while we were visiting. My in-laws help us out with household projects, including putting up new fencing when our old fencing fell over from the weight of a snowstorm. My mother-in-law also provides sporadic babysitting so we don't have to pay someone else to watch Gabe. In short, we are very very lucky, and living like a "pauper" is really not bad at all, even when I haven't been to Starbucks in months. Oh, the tragedy.

It feels so irresponsible to be pulling money from our savings, though, especially when I am perfectly able to work just a few hours a week and give us a little bit of protection on the money front. The problem is that every time I sit down in front of the computer to look up available jobs, I feel paralyzed with the prospect. I left work in such a bad state at the end of my maternity leave, and the idea of putting myself back into a situation like that, is enough to make me nauseous. Logically, of course, I know that not all jobs are the same, and I won't be working at a law firm, I won't be working 70 hours a week, it will be different. But that terrified part of me screams as I revamp my resume, what if it isn't?

Maybe the best thing for us is for me to jump back on the work horse and try something out. It could be good for me emotionally, it could help me face my demons, and it will definitely be good for our budget. The jobs I've been considering are far from full-time, and have flexible hours. I could try it for a while, and if it works, then great. If it doesn't work, we'll reconsider and readjust. Plus, maybe I'll love it. Maybe I'll realize that I've missed the interaction and stimulation of the work force. If I don't, well, let's keep our fingers crossed that May brings a huge raise for Josh.

the joys of travel

We're back!

I am literally kissing the ground of my own home, with my own childproofing, and my own toys for Gabe, and my own gates, and my own television, and my own bed, and my own crib that is in a SEPARATE ROOM FROM WHERE I AM SLEEPING. Phew. I'm tired. It was a long and exhausting 10 days, that followed a long and exhausting preparation for the trip of 10 days. We had fun, despite the fact that it rained every single day we were in California. Every single day, except for yesterday morning, the day we left, when we woke up to sunny skies and 70 degree temperatures. Now of course, I'm back in Boston where it is snowy and freezing and I'm a little bitter about the fact that I didn't get even one 70 degree day to take my child to the park.

The week before we left, as you'll recall, I was having some trouble with the preparation part of the trip. I was overwhelmed and exhausted, and I assumed things wouldn't get any worse. Well.

How about a baby screaming and throwing up all. night. long. And when I say all night long, I mean ALL NIGHT LONG. From 12-4am, we had nonstop screaming with some vomiting intermingled. This wasn't just normal baby vomit either, this was grown-up adult, stinky, chunky, awful, had-to-be-scooped-off-of-the-mattress-and-the-baby, makes the mom gag, vomit. The night before you are supposed to leave on a trip to California.

During this nonstop screaming came the lowest point in my parenting thus far, when I became so angry at Gabe's behavior, what with the screaming and the throwing of objects and the demanding to be read to even though it was the middle of the night, that I had to place him in his crib and walk away, because I was THAT ANGRY. I sat him in his crib, screaming pile of goo, and then slammed the door to his bedroom before crawling into my bed and whimpering to Josh that I just couldn't take another minute of his screaming. I actually slammed the door to a 13 month old's bedroom, as if that would do anything to help, as if he even remotely understood what that meant. I sat in my room crying for 10 minutes, pulled myself together, and then went back to his bedroom to face more of the screaming once I was sure that I wasn't going to scream back. Unfortunately, Josh had already been up for hours with Gabe and I, but by 4am, we were looking at him having to go to work with less than 2 hours of sleep, so he couldn't just take over for me.

The screaming finally did stop, and I scheduled a doctor's appointment first thing in the morning, where the pediatrician confirmed that nothing was wrong with Gabe, except maybe for a random stomach virus. So we came home and packed some more. Gabe was beat from his night of no sleep and lots of screaming, so when he consented to taking his afternoon nap, I decided to avoid packing for just a little longer and take a hot, relaxing bath.

I've been using an all-natural bubble bath for Gabe that allegedly includes relaxing scents for less crankiness and whining and easier bedtimes. I figured, heck, I definitely need some of that crankiness correcting stuff, so I poured the bubble bath into the bathtub and settled in for some relaxation. After 20 minutes, I decided that I was ready to tackle the packing again. Shortly thereafter, I found myself feeling itchy. Then decidedly itchy. Then really tremendously itchy, including in places that you certainly don't want to be itchy. And then, because obviously this would happen to me, I realized that I am allergic to Gabe bubble bath and I was having an allergic reaction that including lots of itching in all kinds of unpleasant places. Because THAT is what you need when you are going to be flying across the country for 10 hours in just a few hours. Argh! I took some drugs, found some creams, and dealt with the itching as best I could.

I did do laundry, I did finish packing, I did get the dogs ready, I did get Gabe out the door. I did not clean the house, or get our nephew's package out the door, but Josh ended up begging me to please stop stressing about the house and leave it all for him, as all of you had recommended. So I made it to California, and I'd only forgotten a couple of useful things, like a thermometer, since Gabe ended up being totally sick in California.

He didn't throw up on the plane, thankfully, but he did throw up several times over the first few days we were in California. My parents had planned a trip to Monterey for all of us, and Gabe's sickness put a slight dent in our plans, but we powered on nonetheless. We went to the Monterey Bay Aquarium, where Gabe called every fish he saw there a "car" or more like "cahhhr ", such was his excitement at seeing these new creatures. We walked through Carmel, ate good food and played on the beach, even in the drizzle. We explored Monterey's Fisherman's Wharf, and visited the Monarch butterflies in Pacific Grove where they hibernate. We had fun, even with a runny nose and hacking cough.

We spent the rest of the week in Sacramento, where my parents live now, and relaxed at home while my mom worked, visited old friends, did some parentally funded shopping since I have no clothes that fit me, and spent quality time with the grandparents. Gabe got to really know my parents, got to give them tons of hugs and kisses, he even learned how to say "Nonna" and "Nonno", and if that doesn't make for a successful trip, then I don't know what does. It was a good trip, but I really am terribly relieved to be home. We missed Josh desperately, and I can't wait to settle back into the routine.

Now, on to the task of unpacking. Gabe wouldn't go to bed last night until 4am, he was just so excited to revisit all his toys and furniture, so we're pooped around here and hoping that tonight turns out to be an easier night for everyone. I'll keep you updated.

on the road again

This Thursday, as in 36 hours from now, I am off to California again. I am traveling with Gabe and the two dogs (as carry on), and I am unhappy to report that I am completely and utterly overwhelmed today.

These are the things I need to do:

1. Pack
2. Do laundry, so that I can pack
3. Pick clothes, so that I can pack
4. Buy diapers, to pack when I pack
5. Purchase, wrap, get card, and mail package to our nephew for his birthday- which is tomorrow
6. Get diaper bag prepared, including food and toys for the flight
7. Prepare dogs for trip
8. Go get vaccine certificate from veterinarian for dogs to travel
9. Write out Valentine's Day card for Josh since we'll be gone for Valentine's Day
10. Clean kitchen
11. Clean bathrooms
12. Vacuum whole house
13. Take care of my child who has refused to take a nap all day, doesn't want to eat anything, and prefers to whine continuously. all. day. long.
14. See #13 for why #1-12 have not been completed
15. Stress stress stress about all of the above and how I will possibly be able to get through the airport with a toddler and two dogs and a diaper bag
16. Get so stressed that I sit on the couch paralyzed into inaction
17. Call and vent to husband about list of to-dos and inability to do them
18. Call and vent to friends about list of to-dos and inability to do them
19. Drink a cup of Dr. Pepper to make myself feel better about the list of to-dos and inability to do them
20. Eat a cookie to make myself feel better about the list of to-dos and inability to do them
21. Cry a little about list of to-dos and inability to do them, and also cry a little about my fat ass and the fact that I just had Dr. Pepper and a cookie and no wonder I can't lose the last 5 pounds
22. Blog about the above

Needless to say, it has been a tough day around here. It is 6:45pm and I'm just now getting pushed into action. Josh is working late tonight and tomorrow night, so he isn't available to help, and my little compadre over here is very very grumpy due to the no nap situation. Improvement is not on the horizon. Anyone want to come over and pack for me? Or at least bring me more cookies?

earning my stripes, I guess

The other day at the gym, I'd dropped Gabe off in the daycare and gone off to do my speedy 30 minutes on the elliptical. I was 4 minutes in when all the fire alarms throughout the building went off in a screaming mess. It took me a few seconds to register what was happening, and to realize that while I was downstairs in the cardio room, Gabe was upstairs and across the building and I had no idea what the fire plan was in the daycare. Do they usher all the kids out? Are we supposed to come get them? What if I made it outside and discovered he was still inside?

I started pushing past the people working out to get to the stairs to go to the daycare. Meanwhile, a swim meet had been taking place in the pool area, so hundreds (it felt like) of kids in soaking wet bathing suits with towels around them and parents who'd been standing on the sidelines cheering came pouring out of the locker rooms and pool deck. I could barely move due to the crowd, much less move in the opposite direction of everyone else. I finally made it to the stairs, and found that getting up the stairs looked like an impossibility because all of the after school programs that take place upstairs were streaming down the stairs.

In that moment, even though logic told me this was likely a fire drill and not the real thing, my heart clenched and I thought for one terrifying moment that I might throw up from the very real fear overtaking me. The only thought flooding my brain was that my baby was upstairs and he was surely scared, and I didn't know how I would reach him. How would the daycare people be able to get multiple children out at once? How would they carry Gabe when he can't walk down stairs alone yet?

Those questions were enough to push me into action and I shoved my way up the stairs, fighting the crowd the whole way, who were all obviously anxious because it had been several minutes since the alarms started and we could hear the fire truck sirens arriving outside. I made it to the second floor and started jogging down the hall, and all the way at the opposite end, I saw one of the teenage daycare helpers following the crowd down the other stairway struggling to carry Gabe and another toddler while also helping preschoolers down the stairs. She glanced up and saw me running down the hall toward her and hesitated so that I could catch up. As I ran by the daycare room, I ducked my head inside and grabbed Gabe's coat, shoes and socks because she was carrying him without them.

I reached her and lifted him out of her arms and as he wrapped his arms tight around my neck and looked at me with the most serious look on his face, I felt the choke hold of fear begin to loosen itself. We made it outside into the freezing cold and rain, and I tugged his shoes and socks and jacket on while we waited to hear the verdict. All those poor children in wet swimsuits and towels were also outside, barefoot, with lifeguards passing out additional towels to wrap themselves up as best they could.

It was just a fire alarm, as we all knew it would be, but I have to tell you... In those moments, when I couldn't see how I would possibly reach Gabe through the crowd, and I didn't know whether he would be taken care of, I was more scared than I think I've ever been. It was panic, pure and simple. Unreasonable. Irrational. Panic.

I can't imagine how you feel when it is a true emergency and not just a drill. This must be what drives people to race into burning buildings and lift cars off of their children. This also teaches me a serious lesson. I'll never drop Gabe off anywhere without going through emergency procedures with them or at least asking basic safety questions. Just in case.

rocking the toddler vote

Gabe and I walked to our polling location on Tuesday to cast our vote. We both walked, which was a notable occasion since those 3 blocks were the farthest Gabe has ever walked. It took 45 minutes, but still, it was exciting. He tried to go inside every house we passed, and if there happened to be people outside putting out trash or getting into their cars, well, that deserved 5 minutes of waving and yelling at them and waiting patiently until they left.

I'd come prepared with crackers in case the voting took too long for Gabe's patience, but the process took less than 5 minutes. I did notice, however, that when they looked up my address, Josh wasn't listed. At first I thought maybe it was because he categorizes himself as Independent, but that wasn't it because all parties were listed on the sheet. The polling people told me to have him come down that evening to sort it out and probably they could find him on the "Inactive" sheet and he'd still be able to vote.

Now, for the last month, Josh has been saying that he needs to sit down and review the candidates to better make a decision about who he'd like to vote for. In the meantime, I've done my own campaigning about who I think he should vote for, which isn't fair, but whatever. I'm pushy.

I called him at work after I voted to let him know about not being on the voting list, and he said he'd go down after work. Again, he casually mentioned that he needed to review the campaign websites to decide his vote, ON SUPER TUESDAY. So he's had months, and still hasn't decided.
Whatever, I just let the comment slide because I didn't want him to get annoyed with my harping.

I have a class on Tuesday nights, so when he got home, we airkissed as I ran out of the house. Josh loaded Gabe into the stroller, because another 3 block walk would have been too much and went to the polling location to straighten out the registered/not registered issue and vote.

When I returned that night, I harassed him about who he'd voted for, and he didn't want to tell me! I kept leaning on him and finally he admitted it. Who did he vote for?

HE ABSTAINED. Abstained! From voting! He went down there, registered himself, corrected the error, asked for a ballot, took it over to the voting booth, and then filled in the bubble that asked if you'd like to abstain! He says it doesn't really matter to him who wins, and that he didn't want to make an uneducated vote since he never had time to do the full research on the candidates.

This is the kind of thing that makes me want to claw my eyes out. I'm letting it go, though, because if not, he'll never talk to me about politics again. Sigh.

taking a break from the breastfeeding and the gestating

I didn't even know this could happen to men. I've seen it happen to my female friends, I remember what it felt like when it happened to me, but I never expected this to happen. I've asked around, and I still haven't found anyone who has faced the same situation.

Josh has caught it. And he's caught it BAD.

He has the baby bug.

Josh has undertaken a serious campaign to convince me to have another baby, ASAP. This campaign started a little over a month ago, right around the time that Gabe turned one. Josh decided that he is ready to have another baby, and he won't take no for an answer.

He has tons of good reasons for it. He wants the kids to be close together in age in the hopes that they will be friends. He wants to make another that is as cute and amazing as Gabe is (as if that is even possible). He misses the baby baby stage. He doesn't want to be having babies for years and years on end (his words, not mine). Plus, he wants another baby. NOW. Just because he does. Is that clear?

I'm tempted, don't get me wrong. I miss the baby baby stage too, and I don't feel overwhelmed with Gabe, and I think that emotionally and physically, I could have another baby and be ecstatic about it. But here's the thing- I am LOVING being with Gabe right now. He is so much fun and so exciting and interesting and just delicious, and I want to eat him up. I am truly enjoying this period in his life, and I'm not ready to take away from that. Once I get pregnant, the pregnancy is going to take time away from him, what with the nausea and the vomiting and the general ickiness that I'm sure I'll feel, plus 9 months later, there will be another little human that wants to breastfeed 27 hours a day again and never wants to sleep and wants to take up every second of my time. I just stopped breastfeeding a month ago, I need a little bit of time to enjoy my there-is-no-person-relying-on-me-for-nourishment life!

On the other hand, there will be another glorious amazing little baby. And maybe having them closer together will make them closer friends. Maybe Gabe will be fine, maybe I will have an easier pregnancy, maybe it would be awesome, maybe I won't be burnt out with the nonstop breastfeeding and gestating.

I don't know, though. For now, I'm undecided, and trying to hold Josh off for a few more months at least. When I got pregnant with Gabe, I was ready to have a baby, like, yesterday. I wanted him so so so badly. I want that same excitement and anticipation for any future babies I am lucky enough to have. I think we should wait just a little bit longer. In the meantime, I'm keeping an eye on him. He better not start poking holes in condoms or anything crazy like that.

hot hot hot sex

Did I get your attention? New post on this very topic over at Pumpkin Products!

Check it out!

I can't even make this stuff up

Josh and I are nosy people, and we especially LOVE to check out our neighbors' homes. So when Josh spotted an open house around the corner from us, we jumped on the opportunity to see what the house looked like from the inside. We were eager to examine the interior decorating style, plus we like to compare house details to see what we might be able to ask when we eventually sell this house.

The house, on the outside, was respectable. It had a nice entryway, nice details, good front lawn. The interior, on the other hand, was almost indescribable. You know in thriller movies, when the cops storm a hideaway for a criminal, the house always looks trashed and beat up? Well, then you've seen this house. The realtor greeted us at the door and began a quick speech, I suspect to distract us from looking around at the disaster too closely. He told us upfront that the house had fallen into disrepair because the owner had been hospitalized and there were tenants at will living there now. He also said that his estimates were that the house needed us to put in about 1 or 2. 1 or 2 what, you ask? HUNDRED THOUSAND. Clue #1 that the house wasn't for us.

We started our tour, and were stunned to find ourselves stepping over trash, dirty clothes and old dishes marked with chunks of forgotten food. The rooms were terribly cluttered, to the point that we could barely squeeze through the doorways because furniture was blocking them.
The bones of the house didn't seem to be terrible, and behind the mess I could see nice moldings and interesting architectural details, but it needed serious work. The kitchen was disgusting, and the hardwood floors looks damaged, where we could see the hardwood floor, that is. Clue #2.

We headed upstairs to look at the bedrooms, and were pleasantly surprised to find good sized rooms. They were a disaster, for sure, with piles of clothes and junk and beds unmade, but each room was a good size with a decent closet. I don't even want to talk about what the bathroom looked like, because really, I'm a little traumatized from it. But I haven't even gotten to the worst part of our tour yet. Clue #3, but trust me, you ain't seen nothing yet.

We headed to the final bedroom, a room at the back of the house, and walked all the way inside to see the closets and dimensions of the room. As we turned to walk back out, we discovered piles of syringes. SYRINGES. Needles. With caps on, but still, SYRINGES. Not just one, but a pile of them, inhabiting every available surface of the room. I turned to Josh in stunned silence, and he assured me, "it has to be for diabetes." But I ask you, when you find piles of syringes lying around in a room, would it assure you that it was probably diabetes? Because I have to say, it didn't make me feel better. I started having visions of finding an uncapped needle and getting accidentally stuck by one, as I shoved Josh down the hall and out the door. As we were walking toward the stairs, I realized that we'd missed looking at the hallway floor on the way in, where more needles littered the carpet. I feel sick just thinking about it.

We thanked the realtor and ran out the door as fast as we could, stuffing the house sale sheet into the first trash can we passed. The house wasn't all bad, it was a good size with a nice level yard and a large lot. The basement was finished, with a kitchen and bathroom downstairs that were basic, but reasonable. The price they were asking was crazy high, but they can't be serious about that considering the state of the house. And we aren't opposed to doing work on a house if the price was right- we did tons of cosmetic stuff to ours before we moved in. We love the neighborhood, of course, and we'd be thrilled to stay near this elementary school and our neighbors.

Beyond all that, though, I don't think I could shake the bad feeling I have in my stomach every time I remember what the house looked like. The dirt, the clothes, the trash, the syringes (!) and the general feeling of unhappiness and disrepair. I don't know if old houses have souls or what, but this one was sad, and I'd hate to move in and discover that the feeling went beyond the decoration. For now, we'll be sticking with our cluttered and small, but happy, colonial.

nope, not risky at all

Scene: Kitchen. Halloweenlover is making banana bran muffins (d-e-l-i-c-i-o-u-s, by the way) while Gabe eats pre-dinner snacks in his high chair. Josh arrives home from work and walks in to survey the scene.
-------------------------------

Josh: What are you doing?

HL: Making banana bran muffins for breakfast tomorrow.

Josh: Why is the computer on the counter?

HL: I got the recipe off of the internet, so I'm reading it while I'm making the muffins.

(surveys mess surrounding the computer, including banana peels and egg shells beside it and two bowls of dry and wet liquids a couple of inches away)

Josh: Gabe, Mommy sure is being risky by having her computer on the counter!

HL: No I'm not, this is your computer.

should certainly know better

I went to the movies tonight to see Untraceable with my college roommate. We grabbed dinner earlier with Gabe at a nearby restaurant, and then Josh swung by after work to pick Gabe up and take him home while we continued on to the movies. By the way, the movie was entertaining but very disturbing. Rather sick, frankly.

And then, GASP, my friend convinced me to sneak into another movie after the first one! EEEK! This is theft! I'm not even in high school! Worse, I didn't even do that when I WAS in high school! We were the worst perps ever, since we were freaking out about getting caught and kept running up and down the hallway nervously and going from movie to movie trying to select which one we would see.

Appropriately enough, we settled on Mad Money. The stress was too much for me, though, my stomach hurt every time a theater employee would walk through the theater. I think that was enough excitement for me for the foreseeable future. Let's all agree not to tell Gabe about this little incident.

shhhhhh

I have a confession. I think daytime television generally stinks. I don't like soap operas, I don't like courtroom shows, I don't like talk shows (much). Don't get me wrong, I'll turn on Regis and Kelly or the Martha Stewart Show in the morning while I'm munching on my cereal, but I don't love them the way I love nighttime shows.

I do, however, love the show "A Haunting" on the Discovery Channel. "A Haunting" is a docu-drama that tells the stories of actual people who have been haunted. I love it. LOVE IT. I eat this shit up, seriously. My DVR is set to record all of the episodes, so when Gabe goes down for his nap, I grab a snack or lunch, curl up on the couch with my mug of coffee, and watch my recorded shows until my skin crawls and I'm paralyzed with fear on the couch.

The show re-enacts the stories of people whose houses have been haunted, or their children possessed, or some other crazy scary stuff that makes for excellent stories. The real people who have supposedly been haunted come on the show and intersperse their commentary between the recreations, which truthfully, are sometimes really frightening. It's gotten to the point that when Gabe wakes up, I'm sometimes afraid to go up the stairs in case something grabs me from behind.

I don't even know why I watch the show when I get so scared, but I can't resist. I guess I enjoy the heart racing and blood pumping and cheap little thrills from being terrified, but it is getting a little bit out of hand. I've been watching so many of the shows that I'm almost surprised when I look in the bathroom mirror and don't see a spirit behind me. If Gabe wakes me up in the early morning for a bottle, I almost expect to see some ghost walking around our kitchen with me. We've lived in this house for 3 years, I'm confident it isn't haunted, but this show is making me a little jumpy.

Let's keep this our little secret, okay? Josh might send the DVR back if he finds out that I'm actually terrified.

nomination for this week's worst mommy ever

Our record of no accidents on my watch is over. It is a very sad day today. My moral superiority over Josh is officially done.

We were getting ready to leave the house to meet a friend for lunch and I put Gabe's puffy jacket on him and got our stuff ready to go. Gabe is walking well these days, so I picked him up, carried him down the front stairs and put him down on the sidewalk while I went back to lock the door and grab the diaper bag.

He took a few steps down the walkway and tripped on the concrete face first. Normally, he would have put his hands down to break his fall, but the puffy jacket made it impossible for him to move his arms fast enough and instead he hit his little face on the concrete and scraped his nose on the cement. The screaming started before I'd even gotten back to turn the key in the door, and I turned around to find him face down with a mouth full of dirt and long scrapes on his nose and mouth.

At least all his teeth are still in place and we have nothing worse to show for the fall than some scrapes, but I still feel terrible. It occurred to me as I put him down that he might not be able to stop a fall with his jacket but I thought he'd be fine and we were in a hurry, so I thought the risk was worth it. Not anymore, obviously.

Ah well, Josh didn't lord it over me too much. I'm sure that like most other things in life, Gabe will be over it before I will.

Also, why didn't any of you tell me how glorious the move to one nap is? He's been sleeping 3 hours every afternoon and I spend the time running through tons of chores and then sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee to enjoy my guilty television pleasures. It's awesome!