Here goes nothing! My Life & Times.

Happy Valentine's Day, from Oliver.

2012-02-14T10:24:00.000-06:00

I would post pictures. However, as some of you have noticed, my camera is gone. It's with my parents in Oregon somehow. So, no pictures until they come back. Sorry.

I told Oliver that it's Valentine's Day today.

"OH GREAT! I like candy!"

That wasn't really the point I was trying to make but that is really the only point he cared about. If I'm being perfectly honest, I guess that's probably my favorite part of Valentine's Day too.

We sat together at the table eating breakfast and Oliver kept asking for candy. He took a bite of eggs.

"Can I have chocolate?"
"No. Not now."

He ate half his piece of toast.

"Howabout M&Ms? I have M&Ms?"
"No. Not now."

He took a drink of milk.

"I can have a cake now, Mom? Please?"
"No. No cake. Eat your breakfast."

He sat eating the rest of his toast and sausage while looking out the window. I tried to comment on the snow. I asked him what he wanted to do today. I talked about our plans for the weekend. Nothing. No response from him. I gave up and started clearing my plate when Oliver piped up,

"I love you, Mom! I can have candy now?!"
"I love you too but no candy."
"You don't love me."

Not wanting something is as good as possessing it.

2012-02-13T13:14:00.000-06:00

Oliver has been helping me get things cleaned off/organized for his baby brother. He likes that he gets to help me. I like that I can send him running up and down the stairs for me. He gets to tell me how much bigger and better he is than his younger brother. His younger brother doesn't seem to give a rip about anything. Everybody wins.

In going through all of Oliver's old stuff, I realized that I probably have only 50% of the volume of stuff I had when Oliver was born. I thought I needed everything from the Babies R Us catalog in order to take care of him. I thought that if everybody else bought these things, they must be useful... right? Not so much. The baby bathtub, the 6 piece matching outfits, the bottle warmer, the giant stroller - All useless. I won't miss them.

I want a lot of things, sure. Mostly things to make the house look nice. Mostly things for me to play with that I can get by without. But stuff for the baby? There just isn't much I need. Somebody I knew had a fridge magnet that quoted, "Not wanting something is as good as possessing it." That's pretty true.

I don't want that junk, I don't miss it, I have more space because I don't have it. It is nice.

One of my secret fears is that I'll become a hoarder. I feel a little bit of guilt when donating gifts from family or throwing out things that I've had forever, but... Really, I know that I'll forget all about it in 2 weeks' time and never think of that stuff again. I always tell myself, "Well, self, if you need a paint stained tshirt/pasta serving size guide/shoe horn you can always buy yourself another one when the time comes." And very rarely do I need to do that. I almost never regret the decision to throw away/donate items. If anything, it liberates me.

I would have been a terrible homemaker in the Depression, but c'est la vie.

All of the baby's stuff fits in his room, and we're barely missing anything. Basically, all he needs are clothes. (Correction: He only needs clothes that are the right season. We have some fine fleece sleepers for him to wear in June.) We're also missing the little things that are meant to be single use or semi-disposable anyway - pacifiers, bottle pieces, pump parts. But we can always pick those things up at Target, no big deal.

And you know what? With the help of my sister, I have gone through and unpacked every single box/bag of junk I had in the house. No more mystery boxes. No more closets piled high with mystery content. It's all gone.

I wish I could say that that means that I know where everything is. I don't. Some things have gone AWOL. I never found my precious collection of spices. I never found my fancy new oven mitts. Gone forever are a lamp, the baby's changing organizer, the lids to 3 of my pots, and some attachments to my blender. But at least now I know they're not lurking in any of the unpacked corners of my house.

Now that is a good feeling.

It sounds stupid, but it isn't.

2012-02-10T12:37:00.000-06:00

When explaining things to Oliver, stuff comes out sounding dumb. But really it isn't. Usually what I say is the basic truth, with all of the exceptions and extenuating circumstances left out.

"Mom, are our neighbors nice?"
"I'm sure they are. Most people are nice when you get to know them."

"Do you like making dinner, Mom?"
"Yes. I like to try new things. Do you?"
"Yes. I like trying new things. Like new dessert."
"Dessert is good, isn't it?"

And the thing is, in trying to put things simply and positively for him, I realize that deep down that's how I feel. I really do feel that most people are nice when you get to know them. I really do like cooking dinner for my family, even though it gets to be a chore. I do like trying new things. It sounds silly for me to say, but he reminds me of things I used to believe but forgot.

Yesterday, he was driving me nuts with all of his questions of what is real and what isn't. He kept listing things and declaring whether or not he was afraid of them. I get tired of saying that things are/aren't real and you do/don't need to worry about them. After about the millionth time, I think anybody would get tired of that. But then sometimes he reminds me of what it must be like to be his age.

"Monsters are scary. Are you scared of monsters, Mom?"

This question reminded me that at one point, I was, indeed, scared of monsters. And that some things still scare me, rationally or irrationally.

"I used to be. But then I learned that monsters aren't real and that we are safe here."

After I said that, I remembered running as fast as I could up the basement steps in case something came out of the darkness to grab at my ankles. I remembered being scared that wolves would break down the doors to our house and eat me. I remembered thinking that snakes were waiting just off our front steps to bite me and kill me. I used to be just as scared as he was of things that sound just as stupid.

"That's good idea. I am not scared of monsters too, Mom."

When talking with other people, I spend a lot of time thinking about how best to articulate my point of view. Depending on the person, I worry about sounding stupid or simple. I worry that they'll take what I say and make a sweeping generalization from it if I don't add enough qualifiers and exceptions. But sometimes, the simple answer is best - dumb sounding or not.

"Monsters only scare you if you let them."

Parenting or Slavery? You decide.

2012-02-08T12:22:00.000-06:00

Today I needed to haul the laundry downstairs, but I couldn't carry the whole basket down. I also wouldn't hold up if I had to take down each piece individually. So what's a person to do?

Make Oliver do it.

"Hey Oliver, want to play a game!? It's called get-the-laundry-downstairs. If you take all of these downstairs and put them in the washing machine, you will win! And winners can have an M&M!"
"GOOD IDEA MOM! Is it teamwork?"
"Yes. It is teamwork. I will sit here and tell you you're doing a good job and keep you on track."
"Oh. Great!"

I think it took him half an hour, but he did it. And I got to sit around and play Scrabble while he worked. He got his M&M. I got my laundry downstairs. Everybody was a winner!

Teamwork is a big sell in this house. If I label work as teamwork "like on Clifford!" he will do it, cheerfully and willingly. If I just tell him to do the work, he will complain about 75% of the time and drag his feet. To me? It's a no-brainer. Teamwork it is.

So far, he is happy with my end of the "team" being supervision and issuing commands. His end of the team, somehow, almost always ends up with the manual labor. It's a dirty job, but somebody has to do it.. right?

Some would consider this taking advantage of my child's youthful ignorance. I say a little bit of indentured servitude is my well-deserved reward for expelling him out of my body two years ago.

On my not-ruined life.

2012-02-07T12:18:00.000-06:00

When I was pregnant with Oliver, I felt like the clock was ticking down the days until my life would be ruined. And really, when he was born, it did ruin my life. Nothing turned out how I imagined it would be. I lost friends. I was suddenly a different person. My life plans were derailed. It was hard. The life that I thought I wanted and needed was ruined. But somehow, when I gave up mourning for that life I found a new one. And this new one? It's easier. Less self-conscious. More of a reflection of who I really am.

Lots of times I reflect on these things before taking my afternoon nap. How, really, our whole family came together out of the need to care for Oliver. How everything was rearranged and changed and got put back together more efficiently. We edited out the distractions that we didn't need, and we focused on the parts of our relationship that needed improving. The resulting lifestyle that we've built for ourselves isn't flashy, but it serves us well in its simplicity. There is beauty in the plainness because its just who we are - not what who we thought we should be. I don't miss the drama and the pretending one bit. I wish I could have seen this point of view while I was feeling lost. It would have been a great reassurance.

In ten weeks, we're going to change things all over again with the new baby. Right now, I don't feel any real love for the person I am growing inside of me and haven't yet met. I feel a need to protect, to nurture it... but not really love.

That was how things were with Oliver - I didn't, couldn't love him until I got to know him. He was just a stranger, just a responsibility until I came to know him. It wasn't like the nurse placed him in my arms and I suddenly loved him. It took me caring for him and becoming comfortable with him for that bond to grow. And now? I couldn't imagine not loving him.

I'm sure that's how it will be with Two-bie. I know I will come to love him, but I worry that it will make my love for Oliver less. Or that the love for Two-bie will be different. Or that Oliver and Jared will see me differently. Even though we want Oliver to have a sibling and we want him to have that togetherness, I worry that he will get pushed aside. I worry that he will feel less important or less loved. I feel guilty for all of my attention and time that he will not get.

I don't know why I worry about this. I know that every parent worries about this. Everyone says you just can't understand it until it happens, and on that I am pinning all of my worries. I am trying to remember my mistakes from before and be open to the manifold unforeseen possibilities, not just my projected images of how things "should be."

If you see me clinging to the way things are now, please remind me to let go, to trust, to adapt. Sometimes I forget to step back and look around. I'm sure if I did, I would see that my life has a long way to go before it could be ruined. And maybe, if I am really lucky, I could glimpse the fringes of the not-ruined life I will have that is going to be so much better.

It's just ten more weeks until we get to upgrade our lives again. I can't wait.

Pooperbowl Sunday. (See what I did there? I am so clever.)

2012-02-05T19:44:00.000-06:00

Yeah, we're celebrating the Superbowl. The Super(toilet)bowl. The Pooperbowl. The only thing missing was some queso dip.

My celebrations involved putting split pea soup into the crockpot for tomorrow. Jared's part was in taking the ACT for work. Oliver was quietly playing with dinosaurs on the floor until I heard him say, "Uh oh."

A tiny turd plopped onto the floor in the kitchen. I rushed Oliver to deposit the rest into the potty, and he did. Probably 90% did make it into the potty. But really... catching somebody's feces in a plastic bowl is really gross. Especially the part where somebody has to wash it out. And the part where everyone has to smell it.

Disgusting.

Yesterday there was a similar situation in which Oliver pooped on the potty but got a little on himself. I was out celebrating my sister's birthday, so Jared took Oliver to the tub to hose him down, leaving the potty to deal with later.

Mya saw an opportunity and went for it. When Jared came back, the potty was empty. And Mya's breath was horrible.

That dog is disgusting.

I hate the ER.

2012-01-30T09:44:00.000-06:00

Yesterday, instead of hanging out with friends, we decided to take a trip to the ER. I had contractions and bleeding so I freaked out and went in.

Basically, they told me I was fine - just bursting polyps or something. Orders? Relax and drink water. I can't drink anymore water. The amount of water I drink is already insane. Of course, it took them a few hours to tell me this. And who knows how much it will cost us. But anyway. That's what we did yesterday.

The good news, though, is that Oliver kept a pair of underwear clean and dry all day long. He even pooped (twice) in the potty. This morning when he got up he discussed this with me.

"These are fresh! Now I can wear them another day! And I wear them tomorrow!"

I didn't know if I should mention that underwear get dirty just by wearing them even if you don't pee on them. I didn't want to confuse/discourage him so I just said nothing. While we were downstairs switching laundry, he saw several pairs of my underwear.

"You pee underwear? They dirty!"
"Yeah but I didn't pee in them."
"Oh. You poop!"

And then he ran away laughing before I could even defend myself. Not even 10 minutes later, he burst into the bathroom and saw me peeing.

"Good job, Mom! I am so proud of you!"

That is pretty much verbatim what I say to him when he goes on the potty. I'm pretty sure he thinks I am potty training myself, too.

This will be a long day.

2012-01-27T10:14:00.000-06:00

Last night, to celebrate the potty training success (and also because we just finally got everything set up in there) we let Oliver sleep in his big boy bed downstairs. He was very excited. He didn't fight going to sleep. He stayed in bed all night long. It was a success greater than I'd hoped for.

The problem is though.. we still don't have the shades installed in his room. He got up with the sunrise. He was in my room by 7:10. I expected this, but expecting it and actually living through it are two different things.

Today is going to be a long day.

As soon as I got up to change Oliver out of his PJs, I stepped in a pile of dog barf. I suspect that this is her revenge for being locked in the garage for an hour yesterday. I did my best to clean it up, but with all of this other potty-related activity... Well, we're out of enzyme cleaner.

I picked out Oliver's clothes and found that he was out of underwear. I forgot to switch the laundry last night, so they were all wet in the washing machine. 8 pairs of underwear seems like a lot, unless you sometimes dribble little spots of pee before you realize it or spill little bits of water/milk/juice down your front.

I switched the laundry and tried to convince Oliver that it was okay to wear either a diaper or nothing for the hour while the laundry dried. He said it was not okay. He said he needed the underwear in order to use the potty.

In fact, he was so angry that he said he would not pee on the potty without underwear. He said he would pee on the floor. To prove his point, he peed right there on the bedroom carpet while I was sitting not even one foot away watching him. Insubordinate peeing. Great.

"I told you, Mom. I pee on the floor."

Texts I send.

2012-01-26T15:55:00.000-06:00

This afternoon I sent out the following text message to Jared:

"Poop emergency. Do not open garage door."

When he called me back, he was completely calm and only the tiniest bit curious. He didn't seem to think that my text was particularly weird. And I guess it isn't, since he knows its coming from me and Oliver. We are prone to strange things. Strange things just happen to us. Especially poop-related strange things.

Oliver had an accident in his underwear. I cleaned up Oliver and left the underwear soaking in the bathroom sink. I went to fix my lunch and I kind of forgot it was there, to be honest.

Oliver, however, did not forget. While I was distracted with my sandwich and my TV show, he took his disgusting underwear out of the sink and carried it down to the laundry downstairs.

It was a nice thought. He clearly meant to try and clean up after his accident. It would have been a helpful gesture, really, if somebody other than Oliver had done it. But since Oliver did it, it was very unhelpful.

When I heard suspicious laughter, I went downstairs. Oliver had Mya trapped int he laundry room with a plastic tote. I heard her dog tags clanging and thought Oliver was enjoying the game of keeping the poor dog stuck in with the scary-sounding furnace.

"Let Mya out, Oliver. It's not nice to make her be stuck in there. She sounds scared."
"No, Mom. Mya dirty. She stay laundry."
"What?"
"Mya dirty. Clean her in laundry."

Then I looked and saw for myself. The poor dog was, in fact, trapped back by the scary furnace, but that was the least of her problems. A brown-smeared pair of Thomas the Tank Engine briefs were stuck on her head. Her fur had more brown spots than usual. She stunk.

"Did you do this, Oliver?"
"Yes."
"Why? It makes Mya sad."
"Is funny, Mom!"

And then I considered it, and it was actually pretty funny. At that point I had to try very hard not to laugh.

"It's not nice to laugh when other people are sad."

But then I laughed anyway. Because, really, what else do you do when the dog has a pair of (literally) shitty underwear stuck on its head?

My laughter made Oliver laugh harder, which made me laugh harder. I sat on the floor laughing so hard my stomach hurt. And then, because I am pregnant and weird, I started crying too.

"Well... let's leave Mya here while you go upstairs and take a nap."

I put Oliver down for his nap and then went back downstairs to consider the poopy dog dilemma. Obviously she needed a bath, but I couldn't lift her up to get her into the tub. I also didn't know how much time I could spend around her without barfing. I also just plain didn't want to give her a bath.

I grabbed some dog treats and lured her out into the garage and shut the door. Out of sight, out of mind. When I came back inside I heard Oliver calling from his room, trying to stall nap time:

"Mom! I need to tell you something."
"No, Oliver. It's time for you to be sleeping."
"No, Mom! I not poop on Mya's head again. Okay Mom?"
"Okay. Go to sleep."

And on the 87th day, he pottied.

2012-01-25T13:13:00.000-06:00

Some people would tell me not to write this down because I'll jinx it, but I'm going to do it anyway.

Oliver is peeing on the potty. A lot. Yesterday he just suddenly seemed to "get" things and today has been great.

This breakthrough, even if temporary, couldn't have come at a better time for me. I was starting to feel like I was living in a crazy house. The amount of bodily fluids I was cleaning up in a day was astounding. The silly conversations I had about it, the strange dances I did for it... Things got weird.

I think he is even learning how to abuse the system. He has peed 7 times on the potty today and it's not even 1:00 yet. I think he has learned that he can pee just a tiny bit and then he gets a sticker, a potty dance, and an M&M.

But at this point, do I really care? No. I would much rather rinse out the potty chair than clean pee up off of the floor. Or the couch. Or my bed. Or his bed. Or the carpet.

So far, we are 15 potty catches in a row and I like to think of that as 15 pee accidents I didn't have to clean up.

I will leave you with Oliver's thoughts on potty training.

"Do you like going pee on the potty?"
"No. I like stickers. And M&Ms."
"Yeah, but you're such a big boy! Isn't that great!?"
"Big boys get M&Ms."
"Well.... ......yeah. But they also get to play with special toys and wear big boy underwear."
"M&M underwear?"
"...Ummm... Maybe. Probably more like Yo Gabba Gabba or Thomas the Tank underwear."
"I like M&Ms better."
"I guess I do too."

Let's set the lights to "blazing."

2012-01-23T17:12:00.000-06:00

Yesterday I realized that sitting in a room while the winter sun goes down is about the most depressing thing a person can do. I was resting from making dinner when I looked out and watched the sky turn greyer and greyer. It me feel like my energy was evaporating off of me, leaving through the pores in my skin and making me weak. That greyness got into my bones and it made me feel like I'd wasted another day. It was hard to get up after I had been sitting in the mostly-dark for 20 minutes. I probably wouldn't have if I hadn't had dinner already half made.

On some level, I must have always known this. Now that I realize it, I have always been quick to turn on the lights in the afternoon. I don't want to sit in the dark. I know that I can't sit in the dark. I have some dumb feeling in me that says that if I can have all of the lights blazing, I'll get more done. I'll feel better. Things will be easier. I don't know why this is.

Today I almost let it happen again. The darkness almost crept in. I started noticing the long shadows in the house and realized I hadn't flicked on the light switches yet. I got up and turned all of the lights on. I closed up all of the blinds to trap my precious light inside, to lock the darkness away.

And I know this sounds crazy but that made my wheels start turning again. I remembered the roast marinating in the fridge and pulled it out. I folded the last of the laundry and put it away. I set to right the things Oliver had bumped and moved during the day. Turning the lights on actually made me feel better. It motivated me to get something done.

Feeling lazy is the biggest thing bothering me right now. I need to find a way to really, truly, get things done. It is so incredibly frustrating not to be able to do anything. If I do too many loads of laundry, I get contractions and I need to sit. If I wake up or stand up too fast, I faint. I really struggle with picking up toys, unpacking boxes, putting away laundry - anything that requires bending over or standing up repeatedly. I feel lame. Like, literally lame. Like I'm the old mare that has to hang out in pasture all day because it doesn't have good feet.

I hate feeling like I can't do anything. I need to find some way of getting things done so I can feel useful again. I need to re-evaluate myself so I can feel like I am accomplishing something even if I can't accomplish what I used to, or if my goals are smaller.

Jared gets up every morning and goes to work. He lifts Oliver for me, he takes out the dog, and he takes out the trash. He brings me snacks in the morning so I can eat before I get up. More than anything, he has something to show for it - every two weeks we get money. We can buy more food. We can pay the bills. We have a place to live, and it's because of him.

And I never used to feel this way. I always felt like an equal partner. I used to feel like taking care of Oliver, putting food on the table and clean laundry in the drawers was enough. But now that I am having a hard time doing even that... Well, it is hard to feel valuable when I just feel fat and tired and lazy. Not just on weekends. Not just in the evenings. Every single day, all day long. I am tired every day, and every night I'm tossing and turning for the pain in my hips and my back.

I feel like being pregnant shouldn't be this hard. I don't feel like I am entitled to this amount of complaining. I didn't feel so worn down when I was pregnant with Oliver. Last time was so much easier. Or maybe it wasn't, but I was so worried the whole time that I had no choice but to force myself into a whirlwind of activities and chores. Maybe the doubts in my mind kept me from dwelling on my shortcomings as a wife and a homemaker.

In my head, I know this is a temporary problem. I know I'll get over it, but the wait is long and slow. Knowing something is irrational and letting those irrational thoughts go are two different things.

Especially if I let myself get caught sitting in the dark. I better stock up on light bulbs.

Potty Training.

2012-01-19T14:06:00.000-06:00

We've been working the potty training horse pretty hard this week. We've had mixed success.

Some days he stays dry all day long, other days he refuses to go and says he hates the potty. Worse still, sometimes he tries hard and still pees all over the floor anyway.

He's been wearing underwear, which he quite likes because they are "so cute, Mom!" That wasn't really the angle I was pushing, but hey. It works for him. He was examining the hole in his little Thomas the Tank Engine briefs this morning.

"Oh look! A hole! Is for screwdriver!"

He shoved his plastic screwdriver into the underwear hole and walked around with the bright red handle sticking out like some obscene erection.

"I don't think that's really what that hole is for. I think it's so you can pee out of that hole when you get so good at peeing that you can pee standing up."
"Is for screwdriver, Mom. I know."
"Well, I guess I don't really know. Because I've never worn boys' underwear."
"Yeah. I know."

How do people even do this? There are only so many enthusiastic ways I can say, "Well, you missed but there is always next time." Especially when what I really want to say is, "Well, you missed so maybe this could be your turn to clean up this lake of urine." or "Well, you missed so maybe you should have sat on the potty 2 minutes ago when I suggested it." I don't think this is how it goes for most people...

But then again, what do I know? I've never worn boys' underwear.

He still fits.

2012-01-17T00:21:00.000-06:00

I was having a bad week. Our (brand new) dishwasher broke and spewed water all over our floors. Again. Calls to the manufacturer for the warranty didn't go through. The repairmen were closed for the weekend. I was behind in laundry and dishes and everything else. I ~~was~~ am way too tired. On top of being tired, I'm having a hard time sleeping. I was just going crazy.

I put Oliver down for his nap and fell back onto my bed. I stared up at the ceiling fan for who knows how long thinking about things that I was upset about that didn't really matter. I knew I was being melodramatic, but (as sometimes happens with people) I didn't want to give up my foul mood. Just as I rolled over and cracked open my novel, Oliver's sudden, frantic screaming broke through the white noise.

That isn't normal. Oliver doesn't usually wake up screaming.

My immediate reaction was anger. Or maybe it was exasperation. I wanted to relax and I didn't want to deal with him anymore. I was done for the afternoon. I didn't want to take care of anybody else, let alone myself.

Reluctantly, I pushed open the door to his room and walked in. I felt guilty as soon as I saw his face. He really was terrified. I scooped him up and his head burrowed into my shoulder as if he were trying to hide. He was still crying, chattering something about being scared between his sobs.

I brought him to my room and laid him down on the bed. I sat down next to him and started rubbing his back, but that didn't calm him enough. He crawled onto my lap. I started to object.

"There isn't enough room for you on my lap. My belly is in the way and you're too big. You don't fit. Why don't you snuggle up right here in my bed?"

He ignored me and kept wiggling onto my lap. He eventually settled with his legs splayed out on both sides of me. His torso curled over my stomach. His head rested on my chest. His arms went around me like he was hugging me tight. It wasn't the most comfortable position for me, but he had quieted and I didn't want to ruin a good thing. Besides that, it was just a tiny bit nice that he wanted me to hold him.

He was so still that I thought he was sleeping until I heard him say without moving, "Sing songs, Mommy."

Jared and I both sing songs to him before bed every night. This wasn't an unusual request, but for some reason my mind blanked and I could only think of a Guster song I used to listen to in high school. Regardless of not knowing all the words, I gave the song a go.

Shining like a work of art
Hanging on a wall of stars
Are you what I think you are?

It was almost a perfect coincidence that this random song that I never think about came into my head that afternoon. The song is low key. The lyrics are nice to sing to a small boy. Oliver listened intently to a new song with new words.

You're my satellite.
You're riding with me tonight.
Passenger side, lighting the sky,
Always the first star that I find.
You're my satellite.

I got as far as I could go in the song, making up lines as I went along and repeating the chorus too many times. I stopped singing.

"More song, Mom."

The laptop was right next to me so I found the song, set it to play, and sang along with it. The music came to an end, and without looking up at me Oliver demanded,

"Again. More song, Mom."

I played the song again, but as soon as the last note rang out he demanded another listen. Again and again the song ended, again and again he demanded more.

I put the song on an endless loop, piecing together bigger strings of lyrics the longer it played. I sang with the song on repeat for 25 minutes. I felt Oliver's breathing slow as the whole weight of his unconscious body slowly melted onto me. He was finally sleeping.

I turned off the song and he didn't stir. Again I looked up at the ceiling fan and thought about my day. But this time I thought maybe things weren't so bad. Even though I was sorry Oliver was scared, it was nice to be needed. It was nice to be useful for once when I've been feeling so useless. It was good to be reminded of my place in life.

I sat holding him in silence for another fifteen minutes while my legs went numb. Oliver's baby brother kicked at him, but Oliver didn't stir. I took the time to pet Oliver's hair while I had him there, a captive audience too sleepy to protest. He never lets me hold him anymore.

After some time I stood up and walked Oliver back to bed. His eyes opened as I laid him down. I expected him to protest going back to bed. I expected him to ask for water, a story, a song, a hug... I expected him to try and wheedle his way out of bedtime like he always does.

Instead he said, "I still fit."

At first I didn't understand. I didn't say anything, so he said it again.

"On your lap. I still fit, Mom."

How stupid I was to think that he wouldn't. Of course he still fits.

I must be doing it wrong.

2012-01-13T15:02:00.000-06:00

We made a slight miscalculation in our budgeting this pay period, so we tried to stock up on enough groceries to last us two weeks last weekend. We didn't want to have to dip into our savings, so we've been eating on the cheap. Everything was going well, except...

I forgot how much this kid eats. We'll have to go shopping again tomorrow.

For lunch I made eggs and toast and turkey sausage. No big deal, but he ate 2 eggs, a piece of toast, three sausage links, and a glass of orange juice. Then he asked for more. I told him to wait for more, and he was grumpy. Half an hour later he stopped playing trains to come back and ask for more food. I said fine, have a banana.

He did.

I didn't think a 2 year old should be able to hold all that. And that's not an isolated case. No matter what it is, he eats a bunch of it. He's not just asking for seconds on bacon and cupcakes, he'll ask for 3rds and 4ths on carrots now. He ate a (small) entire chicken breast earlier this week. He ate 4 pieces of plain lettuce from my salad when I told him that was the only snack he could have before bed time.

So this afternoon I wrote up a new grocery list. Almost all of it is fresh produce or perishable groceries. How do those people on TV shop only once a month? Do they just not have fresh fruit after the first week? Do they skip on fresh veggies? Do they drink powdered milk?

Even harder to imagine, do they have an extra fridge to hold all of that? Two gallons of milk and a gallon of OJ lasted us only 5 days. How could I fit 6 times that (18 gallon jugs) into my fridge? How could you fit that even into a second fridge?

I frequently see magazine articles touting the benefits of making and freezing a whole month's worth of meals in advance. That sounds like a good idea in theory, but HOW CAN A SANE PERSON DO THAT?

You'd still need snacks on hand. You're not going to want to defrost something every time you get a little hungry before dinner. And if you forget to set dinner aside, aren't you screwed? And really, who has that many dishes? Who has the space to freeze that many meals? Do they buy several extra sets of casserole dishes just so they can freeze their 30 dinners and lunches? Who wants to put aside the first of the month to actually make 30 dinners and lunches? I am tired after making 1 day's worth of dinner, much less 30. (Don't even talk to me about freezing bread. It never comes out good unless I plan on eating a bunch of toast or making croutons. And the grainy breads that I like especially don't seem to freeze well.)

I must be doing something wrong, because I can plan for meals and have meats and sauces and side dishes waiting in the freezer but... I need the produce. I need the milk. I need the bread.

I just can't see any way around that. So tell me, you wise shoppers, what am I doing wrong? Is there any way around having Jared stop for milk & produce on the way home?

I may be terrible for admitting this.

2012-01-12T15:14:00.000-06:00

I sit around and occasionally say things to Oliver about the baby. I point out small babies in stores. I sometimes point to my belly and explain, in vague and probably misleading terms, that a baby will eventually fall out of there. I can't really think of anything else to do.

That is, so far, my role in the new baby's life. That and eating obscene amounts of whatever I feel like eating.

I don't think Oliver "gets" what having a baby will be like. I guess I can't expect him to. He is only two years old and all. But he comes up with crazy ideas. And I encourage his crazy ideas because no matter what I say, it's not going to be like what really happens. As if I even know what will really happen when the baby is born. As if anything in the world I could say would prepare him in even the slightest, tiniest way for having to share his life with another person overnight. A person that, in all rights, is pretty boring. And literally poopy.

So Oliver says Crazy with a Capital C things and I just laugh and keep listening. I can't think of what else to do.

Poor parenting? Maybe. Humorous parenting? For sure.

"When the new baby comes, he can't eat big food like you do, Oliver. He'll drink milk. Then he'll eat baby food."
"Okay. We go get baby food. And Mya food. We go to Petsmart."
"You think baby food comes from the pet store?"
"Yes."
"Do you think babies are like pets?"
"Yes."
"Well, you're pretty much right."
"I know."
"How do we treat our pets?"
"Nice. Not hit. Not hammer. That's naughty."

I was actually glad that he remembered this and came up with this on his own. Yesterday we had a couple incidences of time-out when Oliver hit the dog. First, he hit the dog with his hand. I rebuked him. I told him no hitting. He grabbed the hammer instead. I rebuked him again. I told him no hitting. Again.

He looked at me with all seriousness and said, "I not hit! I hammer."

I amended the rules to say no hitting or hammering.

"Yes. Those rules are for the baby too. No hitting or hammering."
"Uh huh. Just pet. Be nice and pet."
"Well, I guess the baby would like that."
"And we give the baby treats."
"Probably the baby would like that too.."
"We take the baby for walks."
"Yeah. We can take the baby for walks."
"Baby poops outside."
"Well, I really hope not."
"Mya poops outside."
"Yeah, but although the baby is like having a dog, it's not really the same. It's just a sort of comparison."
"Comparison? Ok. Comparison."
"...Nevermind. What do you want for lunch?"
"Not dog food."

The ham isn't where you think it is.

2012-01-09T12:27:00.000-06:00

We've all been feeling better so we've slowly begun unpacking, washing laundry, and getting back into our old routine. This means actually feeding Oliver instead of Oliver feeding himself. Last night we were excited because he ate everything that I served - chicken cordon bleu, squash and carrots, and clementines. It is always a victory when he decides to eat something sort of healthy, likes it, and then eats a lot of it. I didn't even have to ask him to try it, he just did. Amazing.

This afternoon I asked Oliver what he wanted, and he told me. Yogurt. Clementines. String cheese. Ham. I decided he could have some of all of that, and asked if he wanted to help me make it. He did.

I told him to get the ham and yogurt and string cheese out of the fridge. He brought back yogurt and string cheese only.

"Did you have a hard time finding the ham? I see you got everything else."
"No, there is no ham."
"Yes there is. We just got it yesterday."
"No. No ham."

I looked in the fridge and sure enough, the ham was gone. I was a bit confused.

"Huh. You're right, Oliver. Where did it go then?"
"The closet."
"The ham is in the closet?"
"Yeah. Ham in the closet."

I walked to the closet and looked inside. Yes, there was ham there.

"Well, you're right. There is ham here."
"Uh huh."
"Did you put it here?"
"No."
"Who did?"
"Uh.... the ham."
"The ham put itself there?"
"Uh huh! Sure."

Never underestimate the sneakiness of a child.

2012-01-08T02:52:00.000-06:00

It is 2AM. For some reason, Jared and I are still up. We hear Oliver calling out pitifully to us from his room.

"Mommmm. I need you, Mom. I love you, Mom. Mommmm. Mommmmm."

He sounds more than pitiful. He sounds like he has just been handed over to an orphanage and hasn't had a square in a weeks' time. This kid sounds like we routinely lock him in a dark room and force him to live in complete isolation.

Jared gives me this look to say, "Aren't you going to go get him? How could you be so heartless!"

I give him this look back to say, "Yeah right. Not happening. You deal with it if you want to. He should be sleeping."

So Jared huffs and gets up to spring Oliver from his bed-time prison. All the while, we hear Oliver's wailing through the door. "Mommmm.. I neeeed you. I NEED you!"

The second Jared opens the door Oliver pipes up cheerfully as ever, "Hi! I need to watch a show. And I want waffles. And pizza."

Rule #1: Never underestimate the sneakiness of that child. If he senses any weakness, you will be destroyed.

Everything is temporary, unless we're dying. Then that's pretty permanent.

2012-01-05T21:43:00.000-06:00

We got home from Florida late last night/morning. We didn't feel particularly great, but Oliver did well on the plane and our flights left on schedule. I considered it a success, despite how tired we all were.

As soon as we got home, Jared went to change Oliver and discovered a horrific diarrhea poop explosion that had spread down his legs and up his stomach. Jared shouted for me to go find more wipes, but I couldn't get the suitcase out of the trunk and/or locate them fast enough. When I returned, Oliver had gotten more poop on his hands and arms and was screaming hysterically.

Knowing a loss when we saw one, we ran the bath and tried to rinse Oliver off as he screamed some more.

The smell was horrific. It left me gagging even through a freshly-laundered beach towel. After we got him clean (enough) we put his jammies on and put him in bed. At 3:30 AM. I went to turn off his light and noticed a brand new package of wipes right underneath his changing table, where they always are.

Jared was mad at me because I took so long finding wipes. I was mad at Jared because he didn't look and find the wipes where the back-ups usually sit. It wasn't a great first night back, but we made up quickly after seeing our stupidity and fell into bed exhausted.

This morning Jared woke up and thew up. He called in to work and went back to bed. I felt way better than he looked, so I went to the grocery store to pick up some soup and crackers for him. I didn't make it far before I ended up joining the pukers' club in the grocery store bathroom stall.

All day long Jared and I laid in bed, occasionally poking each other to make sure we were all still alive. Poor Oliver literally fended for himself today. I threw an odd bag of cereal or some granola bars at him throughout the day, but besides that he was on his own. I don't know how many Pop Tarts he pulled out of the pantry and ate by himself, and I didn't care. He turned on the TV for himself, played trains, took out all of his new Christmas toys and for the most part didn't complain. That is about the only part of the day that went right.

My goal for this New Years was to remember that everything is temporary. And now all I have to say about that is that this better be a very short temporary or else I'll die of acid reflux and dehydration.

Christmas

2011-12-27T13:00:00.000-06:00

Oliver got a ridiculous amount of toys this year. He is pretty happy.

Merry (belated) Christmas, everyone.

The definition of sleeping in has changed slightly.

2011-12-17T09:51:00.001-06:00

This morning, like most mornings, Jared and I set Oliver up with his choice of breakfast and went back to sleep for a little bit. A few minutes later, Oliver came into our room and spied the big box of a Christmas present too large to wrap. He set to work on opening it.

By employing sneaky parent technique #7 (pretending to be asleep) I was able to watch his attempts.

He'd knock the box over and shout, "YIKES!" as he was almost crushed by a box bigger than he is. Each tiny piece of cardboard paper he could rip off was instantly labeled "trash" and he had to go throw it away before he could rip another piece off. I think I got to lie in bed for another half an hour while he peeled the outer layer of paper off the cardboard, muttering to himself. He frequently encouraged himself saying, "Oh, good job!" or "It's working! Yes!"

Finally, I peeked out of my half-open eyes and saw him trying to gnaw open a corner of the box. Like a dog. He spit out little pieces of cardboard. "Yuck. No no no."

Then I laughed, and he knew I was watching him.

"Oh, hi Mom! Open this box! ITS FOR ME!!!!"

Oliver's friends.

2011-12-12T19:45:00.000-06:00

We got a catalog in the mail today from the city. It listed all of the winter activities and classes going on, and I thought it would be a good way for Oliver and I to make friends. I spoke to him about it this evening.

Me: Would you like to take a class? And meet friends?
Oliver: Uh huh. Good idea.
Me: What kind of class? A dancing class?
Oliver: Uh huh.
Me: A music class?
Oliver: Oh, music! Uh huh.
Me: A swimming class?
Oliver: OH! SWIMMING! YES! I LIKE IT!
Me: That sounds like fun, doesn't it? We will meet friends and you can learn how to swim.
Oliver: Oh! My friends! (opening up catalog, pointing to picture of children in pool) These my friends! In the pool! My friends. I like them.
Me: But you don't know those people. Maybe they would be your friends, though.
Oliver: No. They my friends. They come over.

Five minutes later...

Oliver: Mom, open door!
Me: Why? What door?
Oliver: Open door for my friends!
Me: Your friends are coming over?
Oliver: Yes! Play with my toys. Open door!
Me: Oliver, we didn't meet any friends yet. There isn't anybody here. No one is coming over.
Oliver, crying: No, Mom! No! I NO HAVE FRIENDS!

Doing things again. Shoot.

2011-12-12T12:05:00.000-06:00

I took a break from doing stuff and that was nice. The house has been a bit messy and laundry is a little behind but it was nice to do nothing. Yesterday, I ended my streak of doing nothing by doing something - namely a lot of laundry, fixing the garage door, securing a doorknob, etc.

You guys, I have never spent so much time in Home Depot. I didn't "get" that store until now.

I almost forgot about Christmas shopping, so I've had to start that now. I was beginning to make lists in preparation for our Christmas trip, but Oliver is not helpful.

The first list I made was scribbled on. The second list somehow ended up in the dog's water bowl. The third was crumpled and thrown away. I went to grab a suitcase to start packing some things up, and Oliver locked me in the garage. Again. He thought that was quite funny.

It's like he does not even want us to go. All of these weeks he's been asking for cousin Margaret and Uncle Matt and presents, and now, suddenly? Nothing. I can ask him if he wants to go on the plane to Florida and he says, "No. That's okay. No thank you. I stay home. New house."

I really really hope he changes his mind. There is nothing worse than convincing him to change his mind once he's gotten it made up.

For instance:

"Stand by the Christmas tree and smile!"


"Yes, smile just like that but do it by the Christmas tree. Not in a cardboard box."

" ... Nevermind."

Christmastime, revisited.

2011-12-02T15:20:00.000-06:00

I recently wrote about how hard Christmastime usually is for me, and how I wanted to try and change my feelings towards it. Last night, as I was driving home with Oliver looking at the Christmas lights I realized how much of a non-issue this is becoming. The worst part was laying it out in the open and admitting that I was a grinch, admitting that I wanted to change parts of myself to make things better for Oliver.

Admitting that things are wrong with me is very hard for me to do.

But now that I've done it? So far, the hardest part of trying to change has been admitting that I had parts of me to work on. Like so many of my problems, starting the battle is harder than actually fighting it. I'm actually looking forward to Christmas this year. I don't want to smirk at people who are out wearing Santa hats. I've been making detours through neighborhoods so that Oliver can look a the lights. I am going to make this Christmas my best Christmas ever.

To be honest, Oliver is making this so easy for me. He shouts "Look, CHRISTMAS TREE!" for any sort of tree with some semblance of Christmas decorations on it. In the car he asks to turn on the Christmas songs and commands to all passengers, "Everybody, dance!" His first choices on TV are the old claymation Christmas specials with Rudolf and Frosty. This morning when he got up, he asked me if Santa is coming to our house. It made me want to cry, because I forgot how much kids can believe and hope for things without fear of being wrong or silly.

How could I not feel some of his excitement? How could I harbor anything to hinder that joy?

My parents offered to watch Oliver tonight so that Jared and I could get some alone time and go out on a date. But once Oliver left, I turned on the computer and found his half-watched Christmas movie. It made me start to think about him, to think about our drive home last night in the dark with the Christmas music on, and I made a little change of plans.

Tonight we are going to go get one of those silly fake Christmas tree and light it up. We'll have it assembled, skirted, and waiting for him to adorn with ornaments and top with a star. I just know he'll love it. And if he enjoys it and it makes our family happy, it's worth the money spent.

I want him to come home tomorrow, spy the tree waiting for him in the living room, and shout just like he always does, "Look, Christmas tree!"

Resting.

2011-11-29T11:43:00.000-06:00

These next couple of weeks are my time to rest and relax before any more big undertakings. I've got nothing major planned until our Christmas trip to visit Jared's family. I didn't realize it until I finally got a chance to breathe, but I was starting to get worn out. Now that I've been able to sit around and do nothing, I can feel how tired I was. It's probably a good thing I couldn't feel it when I was so busy - if I were tired, there was no way I could have gotten everything done.

To give out some big news to some of you reading this blog, we're expecting another baby boy this coming April. Up until now we've been so busy moving and house buying and unpacking and Thanksgiving-ing that I didn't really reflect much on my pregnancy. It's kind of a luxury, not having to think or worry about it all the time.

Part of the difference between this pregnancy and the last is probably that things are much more stable in my life now. I know we have a safe, permanent place to stay. I know we'll find a way to pay for all of this. I know what having a baby and being around to take care of it is like. I won't be losing my non-baby friends because if they weren't standing by me the first time, they're already long gone.

Instead of all that constant worry, I am just going about my life. It is so much easier.

When I go into the OB's office, they have to laugh at me. They ask how many weeks pregnant I am and I have to scratch my head and think real hard to remember. I still mix up and forget my due date. But to be honest... it's hard for me to remember something that's just always there in the background. I know it really doesn't mean that much, so I just don't care. Last time around I was so fixated on that dumb date that it took forever to come. And then when it came and went for two weeks with nothing... that was torture.

Trust me, forgetting is just so much easier.

Only recently have I been forced to contemplate this new baby. It's getting harder to turn over in bed. My stomach sticks out above the waterline and freezes when I'm in the bath tub. I go to zip up my coat against the wind and remember, "Oh yeah... that stomach's there. Can't zip."

This little break has been nice because I've just been sitting around and eating and reading. I've actually been paying attention tot he baby moving, it's more often and stronger than I previously thought. Last night, I called Jared in and he got to feel our second son kick his hand for the first time.

And, trust me, I'm not one of those int he camp of "pregnancy is wonderful and beautiful" because... it's just not. At least, not to me. The idea of a person growing in me still kind of creeps me out, and anything that involves months of barfing is anything but beautiful.

But maybe last night I could sort of see where those hippie earth mothers were coming from. It was kind of neat to watch Jared see, for that first time, that there really was something in my stomach besides a bunch of tacos and ice cream.

My plan for the next few weeks is to continue doing nothing while I still can. I've done enough for a while.

Holiday Season. Already.

2011-11-18T14:22:00.000-06:00

Every store we've been to lately has had some sort of Christmas display up. And I hate it.. not because I think they're starting too early, not because I am out to complain against the commercialism of Christmas or anything like that... Just because Christmastime is very hard for me. It reminds me of feelings I'd like to be over by now, but just can't seem to let go.

I can't remember any specific presents I got on any specific years. I can't remember anything especially funny happening or any really great meals we had... I only remember how strained it was between everyone in my family. Being the baby, everyone tried to shelter me. I had no idea why everybody had such a hard time getting along because no one would say anything to me. But they didn't have to. I wasn't stupid, I could tell things were wrong, words or no words.

The older I got, the more I was able to see for myself. I got better at eavesdropping on people's conversations, filling in gaps with my own logic. Eventually, certain family members just stopped showing up to family functions. And I still didn't know why. I just figured they didn't care. In a way, I figured they didn't care about me, the only one left at home. I never even learned why until I was getting ready to leave the house myself.

I used to look forward to a break from school, but that was it. Once we were home, I was stuck. My parents were stressed. Constant, forced togetherness made us argue. Christmas shopping and wrapping needed to be done and everyone had to bend over backwards not to upset the precarious balance. Were all of the presents "even" and "fair" between all children? Did I say something wrong that so-and-so isn't speaking to me?

It was a hard place to be for me. Instead of looking forward to opening presents by the fireplace, I was bracing myself for the storm.

But now, things are different. I am on my own. I can host events myself, and I can invite everyone. Show up or not show up, everyone is always welcome to my home and everyone can get along for a few hours if they choose to come. If they choose not to come, I'll see them another time. That's it. That is my rule. Their decades-old issues between each other do not concern me, they do not define the individual relationship I have with either party. Truthfully, I may not even want to spend time with some of my family sometimes, but they are my family and I am capable of setting differences aside for a few days. Shouldn't everyone be able to do that?

And even though I know things are different now, it is hard to forget how it was. It has been hard for me not to instinctively put on my grinch face and just try to get through it all as fast as I can.

Oliver has no memories of Christmas at all. He just knows that he likes the lit displays in department stores. He points out Christmas lights on our drives around town. He talks about Christmas trees and ornaments and Santa and presents. He has no idea that Christmas would be anything but pretty lights, food, and presents. That's all I've told him.

And for him, that's all it should be. A time to be with people you love and enjoy a nice day together. I just have to be careful not to poison it for him. I don't want to say anything negative. I don't want to get all stressed. I just want to show up to wherever the festivities are and watch him open presents and have a good time together.

How is that so hard for me? Even if I do manage to exchange my dark memories for future excitement and hope... how do I explain the family gaps to Oliver? The last thing I want to do is tell him nothing, to leave him in the dark to feel like he did something wrong.

I want to be transparent with him. I want him to know how things are in his world, whether or not the situation lies in his control. I don't want issues to come out of nowhere and blindside him. I want him to see that everyone has problems and he isn't in charge of fixing them all. It is best just to have that honesty and openness for everyone involved. I do believe I can teach that to him and I do believe I can demonstrate that for him. But it is going to be the hardest thing I've ever done. If it means that Oliver will have great memories of Christmas, it will be worth every day of the struggle.