Random Domestic Things That Probably Only I Find Interesting

Not quite sure this is worthy of a blog post. Sorry in advance if this is a waste of your time. But the 'domestic wife of the house' part of me is dying to know...

1.) Dishwasher. We have one. (Thank God.) But, the way I grew up was that you wash the dish with a scrub brush, THEN put it in the dishwasher for its second washing. So naturally, this is how I wash my dishes as an adult.

This past weekend we were at my in-law's house, and they are a put-the-dishes-in-dirty type of family. At first, this appalled me, really. I almost gagged watching those dirty dishes go into the dishwasher. I mean, the dishwasher doesn't actually wash dishes, right? It just... rinses them in detergent? :P But it seems to work for them, so maybe it's not so bad after all... or so I thought.

So fast forward to this week, I bravely (with one eye shut, the other eye skeptically keeping watch) put in some (shudder... gag) dirty dishes in the dishwasher. Fast forward 90 minutes (good lord why does it take so long?) and what do you know.... DIRTY DISHES.  The damn dishwasher DOES NOT WASH DISHES.

To rebut the comments that are surely flying through your head, dear reader... no, this is not some POS old piece of archaic machinery. It was purchased brand new less than 6 months ago. Furthermore, no, I did not let skanky dishes sit with a pile of food on them and then directly place in said dish-not-washer. They were practically clean, we're talking, a few smudges of food tops. And apparently this thing can't haaaandle the truth the food. Big fat whatever.

So my question for you is: are you a dirty-dishes putter-in'er? or a clean-dishes-putter-in'er?

2. My second domestic quandary: WHY IN THE HELL DO MY NEIGHBORS NOT RECYCLE?! Okay, I'll admit, it took me several (I'm talking.... 4) months for me to actually get around to buying a recycling bin when we first bought our house. I hang my head in shame when I think of all of the plastic I threw out with the garbage. But I'll have you know... that I saved every piece of cardboard/paper/cereal boxes for those months, and piled it in my back hall. It may have caused a bicker sesh (or two)... maybe. I admit, the pile was out of control; but once I started saving it to eventually recycle it, I couldn't throw it away.

So I finally got my butt over to the village office (literally, a mile from where I live... it's just hard to park at! was my excuse) and bought a couple of bins. Now we recycle everything, and this week we had a full recycle bin and one garbage bag from the entire house, including shitty diapers.

Like I said, the domestic part of me is wondering why on earth people in my neighborhood don't recycle. We live in an association so we automatically pay for garbage/recycle pick-up (as opposed to my in-laws, who have to procure their own garbage services... never heard of such a thing til I met them!) - so people! All you have to do is segregate it! SOO EASY. WHAT THE H-E-L-L?

My rhetorical question on the subject: if all of your garbage that your family created throughout the week was dumped in a landfill that was in your city/village/township borders, would you change your behaviors when it comes to consuming and/or recycling? 

If I had to drive by a landfill of my own waste, I sure as heck would be thinking about how to NOT keeping adding more stuff to it. Out of sight is NOT out of mind, people! I want to (lightly) throttle them.

3. Lastly, dear friends. I'd like to know what on earth you make your family for dinner. I feel like I have the same 5 things I make over and over. I am so g.d. bored with my cooking repertoire. And my goal is to get my kid back in the swing of healthy eating habits, as I fear my sweet tooth is genetic and probably not the best trait I've passed down to the poor wee one. Also, family members practically hand her a bottle of corn syrup, so there's that, too. Need to get that kid to eat more veggies, like yesterday.

Anyway, those are my domestic thoughts for the night. Time to go re-wash my dishes (by hand, obvy) -- no... I'm not bitter...



 I'm barely capable of posting with pictures, so bear with me. What little kid doesn't absolutely love to swing? Aunt Jenny in the background helping her along. :)

The big blue eyes remain... causing us parental strife as she is able to walk all over us and do whatever she pleases so long as she just looks up at us with her big blues. It's a rough gig, getting ruled by a 1-year-olds eyes.

Loves Chipotle... but really, who doesn't?

Walking w/Dada...

And running back to Mama... (jammies at the park... love it!)

Practicing her volleyball. Sorry kid, I have no pointers. I have not an athletic bone in my body...

TTFN.

Riiide, Sally Ride

To awake from slumber and join the world of the living each morning, I rise to the sounds of whatever is playing on the oldies station at 6:00 AM. I think it's set to the oldies station because it's the only one that comes in clearly on the dial (yes... one of those dial radio alarm clocks, it's not even digital! For shame...) AND, well, who doesn't love the oldies?

Well, it turns out, I don't love the oldies. Not all of them, anyway. On any given day, there's a pretty good chance that whatever song woke me up is what I'll end up singing in my head the rest of the day.

Today's song was Mustang Sally. NOT A FAVORITE. All day, I've been walking around crooning (in my head, mind you) "Riiiiiide, Sally Ride." Which makes me think of Sally Ride the actor, which makes me think of Mrs. Doubtfire, which makes me recite the scene in which Robin Williams prank calls Sally Ride with all of these different voices, trying to scare her off from potential nannies for her kids.

"Do you have a son?  (Yes.) Ohhh. I don't verk vith zee males.... cuz I used to be one."

"(shouting off the phone) Leila, get back in your cage!"

"I... am... job.  I... AM... JOB."

Come to think of it, if that's what waking up to (bad) oldies will do to distract me at work... I guess I'm OK with that.

Anyone else think Pierce Brosnon was a tool in that movie?! That's how I picture him in real life, based on my then-13-year-old impression of him that I got from watching that movie the first time.

More importantly, how much did you LOVE Sally Ride in Brothers & Sisters?

This random post brought to you by the letter: "Holy crap it's only 3:21 PM."

POST EDIT: Dooooooode. It's not Sally Ride... that's the astronaut! What an ejit! It's SALLY FIELD.

I Went for a Yog.

I went jogging last night for the first time in God knows how long. I made it three miles, stopping a few times for 20 second "help keep me from dying" walk breaks.

 

I have been thinking about going for that jog for MONTHS. You really have no idea. "What's the big deal, if you've been thinking about it, why didn't you ever do it?" you might wonder. Well. 

 

So let me back it up. After I had a baby, I decided to start jogging, not to lose weight really, but because I wanted to run a half marathon. Funny I mention it was NOT to lose weight. The weird thing about my pregnancy/postpartum is that I got pregnant when I weighed X, and at my 5-month pregnant checkup I weighed X+2. Yeah, a whopping 2 lbs. Well, the weight was not shy from that point on, and I think by the time I delivered, I was X+20 (or was it 25?). Anyway, the number never mattered to me, I really didn't give a shit. But who am I kidding, I probably can say that ONLY because I didn't gain more than that. If I had gained 50 lbs I probably would have been in the dumps about it.

 

So when I weighed myself 2 weeks postpartum, I was shocked to see that I was back at X weight. "Not too shabby, Self", I said, patting myself on the back and doing a little jig in the bathroom. I was even more shocked to see the scale announce "X-10" at my 9-week postpartum checkup. "WHAAAAT? Okay, clear the way... I have to do a cartwheel now!"

 

Anyway, the breastfeeding was awesome at shedding the pounds, plus I had started jogging to train for that half marathon. Half marathon came and went, I finished, I did great, I felt awesome.

 

And then. I took a "break" from working out, thinking I "deserved" a week or so off of running because of my awesome feat. "Hey, I went through hell and back trying to find time to run 13 miles while I had a 6 month old baby at home... I DESERVE A BREAK."

 

Except, it's not really a break if you never start it back up. And it's not really a break if you're not doing it just because. It's really just quitting what you had started. And to be honest, I've never been one to be a workout person, I'm not truly a runner at heart, I don't wake up and thing "God, I can't WAIT to hit the pavement." I do it for the health benefits, and truthfully because I want to look better in my clothes and feel good about my body. I didn't really need the "feel good about my body" benefits when I was training last year, I think it was more of a head-health thing.

 

But, combine the not working out thing with winter coming and going, then combine it with supreme laziness, also sprinkle in a few personal issues I was dealing with (or not dealing with), oh! and the ice cream.... combine in the ice cream as well. And Voila! I am back to X weight.

 

That's a bummer, you know? I hear about so many women having weight issues postpartum, and I can say with certainty that my weight issue has NOTHING to do with having a baby. Hell, I LOST WEIGHT after I had a baby. It has everything to do with my eating habits and those several sedentary months recently. Blurghphoey.

 

So, I've been reading books, checking out different websites, and trying to figure out why I do what I do, and how I need to change my behaviors to get results that I want. It's easy for me to write on my To Do List "go for a jog" (like, literally, that takes about 3 seconds to write and just about zero effort from my hand), but I've found that it's also really easy for me to NOT GO FOR A JOG. Actually, that's the easiest thing ever to do! There is plenty of TV to watch, plenty of Internet to read, plenty of other non-value-adding activities that actually make my life less full that I found myself doing. And I didn't have to break a sweat, or feel uncomfortable pains while heaving and hoeing up a long hill, totally out of breath. In fact, I felt just fine NOT GOING FOR THAT JOG, and I even had a bowl of ice cream while not doing it!

 

Anyway, over the last month or two, like I said, I've been at least THINKING about my health and becoming more aware of things. But I still hadn't made that leap to actually put on running shoes, and put my money where my mouth is.

 

So this week's To Do List included a lot of loose ends that I have to tie up (like writing Thank You cards for Claire's 1st birthday... which, omg, don't me started on how mortified I am that those still haven't gone out... today she is 16-mo... yeah, you do the math, I am 100% tacky), and I wrote "Run 5 miles" on the list.

 

And then I stared at it as Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday rolled around. Finally, last night, I had a revolutionary thought. A thought that was so profound, I should really get it copyrighted or something. Here it is: "I won't actually get to say I ran 5 miles until... I run 5 miles." Genius, right? I mean, hello Captain Obvious here. At your service. (I do accept tips.)

 

So, I got on the ole shoes (they still fit), and went for a jog. So literally, I have been thinking for months about that jog, I've said it probably a hundred times to myself, and at least a dozen to Nick, and even 3-4 times to my co-workers. My co-workers probably think I'm an idiot, by the way, as one of them is a runner and it's like Groundhog Day every time she and I talk about running. It goes like this:

    Her: "I went for a run this weekend."

    Me: "Yeah, I really, really need to start running again..."

    Her: (politely smiles)

 

Anyway, my lesson learned from last night: when you've taken a 9-month hiatus from running (omg, I just counted the months.... geez, 9 months?!), it's best to start on a nice, flat course. Otherwise, you end up like me: staring up the street at the 1/4 mile hill you have to run up. And you have some mental game with yourself regarding your next allowed walk break, and that walk break is AFTER the hill. So you've GOT to run up the hill, no ifs, ands, or buts. (Butts. He-he.)

 

So your inner dialog goes something like this.

 

"Rule # 1 about running up hills: Do not think about hills.

 

Rule # 2 about running up hills: There are no hills.

 

Rule (hill) # 3 (hill) about (hill) running (hill) up (hill) hills (HILL!) : do (hill) not (hill) say (hill), think (hill)  feel (hill), visualize (hill), or (hill) imagine (hill) the (hill) word (hill) "hill" (HILL!!).

 

Rule # 4 about running up hills: Only think about the ice cream you can eat after this is done."

 

KIDDING ABOUT THAT LAST ONE. Kinda. Sorta. No, I mean really. (Or do I?)

 

Anyway, long-winded post that actually feels more like it should be fodder for a therapist or something, but there you go. I got the first one out of the way. Now I just need to do a quick two miles and I can cross that item off of my list.

A Few Things

This was sitting in my "draft" from September 27, 2010. Yeah, I'm so good at blogging! Well, what the hay. I'm posting it anyway, for my own nostalgia. At one point in my life, I had a baby and was excited about her being able to army crawl. I need to hold on to that lovely thought, as I now have a toddler who likes to torture me by throwing her food on the floor and splashing the dog's water bowl. Oh, and pinching me, she likes to do that, too. -LLC 7/7/11

 

1.) I am "training" for a "half-marathon". I "think" I may break something; either my will to live, the skin on my feet, out (see: sweaty all over) (get it, break-out?), or a combination of the above. Oh, and by "training" I mean: jog once a week, and pray that if I can jog 13 miles over the course of 2 weeks, that I'll eventually be able to jog that long in one stretch of time. I don't really get it either, the math doesn't compute. I need a calculator.

 

2.) My daughter Claire has two teeth, can army crawl, sits up like a champ, sleeps on her belly with her butt in the air, and looooves me. She is the bomb dot com. I kind of understand the Duggar woman now. If dilating to ten wasn't so painful, I could see having twenty? Err, um, where's that calculator. Divide that by seven, maybe.

 

3.) I know it's a blogging no-no to talk about work, so I will tread lightly. Since coming back to work in June, I have had three different jobs, technically. I am really excited about this third one; I haven't quite started it yet in practice (have in pay) but it will be exciting, me thinks. Things are looking up.

 

4.) An aside on number three above. And trying to be in line with not talking about work, I'll try to use a similie or methaphor or some other term I learned in third grade. Being a douchey person at work to people who make less money than you and people who may or may not be as high up as you are (rhymes with schmanagers) is like

well shit, I never did finish the simile... hence why it was sitting in my draft folder for almost 10 months. Alas, it's motivating me to write something new, as I said, for nostalgia's sake.

Lately...

Man, so, that last post was written sometime in August, but sat as a draft in my email files for a long time, until I had the guts to post it. Not that I have a lot of eyes on my site, but I felt too... vulnerable? posting it as I was in the moment. It was easier to hit "publish" after those feelings had subsided. Things are much less hectic around here now.

Look at this attractive couple! Lindsay and NIck, wedding reception style.

One thing that helped is the half marathon is finally over. Nick and I both finished! It was pretty cool. It was an international marathon in that you ran across the Ambassador Bridge which connects the US (via Detroit, MI) to Canada (via Windsor, Ontario), ran along the Detroit River in Canada for a couple of miles, and then ran back into the US in the Windsor-Detroit tunnel. I had completed a half marathon in my early 20s (2006? I was 23... almost 24) and my time then was 2:39. When I finished this one, at 28.5 years old, and only 6 months after having my first baby, my time was 2:33! All that stressing out about getting enough runs in! Look at that!


                   Cute                                                        Cuter                                                   Cutest

Another reason the stress has lifted is because I'm no longer trying to meet some crazy, self-imposed breastfeeding goal. This one was a tricky subject. I really, really enjoyed breastfeeding. I felt close to my baby, I enjoyed providing nutrients for her, helping her grow, yadda yadda, but the stress plus work craziness essentially made me switch to supplementing with formula. Once I started that, I began the subliminal process of weaning. I didn't know that breastfeeding would cease completely at the time... in hindsight, maybe that's a good thing. It happened gradually, and eventually I just stopped breastfeeding. It went from a little bit in the morning, plus a full feeding after work to just the full feeding after work, to nothing. :( Sad face. But you know what? Almost making it to 6 months is great, I can't complain about that, I guess.

                                                          Pre-Race, Detroit Free Press (Half) Marathon, Oct 2010

The funny thing is... she still gets sick. Everyone says breastfeeding makes your kid super healthy. I guess the bugs at her daycare are immune to breastmilk. :P Because those things definitely didn't escape her!

                                                       Zebra (Front) and Murphy (Back), Halloween 2010

What else...

                                                 Claire and Grandpa Don play Nintendo, old-school style (obvs)

I changed jobs at work. (NEVER TALK ABOUT WORK.) That's all I'll say about that, as my Dooce angel just appeared on my shoulder. Well, okay, I'll say one more thing. Changing jobs at work = good. :)

Claire is a wee one, but a colorful one

So now is the "brag about my baby" time. She's almost 9 months old, and is a quick little whipper-snapper! She started crawling around 7 months, standing/pulling herself up unassisted at 8 months, and is starting to scoot around places (scaling the perimeters) by herself at 9 months. Her BFF from school, Sydney, is only 6 weeks older than she is, and is already walking. So if she wants to keep up with her (literally, and I suppose figuratively), she'll probably be walking in the near future.

Diddy White Party up in here! Ignore the awful paint job. Of course you didn't notice it until I just pointed it out, right?

I guess that isn't really bragging rights, as I do realize this means nothing in the way of "is she a good soul?" "will she be a kind person?" "will she treat others with respect?" etc. Those are the true bragging rights a parent can have. This developmental stuff isn't so much bragging rights, as conversation starters to talk with other people, as everyone, yes EVERYONE, loves to wax poetic about their kids days as babies. I could literally talk about my baby for hours with people, but I try to limit myself as I know people are eventually like "OKAY I GOTTA GO NOW, PLEASE STOP TALKING".

She loves him, yeah, yeah, yeah... he is her Paul McCarttney

What else...

Eyes are as big as they appear

Well, so I may feel less stressed than I did a few months ago, but.... I don't know. I feel kind of... boring. And bored. I guess those two go hand-in-hand, don't they? I am bored, mostly because I don't really have any hobbies at the moment, other than talking about babies, and reading about babies on the internet. :P That, in turn, makes me boring. And anytime I find myself in a situation where I have to talk to a stranger (see: this week at the company holiday luncheon where they bussed us to downtown Ann Arbor and I sat next to 'strangers' from work on the bus) I get a little self-conscious about what I'm "bringing to the conversation". Not that I can't talk to people, I just fear that I bore them with my lame-o small talk. Then I eavesdrop on others and get jealous of their chit-chat-repertoire. I guess I just always am able to find a way to pick at aspects of my personality (see: this entire paragraph), and this sort of negative self-talk (or, blog post) is not good for the psyche.

Best $3 I ever spent

I need to love myself more!

                               Ham                                                              Hammier                                                  Hammiest (Oink Oink!)

So...

I love that I completed a half marathon just six months after having a baby.

Wheeeee!  P.S. Like my powder blue minivan in the background?!

I love that I got a new job and that people respect me.

Baby and Mama

I love that it's Christmas time and that I'm like 97.5% sure that Claire remembers me blasting Mariah Carey's "All I Want For Christmas Is You" while she was in-utero reaaaaally really loudly because now every time she hears it (at least 2x/day) she dances and kicks her legs like crazy.

She truly couldn't be a happier baby, and for that I am thankful.

I love my baby.

She loves bathtime. When we remember to give her one! (True story)

I love my husband.

Look at how lucky I am!

I love my dog. My really crazy dog. The one who must insert himself between you and the baby anytime you're playing on the floor with her (omg, need to document this via picture... it's so funny), because HE'S THE BABY, REMEMBER ME MOM? YOUR FIRST BABY? PLAY WITH ME!!

Murphy, Christmas Spirit 2010. Love him!



How To Be Everything

My biggest problem right now is that I'm trying to be everything. I am trying to do all of these things at once: be a good, healthy mom, breastfeed my child, be a good wife, maintain a house, have a dog, be a good employee, have friends (haha - more on this later), be a good family person. Notice I said "good" on most of those things. That's all I'm aiming for at this point. In the past, I would have been aiming for "great" but even writing the word "great" gives me hives at this point.


To say I am stressed would be the understatement of my year.

First off: try to be a good mom. Claire is such a good baby that really, she makes me shine by her own virtue. So, she can't read yet, but hey Claire! Thanks! You make me look good. Between you and me, I know it's really just your easy disposition that makes you a good baby, not necessarily anything I'm doing per se, so thanks. ;) I'll totally let you get a belly button ring when you're 16 or whatever kids are doing in 2026 to pay you back for this.

But sometimes I make tiny fails, and even though it's really not a big deal, I still feel guilty about it. Like, she rarely cries, but when she does, I am not overly eager to pick her up for fear of coddlng her. Then, when I finally do pick her up, I realize she's been crying because she's sitting in a pile of her own shit and her butt is red. Yeah, I'd cry too. Sorry about that, Claire!

I'll segue into my next point: I'm trying to breastfeed exclusively. By that, I mean, she only drinks breastmilk. Sometimes from a bottle, sometimes from me directly. But since I'm a working mom, this means pumping at work. Fine, okay. Not a big deal. But - there's always a but - I'm between jobs right now (within the same company/building) so training has been kicked in high gear (omg never talk about work, I'm getting Dooce hives already) and I can barely afford the time to pump once, let alone twice, and I try to make up for it at night or early in the morning before the birds wake. I'm barely getting by. I was just away from Claire for the first time last weekend and used up all of my freezer stash so I am literally hand to boob at this point. We're supposed to go away for Labor Day weekend (sans baby) so I don't know, I may have to just cut my breastfeeding ties. I don't know why, but I had made a mini-goal to myself that I would try my darnedest to breastfeed exclusively for six months. She turns six months right after Labor Day, so if I were following this goal to a T, I'd have to have enough freezer stash to last me through Labor Day weekend. I just don't know if I can cut it. I can barely give her daycare enough milk to last for the next day, let alone pump extra milk to cover for a weekend away. The stress of everything I'm writing about is probably making me produce less, plus with me pumping less at work (due to no time) I'm also probably producing less. Being that I work in Supply Chain Management, I should understand how this whole Supply/Demand thing works, you would think. I'm so close to making this goal, I feel like I should just do everything I can to try and make it to the end. Then the flip side of me says... this is not important. After all is said and done, does it really matter if I went 5.5 months vs. 6 months? No, not at all. But I always make these goals for myself, and I never follow through. NEVER. Such as, "I'm gonna floss once a day for a week." Fail after 2 days. "I'm going to clean my bathroom once a month." (Yes, I realize this is gross, but this would be a vast improvement over the cleaning schedule (or lack thereof) of the last eight months!) FAIL BIG TIME. Ugh, I'm totally rambling. But, I NEVER do anything I say I'm going to do, and this one thing, this thing that is supposed to be so good for your baby, I wanted to do this, for her, and for myself, to prove that I can follow through if I try hard enough. I think I'm going to fail at it anyway, the goal I mean. I know going 5 months is great, not a lot of people even do that.

I also mentioned that I'm trying to be healthy. I am trying to work out, jog, get in shape, train for a half marathon. Between working, trying (and failing half of the time) to cook dinner for me and Nick, feed Claire, put her to bed, keep a house clean, and get sleep so I am sane for work the next morning, I am barely able to get out for a jog during the week. Now I am finding the only time I can make it out for a jog is on the weekend, which is supposed to be when you do your long jogs. But not doing the shorter jogs during the week is only going to cause me injury, and I'm not actually being healthy, I'm just limping along, trying to reach another goal (finishing a half marathon in October). I wish I could manufacture more hours in the day, but duh, wouldn't everyone want that? Geez, I'm not even original in my gripes.

IF I were to have an extra hour, I better spend it on cleaning the house. HOO BOY. Let's just say... if Nick and I are bitches to each other, there's a 95% chance it's due to a spat about keeping the house clean. Or mainly, my lack thereof, and his picking up my piece of the slack. Or, perhaps, (not saying it's 100% this) it's his PERCEPTION of such a thing. Who knows. All I know is, we better get a maid, and fast. My lack of keeping the kitchen floors clean can ruin my weekend, quite frankly. That's all I will say about that. :\

Let's see, what else am I failing at. OH - friends. Haha. Those. I only have a small handful of close girlfriends, and I don't even know if we're close anymore, honestly. None of them are even close enough that we can meet for dinner on a whim. One is way far away, out of state, and she is so busy with a new, great career, and I am so fake-busy doing/not-doing all of the above mentioned things, that we barely even connect. I keep in touch with some people via email, which is nice, but there is NOTHING that can take place of face-to-face hanging out with friends. I guess what I need is mom friends, local mom-friends. But how do you start from scratch? Especially when you're a working mom. It's not like I can go to playgroups during the day, or those coffeeshop jungle gym cafes, whatever. WHATEVER. I don't even have anything to offer a friend at this point in time, I can't even feed myself breakfast or lunch (I just finished my first "meal" of the day which consisted of a pack of salted peanuts from the vending machine), or get a load of laundry done, or shave my legs. How am I supposed to have friends?! Really!

Then on top of this, I am a wife. Really, this should be #1. But I've put it down further on the list, and I think things suffer because of it. I don't even know what else to say about it. How do you make time for your spouse when you don't even remember to put on deodarant in the morning, or remember to send out that REALLY important email at work that is like the hot-hot-hot thing at work that everyone is relying on?

What else could be piling up at really inopportune times?

• my car lease is up in one month, meaning we have to shop for a new car
• I would rather go to the DENTIST than car shop
• I mean, really, who can say that? doesn't the whole world hate the dentist?
• my clothes make me feel uber frumpy, so not only do I feel stressed out to the max, but I feel like I look awful in my ill-fitting, poor quality, old and frumpy clothes
• my sister is about to move in with us, which is GREAT! but I have to clear out the room that she will be in, because it's full of my stuff
• this is only a minor inconvenience, though - I'm super excited she's moving in for a bit (internship!)
• I really wish I could talk more about work, as that is about 40% of my stress, but we all read Dooce, and thus we all speak not of where we earn our keep. But damn, forty percent. That's a big chunk of stress.
• I am the gatekeeper of our finances, and I usually "run the numbers" every 1-2 days. Which is really just me balancing our checkbook and looking ahead to see where the numbers fall. I am backlogged on doing this, because that takes TIME, remember, that elusive thing which I wish I could just slow down, or replicate? The fact that I'm behind on running my numbers makes me feel uneasy.
• Oh, another gripe on the breastfeeding front? I think I'm getting a clogged milk duct. You're welcome... I know you REALLY wanted to know this information.

So, yeah, the title of this post was "How To Be Everything" but really should be re-titled "How Not To Be Anything" because that's more of what it feels like. Stress stress stress. And look at the time. I have to drop everything at work to go pick up my daughter. While this does stress me out (leaving loose ends at work), it truly is the one highlight of my day... walking into that room, making eye contact with my daughter, and seeing her squeal with excitement of seeing her Mama... it helps to make some of this above nonsense turn to garbage.

Too Long For Twitter - Blurb 1

You know you read too many blogs when...

... you dream about reading a blog post in which a popular blogger reveals that she's just made piping hot, hot-out-of-the-oven snickerdoodle cookies. You somehow find out where she lives, and pass by her house, where she just happens to be closing the front door as you walk by. She sees you when the door is halfway shut, but keeps shutting it anyway. You knock, kind of embarassed. She answers it out of politeness, but looks like she's bothered.

"May I have a cookie?"

"Um... I'm sorry, but no. I made them for a party I'm going to."

I can see into her house and see her family laying on the bed. The bed is in the family room - Charlie and the Chocolate Factory style.

I'm really bummed about the cookie, and turn away.

Fourth of July Weekend - In Haikus

Part I:


Mold in the basement
Doesn't hold a candle to
Soft baby kisses

Part II:

Remembered sunscreen
But mostly camped out inside
I like the AC

Part III:

We are reactive
Learning to be proactive
There goes some savings

In a nutshell: super hot in Michigan (and everywhere else, it seems?) so we spent most of the weekend inside, avoiding dehydration and heat-stroke. Claire is pretty sensitive to the heat, it seems. I guess it makes sense that a delicate little flower of a baby (aren't they all?) should stay cool, and not marinade in the heat. Lucky me :) I'm all for making myself more outdoorsy, but to be outside just for the sake of being outside, when it's so hot? And I need to stay hydrated so I can keep Claire hydrated (breastfeeding). It worked well for me.

Only problem is, we found mold in our basement today. I wonder if the snot nose, cough, and general congestion that we blamed on daycare is actually attributed to the mold? Either way, we fixed it up this afternoon, and I realized just how lazy it is when it comes to my house. Man, I felt like a HERO because I was willing to walk around the perimeter of the basement, sucking up dead roly-polys with the ShopVac. There must have been 300 of them. Truth be told, I HAD to do it, because Nick wouldn't. They "skeeve" him out. OK, whatever, you get a bye on this.

I ponied up and kind of became a poser mom by buying a Sophie the Giraffe for Claire. She is teething like a mother, at least that's what the whole world has been telling us. I felt kind of stupid afterward, spending $25 on a teether toy, but thankfully she loves her! We also bought a couple of generic ones from our big-box grocery/everything store, which she actually hates so much that she cries when I put them in front of her. OK, that only happened once, but I'm trying to justify $25 spent on a teether toy, okay?

Speaking of expensive shit for babies... we bought this toy at a boutique-slash-natural-baby-stuff-store in our town. (Well, Ann Arbor.) There are tons of people in Ann Arbor who are willing to spend an arm and a leg for their kids. Point in case. I was perusing their clothing section, and found a cute top for a 12 month old girl. Simple summer top, cotton fabric with maybe some sheen to it? FORTY-FOUR DOLLARS. Yeah right. I don't even spend that on a shirt for myself, let alone a baby who will spit up on it and staint it forever after wearing it for ten minutes. These people have to be out of their ever-loving mind.

Now, I don't say this out loud, because in actuality, I like the store. I wish we cloth diapered. (Cloth diapering is their main schtick at this store.) I like all of their natural product - everything orgainc. I wish we could afford the really nice stroller, and the adorable toys (wooden! not plastic!) and so on, so forth.

Nick hates this place with a passion. He thinks it's pretentious. It really isn't. It's just... overpriced. Okay, maybe slightly pretentious, but so what? Everyone thinks their baby deserves nice things. I just would rather, I don't know, pay off my student loan debt that pay for a $400 stroller. I agree it's a racket, and I really just like to invite him to go there with me to get a rise out of him. :)

Other than that, and spending some time with family, it was a lovely, lovely three-day weekend.

Why Having a Kid Makes You Want to be a Better Person

We were out to dinner last night, and I had one of those not-so-good moments that turned into a oh-so-good moment. Such is the whirlwind of new parenthood.

 

The not-so-good moment was this: I had gotten home from work and started feeding Claire. I am still breastfeeding, so this is exclusively my job, 100%. (AKA, Nick gets a free pass on this duty - making sure she is fed.) She was being a Fussy Hussy while eating, which I partly attribute to the fact that I had a normal-people bra on as opposed to a nursing mom bra (which btw is way sexier than a normal-people bra. did you hear that today is opposite day?) and partially attribute to the stuffy and hot house. Since she didn't have easy-access, and was hot, and was bothered (hehe), she didn't get a full feeding. I stood up to compose myself, pawned Claire off on Nick, and, well, promptly forgot that she didn't get a full feeding. WHOOPSIE.

 

An hour or so later, after an impromptu "screw-dinner-let's-go-out" decision, when we were already at the pub for dinner when she started fussing, I remembered that she hadn't properly eaten, and of course I didn't have anything for back-up. That was my "shitty mom" moment. No diaper bag, no toys, no back-up bottle, nothing. Naturally, she was hungry and started crying. We are trying really hard not to be "those people" who let their baby cry in a restaurant. (Full disclosure: we have definitely let her cry in restaurants previously. In fact, last night was the first time that we consciously said "oh, let's pick her up, she's crying" because people - it's not that parents are doing it to be jerks - it's just that we let them cry at home and forget that we're out in public when the baby is crying during dinner (parenthetical inside parenthetical: I'm talking 'fussy cry', not 'the-world-is-ending cry' or 'I-just-got-a-shot cry')).

 

So she's fussing, Nick says to me, "You only fed her partially right? You gotta go feed her!" and I really didn't have a choice. Once the child starts fussing because she's hungry, the child does not stop fussing until she is no longer hungry. Simple math, people. Conundrum. We had walked to the pub, so no car to zip off to. I don't whip it out in public, so no at-the-table feeding as an option. (Plus, regular bra. Other Moms reading this will SURELY UNDERSTAND.)

 

So what did I do?

 

Yes, you guessed it. The Bathroom.

 

Yes, I know this is horrifically gross. Yes, I do realize that I WOULD NOT EVER EAT MY DINNER IN THE BATHROOM, why should I make my daughter?

 

And the biggest dilemma of all? Pants on, or pants off? Well, actually, after writing it down on this here blog, I see that the answer was clear (Pants On - duh) but the idea of sitting on a toilet seat with my pants on seemed really weird at the time. In hindsight, sitting on a toilet, pants off, while nursing my baby is even weirder. Not any toilet, a restaurant toilet. Holy shit, I feel like a shit mom even remembering the incident, not even a day later.

 

Anyway - quick feeding sesh and she was a happy baby.

 

I came back to the table and Nick happily took her on his lap while I caught up on my meal. They were directly across from me, and she was so cute with her hands on the table, looking right at me. I started telling Nick a really funny story that had both of us cracking up. It was one of those nights where we're in our own little world and the little random stories that make us both laugh really hard (funny to no one else) make me SO HAPPY. But the thing that happened next made me even more happy.

 

Claire was watching me howl with laughter - I was almost crying, it was so funny - and she started laughing too.  Her first ever laugh.  OMG. I know it's so boring to hear about parents talk about their kids, so I am thinking that other parents are probably the only ones who are able to read this without barfing, but to hear your first-born have her first laugh?  Best moment in my life, I swear. I've told the story to two people at work, emailed it as well, and now writing a blog about it, and I'm still beaming. We just got the first giggle about a week or two ago, and she's only done it a handful of times.  A giggle is cute, but only lasts like half a second.  This was a good 3-4 second laugh.  Best thing ever.

 

So that's how our dinner went from "oops, not the best parent" to "OMG I love this", and also shed some light as to why people always say they want to be better people because of their kids. Claire laughed because I was laughing. She was looking right at me when she did it, and it was a direct response to my guffaw-guffaws. Kids are such sponges, and they absorb up their surroundings and do what they see. That age-old cliche "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree" comes to mind, and is so true. Granted, that saying is typically used as a blanket statement, but it was true in that simple, solitary moment as well.

 

But in all honesty, here's the thing. And this is just an example. I can be negative about my body, let's say. Put on a shirt, and bemoan that it makes me look prego. (See: this morning.) My daughter was right there, laying on the bed with my husband, and he said "Honey, you have to stop saying bad things about yourself. It happens everytime you put something on." And he was so right. With all of that complaining about my looks and being self-conscious, especially verbally (not just inside my own head), I am putting that out there for my spongy daughter to absorb. And obviously, I don't want her to grow up with those thoughts of her own.

 

It reminds me of a (Nick, don't cringe) Oprah show that I watched while on maternity leave. I think it was called "Why I Will Never Diet Again" and this one woman in the audience basically said (through tears, obvs.): "My daughter is only 7 and she complains to me that her thighs are so fat and that she feels so ugly, and it hurts me so because I know exactly how she feels because MY thighs are so fat and I feel so ugly and I don't want her to feel that way." So the author (whose book they were discussing) asked this woman if she ever complained out loud or talked about her thighs, etc. and the woman answered "yes" and it was like DUH. Apple, meet tree. The branches were very, very low.

 

I know that isn't rocket science, but I had a newborn baby in my arms, a perfect soul in every way possible. She had no preconceived notions about what society "expects" out of her, what beautiful is, what ugly is (and I'm not even talking in a physical way only).  And now that she is slowly associating us - her parents and the people she is familiar with - with things like happiness (the laugh! the giggles!) I can only hope that anything/everything she gets from me is the best that I can give her.

 

No - not every day will be a day of laughing, I am 100% a realist. There will be days she is a brat, days I am a brat, days the dog is a brat. But in general, overall, I have to be a better person so that SHE can be the best person possible. Essentially, I want to be a grand oak tree, so she can be a bountiful, juicy apple.

 

And oh, how I do love apples.