General Upkeep

I've realized that I have friends in various stages of maternity and children so this posting is a random selection of thoughts, much like the Jack Handy random thoughts of Saturday Night Live Past. So, the two darkest times of pregnancy and post childbirth were when I was pregnant but had not popped yet and so no one in the general public could tell I was pregnant, I just looked large. And it would be rude if someone asked me if I were pregnant and I wasn't. So if you are in this stage currently, you should make a T-shirt that says "Yes, I'm pregnant." Wear it everyday. It will make you feel better. Trust me. The other dark period was after I gave birth and I somehow weighed the same as when I drove to the hospital. It's not logical and I did not fit into all the clothes in my closet for awhile. I would stare at my clothes every day, praying that they would still be somewhat in style when I finally fit into them again.

Now, I fit back into some of them, but as a Mom, I feel the need to not wear the slutty shit I used to wear. I didn't even consider this stuff slutty before! So maybe I should call them "not-so-conservative" clothes. Or basically, shirts that are too tight. Don't get me wrong, I want to be that "Hot Put-together Mom", who is accessorized and has her hair done. Really, I do. But I guess I must admit, that doesn't happen everyday.

Moving on to childbirth, if you can avoid a C-section, avoid it. Everyone who has had a C-section tells me that the scar is no big deal and it gets better over time, blah blah blah. They all say "Put some scar cream on it." Let me just say that Peewee is 8 months old today and I hate this f---ing scar. I don't know what else to say except it is f---ing gross and I hate it. And it itches.

Now for parenting random thoughts. I recently googled "How to potty train" and have decided that I'm not ready for that yet. I also googled "what do I feed my 8 month old" because it was only 17 months ago that I was feeding my previous 8 month old and that was SO long ago I have forgotten how babies work. I ignore Bubu's tantrums and try not to laugh at them when Peewee laughs at him. And it really is funny so it's seriously a challenge not to laugh. I have signed up Daddy and Bubu for spring soccer with a bunch of 2 year old kids, which I'm really excited about. Am I over-compensating for the fact that I wanted my parents put me in soccer or some other sport at a young age and they didn't? Maybe not. I know Bubu is little but I don't care, I just want him to go outside and run around.

I could go on with random thoughts forever but I'll just close with this. I loved Whitney Houston and she was such an amazingly gifted singer. Hearing her sing, to this day, will bring me to tears, and I love that about a beautiful voice and she definitely had a beautiful voice. Rest in Peace, Whitney. I admire your brilliant career.

Fight the Jealous

It was icky and rainy outside Monday morning and I was on my way to work. At Starbucks, I stood and line and composed myself after running through the rain into the store like Kramer on Seinfeld. There were a few people in front of me so I had a moment to observe my environment and I noticed a woman next to the creamer station. She was reading a book, and for a split second, I was jealous. Jealous of her ability to sit there and read with her cup of coffee for some undetermined period of time. I love to read, but I don't seem to read books very often anymore. I read babycenter.com emails on my phone instead. I'd read at night before bed, but I have my 7 month old in a bassinet next to me in our bedroom so I can't turn on a freaking light. And yes, I know she should be in a crib but I haven't gotten that far yet. Anyways, I had to get to work so I hustled out of the store, but then I thought, that lady was old. I mean old like my mom, old. When I'm that old, I'll be able to read then too. So, I accepted that consolation prize and moved on.

Then I got home, and I was so excited to see Bubu and Peewee. We all sat together on the floor to play and almost immediately after I picked up Peewee to give her a hug hello, Bubu started insisting that I put her in her down and pick him up. And this wasn't the first occurrence of jealousy displayed. We've been running into it more and more lately. I looked away for a moment and when I looked back, Bubu was sitting behind Peewee slapping her on the back. No clue why, he just felt like beating her I guess. So, I explained that we don't beat the baby. I mean, really, I said, "No, no. We do NOT beat the baby. Okay?"

It's very interesting to see such a little kid experience this totally icky emotion that I wish I never felt as an adult. But we do, right? And so do our little kids. It's an awful emotion that we learn how to fight as we get older. My question is how do we teach them how to fight the jealous?

The Binky Battles

Every year, my husband has a get-together trip with his high school buddies. It was this past weekend, and since I've gone back to work and have that weird absent mom guilt, I got all psyched up to have a fun-filled weekend with just me and the kiddies. I made all these plans in my head, like going to the park, taking them for a ride in their new red wagon, maybe even Target or grocery shopping, whoo hoo! So, here's what really happened.

Friday night was good. I maneuvered bath time and bedtime with the two munchkins and it actually went pretty smooth, if I do say so myself. I got both kids to sleep, poured a glass of wine, and relaxed for a moment thinking "this isn't so bad" and "I can handle this!" This was going to be an opportunity for me. All these months I've felt uneasy because I felt like the kids were learning how to behave based on someone else's example in place of mine. But now, I get to be the one and only example and disciplinarian for the whole weekend.

Saturday morning I decided that we'd run some errands first and then after nap time when it warmed up, we'd go to the park and play. It reminded me of my stay-at-home mom days where I planned some random errand almost every day just to get us out of the house and more importantly, to kill time. It wasn't as easy as last night but we got ready and piled into the car and we were off to Target to shop. Overall, not a bad trip, but eye-opening. Peewee slept through most of it and Bubu ate three cheese sticks out of the package that I had bought at the store. It kinda grossed me out and normally, I wouldn't have given in to the repeat requests for cheese sticks but  honestly I wanted to avoid a public meltdown so I didn't fight it.

We made it home and I started making lunch for us. Bubu, thanks to the cheese stick meal at Target, refused to eat lunch but did still ask for a candy cane. Ugh, what was going on here?? Once again I was totally grossed out that all he had eaten so far was fat and now he was asking for sugar. Seriously, I was disgusted.

After nap time, I thought it would be so nice to go outside and play. I attempted to get Bubu into his jacket and shoes, and it was so weird, he totally fought me on it and didn't want to go. All he wanted was his pacifier. I went from Mommy Jekyll to Mrs. Hyde in less than 3 seconds and yelled "Fine, don't put your shoes on! We'll just sit here at home then and do nothing!" Bubu was totally okay with that. It made me wonder, if he's happy, then why am I pushing this?  And the "paci" is just for naptime or bedtime so I had to had to let him lay on the floor and scream for awhile.

Saturday night, I had this great idea that I could give both kids a bath together now that Peewee could sit up by herself pretty good. I got the kids in the tub, and everyone was happy and playing with their bath toys. I got up and started cleaning up the bathroom like I always do when Bubu is in the tub. I picked up all their dirty clothes and turned around to dump them in the hamper when I hear Bubu yell, "baby fell down!" I spin around around and Peewee is totally submerged. I grabbed her up and out of the water and she was startled but breathing and fine. Let me just admit, that I was not fine, I almost started crying actually. I held Peewee tight in my arms for what seemed like forever on the floor in the bathroom. Needless to say, I've learned that 7 month old babies require more supervision than 2 year old kids in the tub.

The next day, I decided that morning was the best time for an outing and since it was chilly outside I took the kids to Chuckee Cheese. Sometimes I wonder, what the hell am I thinking? Well, I guess it wasn't too much of a nightmare, and Bubu had a blast as I followed him around pushing Peewee in her stroller through the tight spaces in between all the games and people. Oh and I only lost him twice, which I think is a victory. He actually won a bunch of tickets and so I let him pick out a prize in the glass case. He of course picks some incredibly large piece of candy and I hand the girl the tickets to count, and she says to me, "You have to go feed your tickets into that machine over there and get a receipt to get prizes." Huh? really? I have a 2 year old here pointing at this piece of candy like it's the most important thing in the whole world and you want me to go feed probably 100 tickets into a machine? So I take a deep breath and drag Bubu and the stroller over to the machine, where there's a line. I go to another machine, and it's out of order. Finally, I just ask a different cashier if I can just buy the candy instead of redeeming these stupid tickets. Yes, thank God, so I buy the $0.86 lollipop. Mind you, I've calculated that I spent over $100 of my time to get that lollipop. I get out to the parking lot, get the kids in the car and it's pretty windy so as I put the stroller away, I have freakin' tickets flying everywhere. I hate the Chuckee Cheese tickets.

I got my quality time with the kids, lots of laughs, a few tears, and I was happy when my husband walked in the door. Unfortunately, Bubu is only on Team Mom again and won't even let Daddy read him his bedtime stories. Maybe I should plan my girls weekend so Team Dad can win back his players.

The Train Wreck

Every year for Christmas we drive up to Lake Tahoe, CA where my en-laws have a vacation home with five bedrooms, fully equipped with cribs, pac-n-plays, bouncy chairs, bunk beds, etc. so all of us kids and our families can get together. It's a beautiful house and I'm pretty sure we all feel lucky to have this tradition.

A few years ago, all of us brothers and sisters would go out to dinner, have a few drinks, maybe even gamble at the NV state line for a bit, it was fun. Now, we all have kids. There's actually six kids age 3 and under right now. This year for Christmas, it was like we were running a daycare. The first morning we were there, we had plans to go to a 'Breakfast with Santa' event. Sounds exciting! Right? We packed up the kids, diaper bags, cameras, and headed out. We had a nice breakfast, changed a big poopy diaper, and listened to some carolers sing as we waited for Santa to show up.

Santa must have been running late because it was 30 minutes later that we all got in line which was an eternity in toddler time. The fireplace was blazing with absolutely NO safety gate and it was about 105 degrees in the room, but Santa was handing out gifts so we waited in line to see him. Why do we do this crap? Is it for the photo to email to my parents? I mean, the 3 year old was fine, she gets it. But my kids, almost 2 years old and 6 months old, were just tired, and perhaps miserable. I, personally, was sweating profusely waiting for these other kids to hurry up and get their gifts and photos taken so I could throw my kids up there and get out as quickly as possible. Bubu refused to sit on Santa's lap so I had to sit next to Santa with him, Peewee was miraculously fine with the bearded stranger, and we made it with a couple decent pictures.

Christmas morning was fun yet oddly stressful. The kids opened presents and we tried to keep track of who got what so we could hopefully safely get the presents home somewhat intact. Some of the toys were definitely the "winners" and so every child wanted to play with those and I'll just say, we are all still learning what the word "share" means. Maybe it was the fact that my watch battery died so I had no clue what time it was for days that made it tough for me. I actually forgot to give Bubu lunch one day because I just didn't know what time it was. Maybe it was tough because after a full day of chocolate, candy canes, and goldfish, Bubu had a tummy ache all the next day and I had to hold him for 5 hours straight. Did I mention he's got to be over 30 lbs now? He is. And for some odd reason, Peewee did not want to be held by anyone except mommy or daddy. So basically, I showered once in 3 days.

Regardless of all the constant commotion, we had a good time and the kids all had a pleasant experience that they may not remember. And we will all do it again next year. So yes, it was a train wreck, but with no casualties.

The Working Mom Analysis

A few months ago, I had a massive meltdown and it felt like just in the nick of time, I happened to find a job. Remember that? I do. Pretty vividly actually. And I'm pretty sure my husband and mother-in-law do too. So anyways, just to give you an update, I got called about another opportunity that seemed better all around and I recently accepted the new offer and switched jobs Dec. 1st. Over the past 4 or 5 months I've realized what it's really like to be a working mom. And it's taken awhile, but I finally feel like I can discuss it.

There are some mornings when Bubu cries hysterically because I'm leaving for work. It is truly heartbreaking and it makes me question leaving him. But then I leave and ask the nanny if he was okay after I left and she always says that as soon as I leave, he's totally fine. I wonder if I'll ever get over it, or when will he get over it, and when will Peewee start doing it? Eek. I have years of separation anxiety in front of me, so I guess that's a con.

But then I drive to work, I get my Starbucks and I don't have a double stroller with me. Did you know that it's a much quicker stop without the double stroller?? It is. I listen to the news instead of cartoons on the DVD player, and every other day I call my mom without interruption to let her know that Bubu and Peewee are fine. And I have to admit it, I like to work. I like accomplishing my work stuff. And I like contributing to our household income.

Then I come home. I cherish my time with the kids when I get home, and I'm so excited to see them. I try to cram in all the playtime I can, they help me fix dinner, we get ready for bedtime, and 9 times out of 10, it's a good time. Okay 8 times out of 10 it's a good time. And by 7:30pm I'm ready for them to go to bed.

I wonder, do they miss me all day? Are they somehow negatively impacted because I'm not the one caring for them 5 days a week? The nanny seems to be great so far, but I know it's not as good as I would do with my own kids, right? She cleans up the house every day though, which is awesome. But I wonder, will Peewee turn out okay? Will my kids appreciate the fact that we are working to provide for them?

In addition to my job, I also have the task of cooking, shopping, paying all the bills, oh and don't forget the all important, Target trips on my lunch break. Would it be easier if I just stayed home with the kids? Or would I start going nuts like before? I do miss the 10am playdates with my moms group so Bubu could play with other kids. I hope he doesn't turn into some anti-social loner uni-bomber kid. I guess I better find a preschool for him.

So there you have it. The pros and cons, the good and bad. Of course, we've all heard this one, that one way is not better than the other. Each of us choose what's right for us individually, right? I guess the true analysis will be many, many years from now when I ask Bubu and Peewee if they resent me for working when they were young. Maybe they'll understand, we will see...

The Christmas Card Revelations

Let me just preface by saying, I love Christmas. Aside from all the Toys R Us commercials, there's something magical about it and people are nice and I love it. I love Santa, I love the lights on people's houses, I love our fake tree.

So, it seems for weeks now, I have been working on a one person assembly line every night to complete our Christmas cards. How did the list get so freakin' long? Anyways, needless to say, I've had some time to ponder the meaning of life, dinners for the month, and scrubbing the card list for next year. So most important first, who will I cut off our list? Right now we have over 100. Seriously, let me say that again. Over 100. Which basically means I'm spending our Christmas present money on cards so me and my husband don't get jack. Do we dump our parents' friends? Do we dump the ones that don't send us a card? Do all family members make the list by default? As I mindlessly stuffed envelopes, I thought about who really appreciates getting a card from us. Hmmm, so maybe next year, we'll shoot for the 50 people who I can envision oohing and ahhhing about how the kids have grown and who stick us on their fridge for a year.

Next topic at hand, dinners every night. I know, I know it sounds dumb, but it really requires some planning and effort to keep the family fed for a week. Maybe it's a good thing that I had so many cards to get out, at least my mental grocery list is made. So once again, with too much time to over-analyze everything while addressing envelopes, I start thinking about why my assembly line consists of one person? There's actually another capable worker watching TV about 4 feet behind me. Hmmm, should I invite my husband to join in the card process? Or will that just mean I have to micro-manage another employee? Yikes. Therefore, no invitation extended this year.

As for the meaning of life, still the same as always, my two little miracles Bubu and Peewee. Merry Christmas everyone.

Admitting It

A few years ago, back when I was on my own, I decided that it would be a good idea to learn how to take care of someone other than just myself. I started looking for a dog. My husband, boyfriend at the time, knowing about my search, surprised me with a cute little puppy. Looking back, I should have gotten a plant.

So, we named our new addition Chewy. Between the two of us and our busy careers, we took care of Chewy. I lived a few feet from the ocean but since Chewy barked at other dogs like he was crazy and had rabies, I walked him every morning in the dumpy alley instead of the beautiful Manhattan Beach strand, gazing at the back door trash cans and garage doors in place of the ocean . Oh well. Then I got married and we had to move. It was traumatizing for everyone involved, especially Chewy. But we all survived and moved to Brentwood, where I walked Chewy in the alleys there. Then Bubu was born.

We joked that Chewy was our first born and that he now had a brother. Don't we all do that? Pretend that our pets are siblings with our children? Okay, well, we did. I think that was a turning point. Chewy went on fewer walks and he seemed to get in trouble a lot more. We tried to be understanding of the transition he was going through but we didn't do good enough a job with that. Then we moved to Northern California. It was a seven hour drive and my husband and Bubu drove up together ahead of us and then many hours later, after the movers had finished packing us up, Chewy and I headed up North. Leaving my home of ten years was tough, but I wasn't alone, I had my dog.

When Bubu started crawling, we realized we had to be a little more careful but we weren't on high alert at all time with the dog and the baby. Needless to say, we had a few incidents and our sweet little Chewy got blacklisted with our family. That part really sucked but we totally understood and it just gradually became a lot more trouble for us. After Peewee was born, we had another incident and that was it.

It took me months, but I finally found a rescue that accepted Chewy and is putting him up for adoption. My husband and I had to surrender our first born yesterday. It was hands down the most awful, painful thing I've had to do in I don't know how long. I still feel like I've been punched in the gut numerous times. Did we do the right thing? I don't know, I guess. What is it that hurts so bad? It's because I failed him. I failed Chewy by not trying harder to train him, to take him for longer walks, to care more, to make more time for him, and now what? It was my failure as a an owner, as his parent, that has led to poor Chewy probably sleeping in a crate last night instead of in our warm, cozy bed with us.

At this point, I'm just praying that he goes to a good home. To an owner that won't fail him like I did.