Camping with the Kids

I love my daughter. She is this fascinating little creature who, at 2 ½ is far more opinionated than I. Last week we went on vacation for a week tent camping in Moab, UT. It was seriously fantastic and wasn’t even really roughing it, because though we had a tent, my parents had a trailer, which Gwen slept in. Every evening the kids received baths thanks to my dad’s portable 110 gallon water-tank and every day we ate amazing quantities of food and did some really fun activities.

Gwen however, was only marginally pleased with her accommodations. She spent the latter half of the week complaining about where she slept, stating loudly that she’d like to go home now, say she didn’t like *insert activity here*, that her toenail paint was chipping, that her hair was in her eyes, she’d like her feet rubbed, she had an owie, that it was raining….the list goes on.

Coming from such a tiny person, Greg and I couldn’t help but be a bit amused as we strongly encouraged her to buck up and enjoy the time. However, I think this is probably only the beginning. *Ominous thunder roll* I also think it’s probably a good thing we started this now, rather than in another year.

When we were packing up camp, Gwen quickly changed her attitude and became our biggest cheerleader, displaying an impressive show of concentration as she sang the ‘Keep Trying’ song from Yo Gabba Gabba. Greg packed the tent and loaded the car to the vocal abilities of Gwen, singing:

“Keep trying! Keep Trying!

Don’t give up, never give up!

Keep trying! Keep trying!

Don’t give up, never give up!

Don’t stop, don’t give up, don’t stop, don’t give up!”

Repeat a few hundred times and you get the general idea.

Greg took it in stride, as did I, and Gwen proved to be very helpful gathering smaller items around camp and chucking them into the car as fast as she could.

Greg drove through the night to get us home, so we spent Saturday mostly relaxing and Sunday I tried to sleep in. Gwen had climbed into bed with me around 6am, and miraculously slept until 8. We both woke up and Gwen asked if I could rub her feet. I said sure, and grabbed a chubby foot to massage. She sat in silence for a second then told me to stop. She stretched her foot out in front of her, wiggled her toes, and studied them for 30 seconds.

She then sighed deeply and said, “You should repaint my toes, the sand took away my pretty polish”.

The more I parent, the more I tend to side with nature rather than nurture.

Eat your Tacos

Over Christmas vacation, our whole family went to a vacation house my grandparents co-own in Grand Lake, Colorado. It was fantastic and we stayed there for a full week. One night, we had tacos. That same night, Gwen was on a drama-bender. She didn't want to sit, eat, be happy, or really, just exist. So she sat in her chair and gazed mournfully at the taco sitting in front of her.

"I'm sad mom...sad. Mom? I'm sad. Saaaaaaaaad. Sad. I'm SOOOOO sad, Mommy!?"

"I'm sorry your sad honey, maybe if you ate your taco, you wouldn't be so sad" I replied.

"Nooo...." she said definitively "I don't want to eat my taco."

"Why?" I asked, only somewhat interested in the reply...mostly because it was predictable.

"Because I'm SAD!" Gwen replied, helpfully.

Please let me state here that I DID ask her why she was sad, and that was answered with a pensive  'Because....'. There was also no real reason for the child to be sad. Surrounded by parents and grandparent and great-grandparents and aunts and uncles...it had been a fairly fantastic day.

And so that sad talk continued. Gwen declared to all listening how sad she was.

Greg and my dad saw this as an opportunity to goad her a bit and started commenting on how sad THEY were as well.

"I'm sad I have to eat tacos"

"I'm sad it's not Christmas anymore"

"I'm sad we don't have salad"

"I'M sad mommy isn't happier" (Greg added this helpful jab watching my mood considerably darken with all the sad comments as Gwen's taco languished on her plate.)

I'd had enough.

"GWEN! We are ALL sad. Eat your TACO!!!"

Silence fell over the table as my entire family looked up at my outburst. Gwen bowed her head and with all the panache of a greek tragedy put her food in her mouth and sadly chewed away.

Then she smiled. It was like the sun came out from behind dark clouds and the room considerably brightened.

"WOW mom!!! This is GOOOOD!!! Great job!!!"

I love Gwen, she is a turbulent and unpredictable as the Bearing Sea. And that night, she didn't starve to death on a hunger strike declaring her sadness with...whatever.

Mission accomplished.

Though I'm losing YEARS doing this job.

Years.

The dead bird

This weekend, we were decorating for Christmas. Greg and I both enjoy getting the decorating done early and REALLY embracing the holiday season. November and December are my two most favorite months ever. Really all of fall is my favorite because I love decorating and baking and baking and eating. It’s great.

My brother, John, was in town and helping Greg decorate the outside front tree with lights. I was in with Garrison ,and could hear Gwen trying to get their attention. Guys. They are forever ignoring the talking us gals do. Then I hear John; “Oh my God, that’s a dead bird. Gwen has a dead bird” And Greg says much the same thing. There’s a big of chaotic rambling and Gwen comes into the house, carried by Greg, for some intense hand-washing. 

Meanwhile, my brother John disposed of the bird. End of story, right? Never with Gwen. She went right back outside and started asking incessantly about her bird. Where was it? It was hurt! Where was her bird! John kept telling her the bird got better and flew off, but Gwen didn’t accept that explanation. She was insistent that she wanted to see her bird. I decided to intervene. 

“Gwen baby, come here.” 

She came over and I turned her to me and held her shoulders gently.

“Sometimes, things and people get hurt. And they don’t get better. Sometimes they die from being hurt so bad. That’s what happened to your bird, baby. It was hurt, and it was hurt so bad that it died instead of getting better.”

Gwen listened intently and nodded her head. She paused for a second and looked up at the sky, then back at me. 

“Ok, but I want to go say goodbye to my bird”. 

It was a reasonable request. So John pointed me at the trashcan, I picked up Gwen, and off we went. I lifted the lid and sure enough, there at the bottom of the can lay the stiff and rather sad little bird. Gwen looked at it solemnly, and then said “Bye bird, I’ll miss you”. I shut the lid and we walked away. 

To be honest, I was a little teary from the moment. We all know people who we wish were still in our lives, and I have a few that I wish were around to see my kids. My brother was a little misty too. Having returned from Afghanistan for the second time he is all too aware how sometimes things get hurt so badly that they don’t get better. 

I didn’t think I’d have to talk about death to my two year old. I thought that was a conversation for far in the future maybe when a beloved family pet dies. I thought that maybe I’d have something very poignant to say about death, something comforting. However, when the moment came unexpectedly (as they all too often do with kids), there was nothing to say but the truth. 

Which Gwen accepted. 

And once more, she surprised and impressed the heck out of me all at once. I'm one lucky mom. 

Parenting, or something like it

“If you don’t stop it right now, you’re going into time out for two hours. Do you hear me? TWO HOURS!”

I was in GAP trying on some pants and the cacophony of crying and screaming had gone on for nearly 20 minutes. The Exasperated Mom was in her early 30’s, the child wasn’t even two and for some reason would just not stop crying. The screaming was getting to everyone; even me, who felt slightly cheated because I went shopping by myself to get away from screaming children, not be surrounded by other ones.

“Two hours is a long time, Madison. A very, very LOOOONG time.”

As she uttered those words a huge grin spread across my face. Because if you’ve been a mom for more than 3 days, you’ve hit that wall. That wall where rational thought is completely overwhelmed by the intense desire to get your kid to just shut up. Clearly, this kid was out of control. Also,  she had no idea what two hours meant. Also fairly easy to spot was the fact that Exasperated Mom had no intention of following through on that threat because it was pretty obvious follow-through was most likely the larger general problem.

“I need you to stop NOW. NOW! Two Hours. You want candy? I’ll give you candy but you need to stop crying”

Still, I find myself understanding of people in these situations because I’ve been there too. I have said ridiculous things in the irrational hope that Gwen will stop whatever it is she’s doing that is annoying or embarrassing me at the moment. It’s all part of that trial by fire which molds parents into something slightly super-human, but is also an occasionally painful process. Everyone gets to pay their dues. From sleepless nights to tantrums in the store to sleepy hugs at night to candy hand-prints on the wall. Good, bad, and beautiful, you get them all.

“We’re going. Get in the stroller, we’re leaving now. Madison? Get up. Right now. NOW!”

The child wasn’t getting up, but as the mom came out with who I can only assume was Madison draped under her arm, I said hi to her. I also commented on what a pretty little girl Madison was. The mom was fuming, but clearly appreciated the fact that I wasn’t ostracizing her based on her daughter’s behavior. I told her I had two of my own and had been there too. Exasperated Mom looked like she wanted to cry, and I imagine she probably went to the car and had a good weep. We chatted for about a minute longer, and she headed out of the store.

Kids occasionally turn you into an irrational lunatic spouting out words and ultimatums which won’t be carried out. However, it’s always nice to know that you’re not alone on that one.

Bedtime Rituals

Gwen is not a minimalist. Bedtime has evolved into a fairly involved scavenger hunt for Greg and I to recover the myriad of blankets, pillows and stuffed animals which must watch over Gwen while she sleeps.

A typical night currently involves Blankie (always blankie), the tattered pink, green and purple blanket which accompanies Gwen everywhere. Blankie also has a twin, Other Blankie, which I purchased on ebay to serve as a stand-in for Original Blankie when I wash it. Blankie and Other Blankie must be found and given to Gwen so she can begin to wind down. As they go with Gwen everywhere and she rarely carries both at once, one Blankie is usually easily found while the Other Blankie is in a remote location in the house somewhere.

Then there is Henry, the the leggy stuffed animal cat which Gwen selected from a whole barrel of other Henrys last Christmas. Henry often goes with us in the car and is usually found in our van around bedtime.

Seahorse is a seahorse rendition of a Glowworm and has been with Gwen since before she was born. I used to play it's 7 minutes of music to Gwen when she was still in my tummy. We took it to the hospital with us and it kept her company the day she was born. She hasn't always been so attached to seahorse, but it's received an increase in popularity over the past month.Seahorse is often found on the upper floor, in one of our bedrooms, sometimes under the bed.

PurpleDuck is a purple platypus beanie baby who usually sleeps at Gwen's feet. This creature is usually in Gwen's room, but has migrated as far as the living room downstairs.

Bee Pillow she recently received for her birthday and is a large pillow that looks like a bee. She doesn't sleep on it, but it must be near her bed. This fluffy creation is always in Gwen's room (so far, it's life at our house is still just beginning)

Lastly there is Pillow, which is a real pillow that she likes to sleep on. That, plus a normal blanket to tuck her in at night and the bedtime ritual is complete. Almost.

Then there is lotion for her cheeks, 'lipstuff' for her lips and a quick hairbrush.

THEN 2 stories, though occasionally we'll stretch it to 3 if she's been good (but never 1, that simply won't do) hugs and kisses all around, me to rub her back for 5 minutes and lights out.

It never feels involved until you're walking out of her room and give a big sigh. If you've done it right, she'll go right down, if not, there is wailing at her door and stern words from us which end in her sobbing on her bed at the unjustness of sleeping in general.

But eventually, she falls asleep. Quietly snoring amongst all her little animal friends and a fan blowing gently in the corner. I imagine there is a curve, up until a certain age her bedtime collection will continue to grow, and then decline past that age. Blankie has been the first in and I imagine it will be the last out. I hope there's enough of it left for me to hang on to for a while. I'll miss these round-ups one day.

Pantry Antics

This weekend was great. With family in town Greg and I were able to process the apples, carrots and tomatoes out of our garden and freeze most of them, while making tomato sauce (and freezing that) for lack of anything better to do with our plethora of tomatoes. Gwen, of course loved it as well.

However, I feel the hectic pace of life catching up with me. Usually a fantastic cook, I sprinkled flour instead of powdered sugar on everyone’s German Pancakes (no one said anything), and accidentally baked the bread in the bowl on its second rise.

Gwen loved all the extra time in the kitchen and was continuously locking herself in the pantry, and then panicking when she couldn’t get out. Not being one to learn from mistakes, she continued and continued to do this much to the annoyance of everyone in the household (except Garrison, who was probably fairly pleased with the new activity). Then, the inevitable happened. She had been with me, and then she wasn’t, and I didn’t think much of it initially. After a few minutes I heard pounding on the pantry door. Exasperated I opened it quickly and had a Flying Toddler enter my kitchen with stunning speed. I don’t know how she did it, it appeared she had springs attached to her shoes she came bounding out of there so quickly.

Lesson learned? Of course not, silly reader. That’s not how Gwen operates. I’m sure she’ll be right back at it tonight. Prediction? In the near future pinched fingers and much more drama will also be involved. We’ll see if I’m right.

A Tough Job

Vacation has taken on a different meaning. This past weekend, we were up in the mountains for a quick break before life gets crazy hectic again with school. It was a great time with friends and family. It involved walks, a day on my dad’s sailboat, great food and catching up on some movies. However, in all that I was still up with Garrison and/or Gwen nearly every night and was fairly tired during the day. One morning in particular stands out.

Both kids had stuffy noses, so they weren’t really sleeping incredibly well. They both were also in the room with us in their pack-n-plays so I could hear every single squeak, ensuring a lack of sleep altogether (Greg has no problems with sleeping, usually).

Saturday morning, Garrison was up at 4:30, coughing and sniffling. I got up, cleaned out his nose and nursed him. During this, I realized his back was really wet…which turned out to be a completely blown-out diaper. Ugh. I hate those. I especially hate those first thing in the morning. When he was done nursing, I laid him down and started changing him, making no effort to be quiet as I figured it was time for Greg to wake up anyways. I may or may not have also unnecessarily jostled the bed a bit. Garrison was THRILLED. His happy squeals and squeaks woke up not only Greg, but also Gwen, so I grabbed her, sang a loud Good Morning Song (again, for Greg’s benefit), carried her to our bed where Greg was, and went to wash my hands.

At which point Gwen sneezed, blowing out all the snot that had apparently gathered in her nostrils during the night. I trotted back to the bathroom and grabbed a Kleenex. Snot was all over my hands when THAT clean-up was over. So I went back to the bathroom to wash my hands yet again. Greg set to work changing Gwen, and as I came back out of the bathroom to give her a kiss…stepped right on her open, wet diaper that Greg had left (for inexplicable reasons) open on the floor.

It’s a rare occasion when I get so grossed out before 6am. It was like the kids were attacking me with bioweapons, or I was being punished by the Universe for waking Greg.

After all that, it was into the shower for me to detoxify a bit before grabbing coffee and even thinking about breakfast.

I love being a mom, but some days it’s a fairly disgusting job.

 

 

Songs and Chocolate Milk

My children go to an in-home daycare right across the street from where Greg and I work. We love it and the gal (Veronica) that takes care of them. Gwen has been with Veronica since she was 8 weeks old and their family is practically a part of ours. I try and make a point of going over on every lunch break and visiting the kids. This has allowed me to nurse both of them longer than I would have probably been able to do otherwise and helps alleviate some of the guilt I feel for working (though I truly love working).

I sit in a bedroom downstairs and rock Garrison, while Gwen and I sing a variety of silly songs as she hops around the bedroom. Truly, with our soaring voices and meaningful lyrics, it’s a wonder we don’t do it for a living. As a sample, here is a song we made up, in praise of the Boppy Pillow, much beloved by Gwen and Me. (sung to the tune of Frère Jacques)

The Boppy Pillow Song

Boppy Pillow, Boppy Pillow

No, No, Yes!

No, No ,Yes!

Boppy, Boppy, Pillow

Boppy, Boppy, Pillow

No, No, Yes

No, No, Yes

Recently, Gwen, while happy to leave us in the morning, has been ready to go home at lunch instead of the normal 4:00-5:00 departure time. This has lead to a few tears and tantrums as I’ve left the house. Today looked like it was going to be more of the same. I was bending down to hug her goodbye and made the mistake of telling her we were going to the mountains this weekend and I’d be back for her in a couple of hours.

“I go to mountains NOW!!!” Gwen said forcefully.

“No baby, I have to go back to work, and THEN we’ll go. You need to sit down and eat your chicken taquitos.” (the child eats better than I do – that whole family is a group of amazing cooks.)

“No! NOW! I gooooo NOW Mommeeeee” The waterworks began.

Veronica, thinking quickly asked. “Hey Gwen, you want some chocolate milk?”

“N-... Wait.” Her eyebrows furrowed as her mind worked quickly. Then, “ BYE MOMMY!!!” She sprung of my lap and hopped into the kitchen.

At moments like that I am very happy to be replaced by a glass of chocolate milk.

My New Van

It was the dreaded decision, the one I'd been putting off for years that was thrust upon me in the face of a rather sad transmission diagnosis from our Impala.

It was time for a newer car.

And my husband has always loved minivans.

I could hear the Jaws music start up:

Daaaa Dummm

The conversations began, the bargaining ensued. I wanted a nice crossover, he set the bid low with a 99 Windstar. I said a Chrysler Pacifica (any year!), he counterbid with a 2004 Freestar. The purple minivan caught my eye, but it was old...back and forth, back and forth.

Daaa Dumm

We test drove all sorts of cars, driving to the nether regions of our metropolitan region trying to find something we could agree on that wasn't completely beat to hell. I test drove exactly one van, that's how excited I was in this quest. After much searching, we saw an ad on Craigslist for a 2005 Town and Country in reasonable shape.

Daa Dum


An older couple had owned it, no small children involved, it had only been used to drive to and from Florida and was in near perfect condition.

Da Dum Da Dum

We test drove it, it was perfect. Our daughter loved it and I gave it the half 'meh' instead of vehement NO.

Da Dum Da Dum Da Dum

The stow-and-go seats were something akin to an Act of Magic which impressed both of us and seriously clouded our judgment.

Da Dum Da Dum Da Dum Da Dum

Greg looked under the hood to find all was well, and offered $300 lower than the asking price just for the heck of it.

Dadumdadumdadumdadumdadum

And the guy accpeted.

DWEEEEEDLEEEEDUMMMM!!!!!!!

And so now we own a grey 2005 Chrysler Town and Country. With that purchase, any remaining vestiges of my cool youth went flying out the very large, rolling door. I get the fact that my image shouldn't be wrapped up in my car. I have happily driven old, well-taken care of beaters without worrying about it. But those were all cars or SUV's. Not THIS.


So it's more pride swallowing and more embracing of this whole culture known as motherhood. I suppose the minivan comes with it and grudgingly admit that there ARE nice features, I could have just lived without them driving my Ford Explorer for the rest of my life.

All the while remaining 'cool'.

This is Koomala, sucking it up and signing out to hang my groceries on the little grocery-bag hangers while 'stowing and going' my seats.



P.S. Was Jaws not the scariest movie EVER? I STILL get the heebiejeebies when I'm in the water, and I live in a completely land-locked STATE!

Nighttime and Sleeping

(this is a continuation of my 'How I stored 700oz of Breastmilk' page to the right)

With two kids now starting to sleep happily through the night. I have some fairly valuable knowledge to share here, which you will find even more valuable in your 8th week of waking at all hours of the night to feed your darling little baby.

First, it’s not that big of a deal, initially. The lack of sleep and all. You will have a darling little newborn to cuddle and gaze at and worry about; and going in to visit him or her at all hours of the night will be a wonderful experience. These are really good times, and enjoy them while they last. It’s helpful to remember that you will not always be waking up to do this and there is something different and wonderful to the sleepy 1am nursings vs. the daytime ones.

However. Eventually, probably in the 2nd month or so, you’re really going to start feeling it. My sentence in the above paragraph will take on a bitter, sarcastic tone though it will STILL be helpful to remember. So, at this point it will also be helpful to remember that you WILL be getting full night’s sleep again. Someday.

However, that someday can be fairly soon if you remember the helpful tips below. And my helpful tips are really going to be helpful if you don’t plan on co-sleeping, or only co-slept for a little while and now are putting your little one in his/her crib to sleep. This isn’t a discussion as far as whether co-sleeping or crib sleeping is good/bad/going to ruin your child’s life forever and ever…it’s just what worked for me. Both my kids slept in their cribs after the first week or so being home. Before that they slept with me. I suppose I could have continued down that path…but I really enjoy turning over/sleeping with my husband/ sleeping on my tummy/just sleeping. So the crib really worked. I haven’t tried specifically designed little beds for cosleeping but imagine they would be handy.

So, on that note: I read one really good book about sleeping that I used a bit on Gwen. It was called “12 Hours of Sleep by 12 Week Old”. And while that worked pretty well on Gwen, these ideas had no discernable effect on Garrison. The child HATES a schedule. That type of thing is really going to depend on your child’s temperament. Essentially the book slowly weans out one night feeding after another until you’re sleeping through the night. You don’t really let your child ‘cry it out’, you hover over their crib after letting them cry for 5 minutes and pat and give them a pacifier but don’t pick them up. It’s not quite Ferberizing, but it’s not that different either.

Because Gwen was pretty good about sleeping –we really only had one night that she cried a lot and then she was onboard. Garrison? Well he’ll just keep crying and crying. The child is determined and I’m not going to let him cry for too long before picking him up. It just upsets him on a different level than it did Gwen. Trust your instincts as a parent on that sort of thing.

However, while Garrison is very resistant to ‘sleep training’ and scheduled naps and everything else that may make my life slightly more convenient…he has had a bedtime of 7 -7:30 every day since he’s been born. This is because it’s my daughter's bedtime and he gets to be bathed, dressed for bed, fed and put to bed just like she does. Whether he wakes up later or not doesn’t matter, he just gets to go to bed at 7. And this has made a big difference. Now, with him at 12 weeks old and having a very persnickety personality; he’s just started sleeping through the night. Book or no book, the schedule is working.

So I would highly recommend a bedtime ritual and consistent time. We picked 7 with Gwen because we’re up early to get to work (around 5) and because with my MBA I need about 2-3 hours at night to do homework. 7 fits very well into that criteria. I would pick a time between 6 and 8 to start off with. And then stick with it for the first 3 months as often as possible. Make it a high priority item for the two of you.

My little ones LOVE baths, so they get a nice warm bath (I don’t soap them up each bath, it’s more for relaxation purposes than because they’re actually dirty), a change into cozy jammies, Garrison gets wrapped up in a fuzzy blanket (Gwen gets a story) and I rock him in the rocker while nursing him.

He gets drowsy really quick, but I make an effort to keep him awake (by tickling his cheek) until he’s nursed on both sides really well. Sometimes I put him to bed completely passed out, other times he’ll just be drowsy. Do a little burp and then into the crib to sleep.

When he wakes up in the middle of the night I pick him up, keeping the lights off (I have a nice nightlight in there) and nurse him in the rocker again, and use the time to catch up on blog reading (on my Iphone) until he’s done. Then back into the crib. I do not talk to him or engage him much during his nighttime feeding to keep him as asleep as possible.

Wake up at the same time each morning and, whenever possible, go in and wake your little one up at that time. Eventually they learn that you’re going to get them at 6am (or whenever) EVERY DAY, so they don’t need to call you to let you know they’re awake. Garrison hangs out in his crib wide awake knowing I’m going to get him up around 5:30. He’s cooing and happy but not crying. Even on weekends, that’s what we do.

Persistence is key. You’re going to have some tough moments. There will be nights you are up every hour. There will be evenings where you’ll have had it with breastfeeding because NO ONE else can wake up for you to take care of your baby. You will probably shed more than a few tears of self-pity. All of this is OK. However, if you can hang in there it will be worth it and you will have a baby who starts sleeping through the night.

And it’s not perfect. You’ll go forwards and backwards with your progress. Writing down when your little one wakes up will help you keep track of your overall forward momentum if you need it. For me, it was just another thing to do and I had completely given up any hope of sleeping so I didn’t care. Still, looking back I can see when his midnight feeding changed to a 1am, and his 1am feeding to a 3am. Occasionally he still wakes up for that 3am feeding but he’s also starting to sleep through to 5:30am, so we’re getting there. It just takes patience.

Drop me a note if you have questions, I’d love to talk with your or even just give you a ‘hang in there!’ if you need it.




Table of Contents:

• Equipment
• Setup
• Supply and Storage
• Nighttime and Sleeping
• Back to Work! (coming soon)

Crazy

Having a new baby can be stressful. As Garrison seems to be over his colic, I can now begin writing about it with a sense of humor.

In June, my brother was on leave from his Afghanistan deployment. I had had company for about 3 solid weeks since Garrison’s birth. Garrison was up every hour, on the hour at night. It was like some magnificently designed torture program. During the day, we were out doing activities; at night, I was awake breastfeeding. I was exhausted.

So in the middle of a conversation with John, I had a complete meltdown. I could not, for the life of me, stop laughing. I laughed until I cried. Then I cried. Then I laughed some more.

My brother, a battle-hardened warrior with two deployments under his belt, was very worried, and slightly uncomfortable.

That next week, I had my 8-week check-up. My doctor asked if I was feeling depressed. I said no, and I really wasn’t. Overwhelmed does not necessarily equal depressed. Still, after some conversation, she verified I really didn't need meds. I said no, and almost started laughing manically again. In hindsight, perhaps a bit of medication would have been helpful.

Still, for the last four weeks I have, apparently had ‘a grin that sends sane men scampering into trees’. And it allows me a surprising amount a freedom. I suppose I’ll have to return to the world of the sane here shortly; still, I'll miss being a little crazy.

Upon further reflection, with two kids I’ll never actually return to the world of the sane. Perhaps living in crazy is the new normal.

Morning!

Greg is in DC this week on business so it's just me and the kids. Gwen loves the vacant bed space and is taking maximum advantage of this new opportunity. She crawled into bed with me at 4 this morning (after I fed Garrison at 3:30). She was pretty content to snuggle for about an hour, and then she became impatient. “Mommy, wake up, I want bottle”. I said sure, I’d get it in a second. Then she got all demanding “MOOOM EEEE. WAKE UP. I want bottle NOW.” (Her vocabulary is becoming quite impressive!). I rolled over away from her. At which point she climbed onto my side, sat on me, and started bouncing while reciting; “WAKE UP, WAKE UP, WAKE UP”. Her annoying little chant soon became a song and I know there was no going back to sleep.

Luckily, my coffee was on autobrew so I grabbed a cup to start the day while heating up her milk. At which point I got in the shower while SHE reclined in bed surrounded by pillows for another half hour.

Life just isn’t fair sometimes.

Who?

Sitting around the table tonight, Greg and I realized that Gwen was confusing 'good' with her name. For example, ask her how she is, and she's very likely to exclaim 'Gwen!'. So Greg worked with her on her name during dinner. Alternating between 'what's your name?' and 'how are you?' Gwen quickly picked up on this and then the two of them started working on everyone elses name. Greg asked 'what's MY name?' and Gwen excitedly said 'Daddy!!!!' then, 'What's YOUR BROTHER'S name?' 'GARRISON!!!!' and lastly, pointing to me, 'And who's THAT?'

'ICE TEAAAA!!!'

Somewhat surprised, Greg said 'no...who's THAT?' Pointing a little more clearly at me.

'LADYBUG!'

He whispered 'Mommy' to give Gwen a hint. At which Gwen whispered back 'mommy' at him. Then Greg pointed at me. 'Who's that?'

'LADYBUG!!!!'

Though Gwen says my name often and some days incessantly, clearly when she doesn't have a complaint, owwie, or empty tummy, my name escapes her completely and she reverts to 'Ladybug'.

All this hard work is definitely paying off.

Good for my Ego...

I went back to work on the 7th. It was great, I was really, really happy to be back and not changing diapers, calming tantrums, or constantly breastfeeding. It was great to be valued for my thinking capabilities and not how much milk I had produced that day or how many goldfish crackers I had doled out. Still, it was a little overwhelming. The house hasn’t been the same since Garrison arrived, I like it somewhat clean and that has hardly been achieved with the constant flow of houseguests in between getting used to a colicky baby.

So, when I work, I kept thinking about how great it would be to have the house clean. One may say that I obsessed over it a bit – probably unhealthily. I trudged through the day, visiting with my fellow office-workers and wrestling with our help desk trying to get my email reconnected. Greg, who works in the same building as I do, signaled when it was time to go home; helped me pick up the kids, and off we went.
By the time we arrived at home, Garrison was crying again. Gwen was grumpy and so dinner and bathtime was a long and arduous procedure. The kids, supposed to be in bed by 7, had started to settle down by 8…a solid two-hour effort on our part. I wearily walked down the stairs, exhausted, and surveyed the toys strewn across the floor, the unfolded laundry lying in heaps on the couch, the dishes to be washed and dishwasher to be emptied…and I hit my wall.

I walked straight through the room and went down into the basement where I flopped down onto the guest bed and felt what little energy I had left leave my body. After a few minutes I thought about lifting my arms just to make sure they still worked…but decided that would require a little more effort than I had at the moment. So I just laid there and listened to the silence.

Pretty soon, I could hear Greg wandering around on our main level. I could practically hear his mind trying to figure out where I had disappeared to. I wasn’t doing dishes, wasn’t doing laundry, wasn’t picking up the room and I wasn’t upstairs with the kids…where did Christa go???

His steps meandered over towards the basement door and he thumped down the stairs. Upon seeing my prone body spread-eagled on the bed, he asked ‘You OK?’.

I gathered the energy to use my voice, ‘Yeah, just resting a minute.’

‘You want to be left alone?’

‘Yes please, that would be great.’

His brows furrowed, ‘OK.’

But he didn’t leave. He hesitated, then went over to his office and started rummaging through papers, then looked at me, then walked around the room, then went back to meaningless rummaging. He sat on the bed and patted my hand.

I didn’t respond. I didn’t really have the energy to. I think I really wanted to cry – but didn’t even have the energy to do that.

‘Tough day at work?’ he asked.

‘No’ And it wasn’t. It was an easy day at work. Everything was just piling up on me and I wasn’t sure how I was going to do it all.

‘You sad?’ then he helpfully offered ‘should we get you on some meds?’

‘No.’ And I didn’t need meds. I hadn’t had a lick of postpartum, but figured everyone needed at least a few days when they could be completely overwhelmed without having Zoloft crammed down their throats.
‘What then?’

Ugh, I groaned and sat up. And I explained it. How everything was piling up, how I wasn’t sure how I was going to do 11 credits of school this semester, how I wished Garrison would stop crying and just be happy, that I wasn’t sure how I could give both kids equal attention with Garrison being so needy, that I had some travel coming up and I didn’t want to leave, that I couldn’t keep up on the house, and cooking and keep us on a schedule, how I was utterly, and completely….overwhelmed. Tears rolled silently down my check and I slumped forward on the bed, head buried in the comforter. I was the picture of self pity.

Greg was silent for a minute, rubbing my back in deep thought. I was sort of hoping that this little display would finally convince him to pony up and get a housekeeper. I thought that was what he was rolling around in the back of his mind. I was wrong.

My husband can be one of the most tactless people alive. After years of marriage to him I can only conclude that when faced with a situation where he needs to say something meaningful and touching, his brain completely shorts out, and goes into opposite mode; where the most insane thoughts make perfect sense. This was one of those moments.

I know what Greg meant to say. What he meant to say was that I had been doing too much and that I needed to lower my expectations of everyone else and myself. However, that is not what he said. His brain, taking over and apparently attempting to kill him, decided this was the best way to phrase that sentiment:

‘Well,’ he said thoughtfully still rubbing my back, ‘This is good for you. Good for your ego. Take you down a notch or two.’

The comment hung in the air, a pregnant pause, and Greg started to realize his error. No doubt he also started rapidly calculating ways to turn what he said around, into something a little more thoughtful at the moment.
Other women probably would have burst into hysterical tears. However, for whatever reason (and this is probably why we’ve stayed married as long as we have) the sheer ridiculousness of his comments really make me laugh. I started to chuckle. I will confess it was a bit hysterical to begin with, but that evened out and I was able to muster up the energy to solidly hit him on the arm and proclaim he was a world-class jerk.

Greg looked relieved. I heaved myself off the bed and stood up. Greg stood up next to me and took my hand. ‘Let’s go clean the kitchen together and then we’ll go to bed.’ It wasn’t terribly romantic, but that’s not the life I signed up for. I sighed and nodded. It was the thing to do. So we did. And with the kitchen clean and the rest of the house a complete wreck, we fell asleep for a few quick hours of much needed rest before Garrison woke us up to start the whole exhausting routine of newborn sleeplessness all over again.

Romantic gestures are wonderful. But when the stuff is hitting the fan and the ship is sinking…I’ll take a solid partner over candlelight dinners any day of the week. Someday, those romantic days will be back. Until then we have laundry to fold and diapers to change.

Nursing and the Dentists Office

Nursing is such an interesting endeavor that I'm writing up a whole series of posts for this blog, to send out to the blogosphere and perhaps provide some guidance, enlightenment or plain entertainment for other readers. It's still in the works however, and won't be posted for at least another few days. I'm hoping to work on it some more this weekend. (UPDATE: This is complete and can be found on the side of the page under 'If You're Curious' or here)

However, here's what happened today. I occasionally love nursing my son. I don't love it all the time (more on that later), but sometimes it is nice, and peaceful, other times it is laced with a bit of humor. This morning for example, I had to run to the dentist. Thinking that it was for a 30-minute cleaning, I brought Garrison.

First, I went through my 'Recipe for Success' which is good for any baby. I tanked him up at the house, feeding him on both sides, then changed him, bundled him just-the-way-he-likes-it in the carseat, and then drove the 30 minutes to the dentist's during Garrison's usual nap-time. I fully expected he would be down for a nice long 2-hour nap at least (like any other morning) and so decided  that it would be no big deal to just bring Garrison along.

Ah, how wrong I was. Garrison, deciding firmly that today was NOT his day, nor would it be mine, set his mind cried on and off the whole way down. Then, deciding that the dentists office was a fairly threatening place, with it's peaceful fountain, quiet music, and muted colors - ramped up the crying to an all out scream. All my efforts to calm him were failing. In fact, I just seemed to be angering my child with the rocking, bundling, various position-switching and pacifier insertions.  It was then, in between screams, that the dentist walked in. Surprising as I usually don't see her until AFTER the cleaning. Then it dawned on me. This wasn't a cleaning, this was to fill a few cavities.

I sighed, I looked at my very red-faced little son who glared up at me, mouth open and producing astounding amounts of noise and did what I didn't really want to do. I lifted up my shirt and whipped out my boob. Garrison showed his appreciation by immediately biting me hard, savaging my nipple like a puppy on a toy, and then just sitting there. Kid wasn't hungry, he just wanted to sit there.

So we sat there. I called my husband somewhat frantically, and when he was on his way, the dentist leaned me back and began the numbing process. The 'you'll feel a little pinch' speech was nothing compared to the punishment Garrison was giving my breast. Good distraction I guess.

Greg saved me by grabbing Garrison and taking him to daycare for the rest of my appointment. After I was done, I drove to pick Garrison up. He STILL hadn't slept, and was still crying. so I went back to my recipe for success (which is quickly turning out to not be that successful). I fed him again for 20 minutes or so (he actually ate this time), changed him, bundled him up the way he likes, kept the car nice and cool and quiet, and expected him to fall asleep.

Nope.

Suspicious of my efforts, Garrison did yet more screaming and crying all the way home. Not much you can do on the interstate but hope the crying stops and tell yourself running off the road or into another car isn't a good option at that point.

Once we were home, I had to prepare yet again. Bringing Garrison down off this kind of emotional ledge is always an tremendous effort. He was exhausted, having been up for 5+ hours, but stubbornly clinging to the idea that if he went to sleep the world would stop turning. To a cacophony of screams, I brought him inside, changed him, wrapped him in a different (more favorite) blanket, I got my nursing pillow and a book, and settled in.

Red faced, bleary-eyed, sniffling and snuffling, Garrison finally latched on and started to nurse. Almost immediately he conked out, only to wake up 4 minutes later and eye me suspiciously. Then he'd eat a bit, pass out, and repeat the process. This is the part of nursing I love. The fact that I can completely calm my kid down when needed. I also like watching him, because his stubbornness at 8 weeks old is astounding to me. For nearly an hour, he simply wouldn't let himself fall asleep. It was suspicious glares, bites, growls and cries every 5 minutes or so as he nursed.

Then, finally, I felt him give a great heaving sigh and gave in to the sleep that had been pulling on him like a wave. I held on to him a little while longer, finishing a chapter and then marveling at how lovely Garrison's face is when he's peaceful. Then, because it was fairly hot, I transferred him to his crib with a fan blowing gently over him.

That's where he is as I write this, and where he'll be for a few hours longer I imagine. Nursing is many things. It is at times painful, annoying, wildly time-consuming, the source of strange humor, and occasionally inconvenient. However, it is also a very simple way to calm your child, feed him, and simply spend time with him. I didn't envision my day going quite this way, and now, at 2:30 in the afternoon I've hardly accomplished anything. But I got Garrison to sleep, and sometimes that's quite a lot.

Altoids

My daughter is in a fairly defiant stage. Nearly everything is 'no' and 'mine'. Lately, things she can't have on a regular basis (such as gum, candy, shards of broken glass, etc...) have become highly prized in her mind, and she tries to get at them whenever possible. When she gets them, she hoards them like a dragon on treasure.

This morning, she found a box of Altoids in my desk. It was nearly full and as I'm not a huge fan of regular Altoids (keep me away from the cinnamon ones), I'd forgotten about this one. I walked out of my room to see her stuffing her chubby little fist into her mouth. My parent's border collie, Scout, was sitting beside her watching the proceedings with intense interest.

I saw the open, nearly empty, Altoids tin lying beside her and quickly deduced what was going on. She saw me coming and quickly deduced what was going to happen. Another fistful of Altoids went towards her mouth, and what wouldn't fit she quickly dropped on the floor by Scout.

Who, not believing his good fortune, quickly snarfed them up with his tongue.

For a moment, Scout's head cocked slightly to the side with a 'What's this???' kind of look in his eyes.

Which quickly turned into 'OHMYGODMYHEADISONFIRE!!!!!' sort of response.

Which then melted into the 'MY NOSE IS FALLING OFF!!! MY NOSE IS FALLING OFFFFF!!!' panic that really only border collies can give appropriate action to. Sneezing, frantically pawing, and then scooting around the rug on his nose were all actions that ensued.
Gwen watched, fascinated.

 I went to her, held my hand under her mouth, and told her to spit them out.

She shook her head vigorously.

I told her in a louder voice to 'SPIT THEM OUT!'

She looked at me, cheeks puffed out like a squirrel's, eyes watering and red, nose starting to run, and defiantly started swallowing them whole.

All to the chorus of our dog's non-stop sneezing in the background.

I decided not to fight it and I'm glad I didn't. Later on that day I found her (not Scout) drinking water out of the toilet and licking the seat. These are things worth fighting. Overly minty fresh breath? Not today.

And Scout still hasn't stopped sneezing.

Grumpy

My son, Garrison, is 6 weeks old this week. He's an interesting little individual. Most people would like to say their children are happy, content, that they smile all the time...I can't really say that about Garrison. Fact is, the child is grumpy.

I should have known he would be not quite predictable, he practically came out growling. Seriously. For 3 days after he was born, he did nothing but growl and groan. Not quite crying at that point (that was to develop shortly thereafter), just a constant noise. Even while nursing and sleeping, though during those times his growling would...lessen a bit I guess. It's really quite difficult to explain. All the nurses commented on it.

They were all "Is he still making those noises?" and I was like "Uh, yeah..." and they were all "Why is he doing that?!" and I was like "OHMYGOD THIS IS ONLY MY SECOND TIME DOING THIS, WHAT DOES IT MEAN????"

Now, he cries...a LOT. Our doctor thinks it might be reflux, so I give him a little minty medicine which pretty much only gives me something to do. I can't imagine it's really helping though I'm not brave enough to find out what he's like without the medicine.

Garrison doesn't sleep much, an hour or two at a time at night, and about the same during the day. At least I finally got him used to the crib, which was an intense, exhausting two-week ordeal to get him to try it out. He still refuses to sleep in there during some naps.

Greg thinks we should attempt to let him 'cry it out'. Greg is also not home with him to see how quickly that situation would deteriorate. A typical cry-session goes something like this. Let's assume I'm doing something like changing my daughter's diaper, or dealing with something that happened to her. So I put Garrison in his swing.

First little cough: equivalent of "Please pick me up now, I don't think I like it very much here"

Followed by ear-piercing shriek: "I've decided I don't like it at all here, pick me up NOW"

Continued by Screaming Wails: "I think that the chair is made of HOT LAVA and I hate you so much. Now just come get me, quick! Before the lava consumes my body!"

Shrieks, wails, and eventually, not that much breathing he's expending so much noise: "OHMYGOD I KNEW IT. YOU'RE TRYING TO KILL ME. I HATE YOU I HATE YOU IHATEYOU!!!!! GOODBYE CRUEL WORLD...."

This is, typically, only the span of about a minute.

There has been one time when, due to Gwen having another sort of meltdown after falling dramatically off our patio...I couldn't get to Garrison before he reached 'Goodbye Cruel World' status...eerily, he just stopped. I think (though I was in another room so I can't confirm this) that he cried so hard he passed out. I ran in to check on him and he was laying peacefully in his seat, eyes closed. Still breathing, thank God, but very silent for him.

So, whenever possible, I don't let him get that worked up. Not only can I not bear his wails and shrieks, but bringing him back down is a fairly exhausting endeavor and ruins him for naps as he becomes convinced I'm going to off him the next chance I get and so he watches me warily for the next couple hours or so.

People say it's colic. I say its Garrison not quite accepting of the fact that he has, in fact, been born, and that he needs to get on with life just like everyone else.

Just so we're on the same level, here is my seriously adorable son, at 'Please pick me up now' status (I had just set him down for about 3 seconds before he decided it was time to jump off a bridge):