The Fun Never Ends

Well, it has just been a barn-burner of a week here at Chez Lunasea. Ben has cut two teeth, which means he bites me in a very tender place and I'm thisclose to weaning him. He thinks it's funny when I yell. G. rejected my suggestion of putting some very tender part of his body in Ben's jaws to see what it felt like. Still, it's kind of cool to have a kid who gets teeth right around the time he's supposed to. Aidan didn't get teeth until he was well over a year.

I'm a great-aunt, now, too, which almost makes me feel older than my upcoming 40th birthday. Big Niece had sweet great-nephew-baby on Tuesday. It's fun when someone else is going through it. I can be all, "Oh, a brand new baby! How sweet! I'm so excited!" without all the raging hormones, pain and thoughts of "oh my god what have I gotten myself into...I've changed my mind..." that ricochet through a new mom's head. He's hella cute, which isn't surprising since Mom and Dad are quite cute, too.

So I'm sorry I've been out of touch. But really, the longest conversation I had today was with Aidan and it involved the laundry. The most excitement we had today was with Ben and it involved my ability to be on this side of his head, and then, just like that! be on the other side of his head. First I'm over here by this ear, then I'm over by this ear! How does that happen? It was hysterical in 6-month-old land. Poor kid was crying he was laughing so hard. And you wonder why I've eaten half a carton of ice cream tonight after they've finally gone to sleep. The ice cream never talks back, it doesn't want another glass of water or to know what every freakin' sound was. It just lets me enjoy it. By the way, it's Dreyer's new Drumstick flavor. Oh yeah. That's what I'm talkin' bout.

As Jung Would Say...

From Trisha - free association:


Crave: Sleep.

Whole package: Of Trader Joe's Milk Chocolate Pecan & Caramel Clouds all to myself.

Roommates: Taught me a lot. About drugs.

5:30: The time Ben wakes up all shiny and happy.

Lesbian: Really wanted to be for a while. Didn't work.

Poignant: Watching A. grow up.

Hurtful: Thinking about A. dealing with playground politics.

You and I: In high school, the song I thought I would play at my wedding. (i.e. "Just You and I")

Grateful: For it all.

Giggle: In my sleep. When it happens.

Helping You Understand the Theory of Relativity, Effectively

According to our State Professional Organization's Magazine, professionals with my (master's level) psychotherapy license are not perceived to be particularly smart, understanding, effective or helpful.

So, in their infinite wisdom, State Professional Organization suggests that I make "more effort to appear helpful, smart, effective, and understanding." I should also consider how the books in my waiting room and my dress reflect on me as "helpful, understanding, or smart."

Well, which is it? Am I supposed to appear as all three at once, or one at a time? What exactly is "helpful, understanding or smart" dress? My Travelsmith dress which requires no ironing and went with me to the best museums in Italy? But it's black, which may not be a very understanding color.

Geez, the pressure.

Small Dogs Can Do Big Things

This is the dog.








This is the light fixture:










And this is A.: "Oh! I broked it!"

Shameless Plug

So I've done three recent digital scrapbook layouts that I'm really happy with. They haven't garnered many comments on the site where I post them, which is why I'm looking to you people to stroke my ego. They're just so much better than what I could do previously, even if they're not publish-worthy.

Remember the theme "What's on Your Refrigerator?" That was my theme for my circle journal, so everyone else in the circle has to do a layout on that subject. And I'm doing layouts for everybody else's themes as well. These three are, respectively, "Color My World," "Words of Inspiration," and "Art Attack." I really like the rainbow one. I didn't want to take pictures of flowers because that seemed too obvious, so I challenged myself to find the rainbow in objects I use everyday. The "RAINBOW" letters are cut out of a photo of Ben's exersaucer liner.

"Words of Inspiration" is supposed to be in shades of red, but hopefully the owner of that journal will forgive me. I tried putting a red overlay on it, but it just didn't work. I love this one. I love the photo of Einstein. And that's me with the wax figure of Einstein at Mme. Tussaud's in London. It was one of the few times I had the courage to ask a stranger to take a picture of me.

The "Art Attack" one was hard for me. The journal originator had a color swatch she wanted us to use, and I wanted to do something that wasn't totally linear and graphic. It still is, kind of, but whatever. I'm not a designer. I just like to play around.

Disaster Alert

We're heading into Day 5 of "No Poops from Ben," and although the danger of hazardous waste from this situation is serious, please be assured that we are taking precautions. We have set aside several changing pads, two cases of wipes, face masks, and are prepared to turn on the tub faucet and the shower should the need arise. There is no need to evacuate at this time, however, it would be prudent for those in the immediate area to prepare for possible evacuation. At the very least, have your disaster kits in easy reach.

As they say about the Big Quake in California, it's not a question of "if," it's a question of "when."

Good News!

I've updated my wish lists over there to the left. Just trying to be helpful, since there's.....



and I know I'm so hard to buy for.

In Search of More Google Search Hits

We have a Thomas book that plays tunes when you press a button, and the book has all the lyrics to the songs. But A. likes to make up his own lyrics.

Real Lyrics:

Don't give up
Show determination
Don't give up
You'll be a big sensation.

A.'s Lyrics:

Don't give up
Your penis gets hard sometimes
don't give up
your penis gets hard sometimes.

As I pick myself up off the floor, he says, "That's a song I sing sometimes." Great. Make sure you sing that one for Grandma and Grandpa, 'kay?

No Bob the Builder This Year

What does my train-loving, hammer-wielding 3-year-old want to be for Halloween?

A ladybug.

"He'll change his mind 10 times between now and Halloween," I thought. But he's stayed very solid for the last 3 weeks and I know from experience that it's not a good idea to wait until 2 days before Halloween to get a costume, so we bought a ladybug costume today. He wore it around the house and made a very cute ladybug.

When he was around 18 months, someone handed him a little boy doll, and then took it away, saying, "Oh, but that's a doll. Boys don't play with dolls." Naturally, my response was, "Of course he can play with dolls if he wants to." He has a baby doll given to him before Ben was born and beyond a little initial interest, leaves it completely alone. He likes going into the play houses in front of Toys R Us, but without a word, he skips the Barbie one. We didn't push Thomas the Tank Engine on him, but he gravitated to it like one of those little magnetized freight cars.

But now he wants to be a ladybug, and I'm having a bit of a hard time with it. I keep feeling compelled to turn him into a guy ladybug, like Francis from A Bug's Life. I think the best plan is to dress Ben up as a flower, and take lots of photos of them for submission to their high school yearbooks.

Bodily Fluids Day

Today was one of those days where I didn't leave the house. It's a good thing, too, because I would have missed the celebration of Bodily Fluids Day in our house. Ben marked the occassion with numerous harfs, which made it pretty much like any other day.

But A. really outdid himself.

The Good: His diaper was very full this morning, so I left it off for a little while to let his skin dry out. About 10 minutes later, I turned around and he was sitting on the potty chair! And sure enough, pee was happening! In the bowl! It had also happened on the floor in front of the potty chair and on the seat itself, which meant quite a clean-up, but still! He actually understands the idea of feeling it come and getting to the potty at that time! Synapses have been crossed - new connections made!

The Bad: And then about an hour later, diarrhea. All over his clothes, all over my pillowcase, which he was leaning on during the blowout, and there was me with only two wipes. Yuck. He's three years old, so I've had my share of gross diapers, but this one was a lifetime best, I think.

This is exactly the kind of post that Mommy-Blogger-Haters complain about. I'm tempted to go paypal some money to Blog Explosion so that I can bring a whole bunch of unsuspecting bloggers to this post. I'd like to see them change that diaper. Wimps! You can't handle the truth!

One thousand ninety-six days...

...that A's been around. Existing outside of me, that is. He left my body and began taking up his own space in the world three years ago today.

He made me a mother, and a mother is what I am supposed to be. Although there are times when I want to sell both of them on e-bay and escape to Hawaii; although it's a rare day that I get to brush my teeth, wash my hair AND shave my legs; although I don't fit into any of my clothes anymore and the only new lingerie I've bought in three years has been new white Olga nursing bras to replace the threadbare ones;

everything I did before A. came was a prelude to being a mother.

Thank you for making me a mother, A. Thank you for your shining smile in the morning, your "Hi Mama! What can I do for you?" and "Watch this, Mama!" Thank you for running to me for comfort, for feeling safe enough to be mad at me, for wanting to share your super-duper-exciting new train cars with me. Thank you for listening so carefully and repeating almost everything I say, verbatim. Thank you for wanting to snuggle in Mama's bed (not Papa's bed...Mama's bed). Thank you for making me laugh every day. Thank you for being so great that I was willing to have another one.

I adore you, my sweetest little redheaded boy. Don't grow up too quickly...stay small for "a little bit while," OK?

The News

I have been riveted to the cable news coverage of the hurricane aftermath. It's been fascinating and disturbing to watch.

During one half hour on Thursday, I switched between Fox News and MSNBC. The commentator on Fox referred to the "criminal element" and wondered what to do about these looters and shooters no less than 5 times in that half hour. And that was with switching back and forth. MSNBC was beginning to realize the lack of relief effort and was calling for more help.

By Friday, Fox had changed its tune. I'd never seen reporters get so emotional about what was happening. Later that night, they sent Geraldo (can you imagine? 4 days without food or water, you're locked into the convention center, and here comes GERALDO? What, it's not enough to ignore us, they're going to torture us too?) and he cried and gnashed his teeth over the state of affairs there. Now, this is Geraldo, so whatever...but then they switched the camera to Shepard Smith, who expressed amazement that the government can set up checkpoints to make sure no one leaves NO but can't deliver water. Smith said, "They can't go a block and half that way, where there's food and water and hope! Over there there's hope! Over here there's nothing!" Sean Hannity cut in with "a little perspective." Smith knew he was being cut off and smoldered at the camera. The anchor asked, "When will the relief get there?" Smith growled, "I have no idea."

More on the Fox coverage here (totally liberal anti-Fox site, BTW). What gets me is all the exclamations of, "This is happening in America??" We have very poor people in America who couldn't evacuate the city. We do not put these poor people on the top of our list of "people to save." There were priorities, and evacuating the poor was not one of them. OK, they didn't know the levee would break. But why did it take so long for FEMA to realize that thousands of people were in the convention center when we knew it out here in California?

There is racism and classism in America. I frequent a message board that is heavy on conservatives, and I see lots of people who aren't getting it. They get mad whenever anyone brings up the idea that race may have played an issue in this disaster, or play dumb and laugh at the idea that a hurricane is racist. They defend the government and accuse the refugees of creating their own problem. They brush the concerns off as just more Bush-bashing. If one good thing comes out of this, it will be that racism and classism will be put on the table in a way it hasn't before. But my fear is that many will just refuse to acknowledge it, so the "discussion" will continue to be one-way.

Lunatic Katrina

Did anyone catch Joe Scarborough on MSN tonight? He did his report right in front of a ship emblazoned "Luna Sea." Thanks for the shoutout, Joe. Didn't realize you were a fan.

Although he didn't say so, he was, of course, making a not-so-subtle reference to the relief efforts in the South. He referred to it as "amateur hour," and told viewers that if any of their politicians say that they were surprised by Katrina and that's why the relief was uncoordinated, those politicians didn't deserve their trust or their vote. I suppose he has some experience in the area, being a former politician from Florida, but I'm not sure a perfect plan exists for evacuating entire cities within a few days, when so many are poor and without transportation.

It's hard to wrap my mind around what it would be like to feel completely stranded with no water, being shot at by snipers, and feeling completely forgotten. People are dying, babies are dehydrated. There's just one nurse in this whole area where people have gathered because they thought there'd be water and buses. I heard a hospital official say that they needed to evacuate their patients and couldn't because the next link of transportation, whatever was supposed to pick up the patients from the ambulance and take them to another hospital, just wasn't there. Can you imagine waiting for four days and not hearing anything? The church around the corner put up a sign that said, "Hurricane: don't panic - trust in God and he will save you." Pretty frickin' easy to say out here in Northern California. That sign is down today and there's just a plea to pray.

Summer Nights

A. will be three in exactly a week. The "terrible twos" weren't all that terrible, but now that he's almost three, everything's a negotiation. He wanted to take a nice little walk around the block after dinner. Or, rather, he'd "ride" his bike and I'd walk with Ben in the sling. I put "ride" in quotation marks because he refuses to use the pedals and prefers the Flintstone method. Such a lovely walk in the summer evening after dinner while the light lingers and the heat is still rising from the pavement...

When he started "riding" his bike earlier this summer, a walk around the block would take over an hour. He was sloooow. We'd have to start out right after dinner in order to make it home before dark.

But now he's pretty fast on his bike, even with the Flintstone method. I believe he could probably win any race where everyone has to use their feet instead of the pedals. I thought, hey, this could be good exercise and it will certainly be a quicker stroll around the block. Well, we arrived home a good hour and half later because we

1. had to stop at every driveway. He got off his bike, walked up to the garage of the house, said, "watch this, Mama!" and ran down the driveway yelling "wheeee!" It would have been significantly more impressive if the driveways in our neighborhood weren't about 5 feet long and perfectly flat;

2. had to stop and stare at many things, including anyone watering their lawn, the guys down the street beating something into submission with a baseball bat (we didn't get close enough to see what it was) and various rocks. We also had to think long and hard at each corner about which way to go, even though we were going around the block;

3. had to stop and chase random kitties. I explained that the kitties were scared and that's why they were running away and maybe it would be better if we didn't scare them. "But I'm not scary, Mama! I'm friendly!" We also had to stop and listen for a long time if we heard a dog behind a fence.

4. And then there was the dog who made me age about 20 years by running up behind us, off his leash, and barking at us. The big, black dog. Who was probably a lab or something but could have been a rottweiler for all I knew and his teenage handler was WAY TOO SLOW running behind him. Oh Sweet Jesus he scared the crap out of me. I had a quick vision of grabbing A. off his bike and running home with Ben hanging around my neck and A. dangling down and the dog mauling my legs. A. said, "Oh, that's a dog. That's a dog right there," and continued down the road.

Evening is not the best time to have these walks. My patience is usually thin, and I'm not the same mom who made a game out of picking up the Legos this morning. Finally I growled, "OK, buddy, we need to pick up the pace. Ben is getting heavy, and I need to put him down. But I can't put him down in the middle of the sidewalk, and we need to get home. C'mmooooooon, let's go. This way. C'mon, faster, faster." You can imagine how well that worked.

So we got home, got him into the bathtub, managed the meltdown when he realized his special teddy bear soap was dissolving in the water as soap will do, put him in jammies, read something about Thomas, and put him in his crib. That was an hour and a half ago and he's still awake. I want to skip to 4 years old.

Playdates

So Windows won't start when I reboot my computer. I have to press F12, wait like 15 minutes to get the boot menu up, choose "normal boot" and then Windows starts. Any ideas? That black screen with the flashing cursor scares the crap out of me.

--------

Our neighbor has started taking care of her nephew two days a week. W. and A. share a birthday, and he will be turning 4 on the same day that A. turns 3 (next month, for those keeping score at home). So we invited him over to play trains for a little while yesterday. I figured it would entertain A. a bit and let him gain social skills and all that stuff. And give me a break. Hah.

A: "Don't couple me! Don't couple me!"
W: "I'm not cuddling you! Sheesh!"
A: "No, coupling is when trains are joined, not cuddling. Oh, never mind."

---------

W: "I'm gonna tell your mom you're not sharing!"

So he finds me (finally reading the Sunday comics, damnit), tells me A.'s not sharing one of the 40 train cars spread out on the floor, I tell him to play with another one, for pete's sake, and A. thinks it's a new game.

After that, everytime A. said something, he'd encourage W., "Go tell my mom! Yeah! You go tell my mom! Mama! W. gonna tell you sumping!" Took the wind right out of W's sails.

---------

W: "You got anything to eat?"

What? I have to feed this kid too?

W: "I like macaroni and cheese."
Me: "Great, but I'm not making you macaroni and cheese."

I considered calling next door to see if he had any allergies, then decided it was too much trouble to find their phone number and gave him some string cheese. His eyes only bugged out a little.

-------

W: "I have to go potty."

Me: "Can you go on your own or do you need help?" pleasepleasepleaseplease.....

W: "Yeah, I can do it myself. I don't have to poop right now." thankyouthankyouthankyou

--------

W: "Do you have any country music?"
Me: "Sure, I guess could play some."
W: "I like that song....take me home...country road...to the place...I belong..."
Me: "Okay okay okay. I don't have that song, but I'll play some internet country radio."
W: "Make it come out of the TV. Can we play football?"

--------

W: "It's good that I'm over here because I only have two friends."
A: "Come with me to the Island of Sodor where adventure awaits you! Get many new stories on DVD or VHS!"
Me: "Um, yeah, he watches a lot of Thomas. Don't tell your mom he said that, OK?"

The Surreal Life

In The Car:

A.: "Does Papa make noise?"
Me (uh-oh, what has he heard?): "Um, yeah, I guess."
A.: "Papa makes noise, the trees make noise and my socks make noise."

A: "Aidan lives in our house and Ben lives in our house."
Me: "Mama and Papa live there too."
A: "No, Papa lives at the office and Mama lives at Target."

Getting Dressed:

G. today to Ben, after I woke up soaking in (Ben's) pee: "You're a leaker. You should work for the government in Washington you're such a leaker."

Me: "Oh, you've got some bruises on your legs."
A: "What? I got boozes?"
Me: "Yeah, bruises are what happens when you bump your leg. They go away in a few days."
A: "They go away when the birds are in the sky?"
Me: "Uhh, well, they go away in a few days whether or not there are birds in the sky...."
A: Ooooohhhh. OK.

Shopping:

Guy in parking lot (I think they look for moms with kids because they know we can't just jump in the car and run them over. We've got to make sure everyone's buckled in first) : "Excuse me, ma'am, do you wear perfume?"
Me: "No."
Guy: "Oh. Um, well, we're doing a marketing survey for a new perfume. Would you like a sample?"
Me: "I just told you I don't wear perfume."
Guy: "Oh. Um, well, could you spare a few dollars then?"

By that time everyone was buckled in so I jumped in my car and ran over him and his marketing buddies.


Lady in parking lot (what, did I have my approachable clothes on today?): "Do you go to Bible Study?"
Me (lying): "Yeah. All the time. At the church around the corner from me."
Lady: (who could tell I was lying because she's holy): "Well, we're having a bible study downtown. Have you ever heard of the "Breaking the Bondage" series?"
Me (Crap. She's got me there. If I say "yes," she'll expect me to know about it, and I'm not quick enough to think of a good S&M joke) : "No. I haven't." (heavy sigh)
Lady: blah blah blah blah invite you.
Me: Great. Thanks.

By that time everyone was buckled in so I jumped in my car and ran over her.

Ben's Baptism

....the highlight of which was a performance by G. and A. of select scenes from Thornton Wilder's "Our Town."

This is Not About G's Boss

I don't think G. wants me to blog about the various colorful personalities with whom he works, which is killing me much as not blogging about the fascinating psychotic delusions I came in contact with on Mobile Crisis did. Great stories. Damn.

But I've got to ask this, because perhaps we have an expert in statistics out there. His boss was raving about the fantastic outpatient program they have there. So fantastic, in fact, that they had a negative 17% relapse rate. How do you get a negative relapse rate? The patients are doing so well it's like they were never there?

Some Haiku for Today

You are still awake
Will we ever sleep again,
My fussy baby?

Mac and cheese for lunch
Once again, dropped on the floor.
Still OK to eat.

Spit-up on keyboard
Long drips stretch down to the floor
Better get the rag.

I should not complain
You sleep three hours at a stretch;
Enough time to dream.

Life With Little Children

I envy my co-worker. She had kids when she was young, and now they are grown. She's probably 10-15 years older than me. Two days ago she came into the office in a velour sweatsuit (how long has it been since my sweatsuit top matched my sweatsuit bottoms? More than 20 years) and said she'd been working all day on her "books," her budget, business expenses, etc. She was just coming in to pick up some bills.

And I envied her. A whole day to work on your budget? Wow. She is the master of her domain.

I'd heard mothers exclaim, "I wish I could just finish a thought!" It seemed a bit melodramatic to me at the time - geez, who can't finish a thought? But now I