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.

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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."

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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.

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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.

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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

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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?"

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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

Of Potty Training and Preschool

I do not believe how many people take pictures of the insides of their refrigerators. I've received woefully few pics of refrigerators so far (I know, you're about to send yours in...), so I went searching on the 'net. A few pics of fridge doors, but mostly - the insides. Why? One completely beer-stocked fridge pretty much looks like the next. Although sometimes there are people inside which adds a bit of variety. But seriously....page after page of alcohol-filled fridges. Jeez.

Here's my cover page. I still need photos of fridge doors, so send yours to lunasea237@gmail.com.




So we looked at our second preschool today. It was on a large parcel of land with a goat, a llama, a sheep and two ponies. They offer riding lessons and swimming lessons in the summer. I liked it quite a bit, BUT...all the kids are potty-trained. A. still sees no point in using the potty when he can just go in his diaper and not interrupt his activities. I tried putting Thomas the Tank Engine underwear on him last week. He peed and pooped in them and wasn't the least bothered by it. Didn't even tell us.

So he may not be able to go to that preschool. The other one does have a diaper classroom, and he'd stay in there until he masters elimination. It's more expensive, naturally. I always said I wouldn't worry about it or push it until he's 3. OK, that's coming up next month. We (by we, I mean he) sat on the potty and read books tonight, and he seemed OK with it, but nothing happened. I don't want it to become a power struggle, and from everything I've heard they'll do it when they're ready and not a minute sooner. As the child who has done everything last in his playgroup (crawl, talk, walk, use the big kid swings) and who was forced to be born under duress two weeks late, he definitely has his own timetable.

Send Me a Photo of Your Refrigerator

So I joined this digital circle journal group. A circle journal is where each person in the group decides on a theme for her journal, and sends it on to the next person, who is supposed to do a scrap layout or a collage on that theme. They then send it on to the next person, and so on, until it completes the circle and they get it back.

I did a paper circle journal and it was supposed to take 9 months but I just got mine back, 1.5 years later. Still, it's really cool and it now has 9 different layouts on the theme "Replenishing Your Spirit." Yeah, I stole it from Oprah. Sue me. I got to see how these women all over the country replenish their spirit.

So, this new one is a digital one which is nice because there's no chance my notebook will get stuck in Missouri and never make it back to me. The theme I've chosen is, "What's on Your Refrigerator?" because I always like to look at people's refrigerators when I enter their kitchens. It gives me a little peek into their life.

The problem is that my digital camera fried (big "pop!" a flash of light, and it's dead). So I'm supposed to start with an introduction page, but I can't take a picture of my own refrigerator because I don't have a camera right now. So if you'd send me yours to lunasea237@gmail.com, I'll have some photos to explain the idea. Then I'll post the page I make, OK? I'd like a bunch so I can make a collage. And, I want to see what's on your refrigerator. C'mon, get going - what are you waiting for?

Busy Busy Busy

Phew. Big weekend. We had a shower yesterday for Big Niece, who is REALLY BIG Niece now - she looks full term and has 2 more months to go. She carries it very well, I must say, and looks fabulous. But big.

I turned into Crafty Gal and painted flower pots with polka dots in her baby colors and put light blue silk hydrangeas in them (she's having a boy) and tied brown organza ribbon around them. Then I made little tags, punched a star shape, ran a ribbon through them and tied them around teddy bear note pads for favors. I also wanted to make her a labor necklace, based on the Native American Blessingway ritual, where we all strung two beads on a necklace and said our wishes for her and the baby. Not a dry eye in the house. We're a weepy bunch anyway, but it was very touching.

And the baptism went as well as baptisms go, I think. Ben actually seemed to like the water being poured on his head. I'm always watching the kid so closely that I miss most of what the priest says, but I think he's Catholic now. The priest asked all the godparents to say a few words about their wishes for the child, which again was a rather weepy affair, but very sweet. G and I blamed each other for grabbing the video camera bag and forgetting to put the camera in it, but other people took lots of pictures. Good thing, since our camera also fried itself at the beach and went to the great darkroom in the sky.

Middle Sister's adopted daughter K was also baptized today, which was very sweet that they shared the ceremony. And we had the same Irish priest who baptized A. It was fun to hear him speak Spanish (it's a largely Latino denomination) in an Irish brogue. Middle Sister also almost forgot Big Nephew, who had fallen asleep on our couch. Everyone was loaded into the van, and she runs back in, so I think she forgot something, and watch her shaking something on the couch. Turns out to be her son, who staggered to his feet, said his goodbyes and climbed into the van. We would have found him eventually and mailed him back or something.

Then we had a whole bunch of people at our house and someone had really black soles and apparently a wooden leg which he/she dragged across the kitchen floor over and over. But we got lots of compliments on the food and Middle Sister brought her artichoke dip which is absolutely to die for.

Middle Sister said to A., who was watching over the distribution of his toys to the many children here today and being rather bossy, "You mom calls you The Enforcer, doesn't she?"

He replied, "No. She calls me in the afternoon and says, 'I have to go to the bathroom.' "

My Summer Vacation

Highlights:

1. A. walking into my sister's kitchen and exclaiming, "Whew! I've had quite a day!" (I believe he was quoting from Dr. Seuss' The Sleep Book).

2. Being pelted with sand by the "gale force" winds at the Oregon Coast.

3. Not being able to talk to each other on our walk on the beach because we all had tissue stuffed in our ears. See #2.

4. Picking sand out of my baby's eyebrows.

5. Pouring sand out of my bra (note: I didn't even nurse on the beach. This is fine, evil sand that seeps through clothing).

6. Fried clam strips and beer at the Dory Cove.

7. A.'s song about the Dory Cove, sung to the tune of "Deck the Halls:"

"Dory Cove-y, Dory Cove-y, fa la la la la, la la la la."

sung for the enjoyment of everyone waiting for a table.

8. Getting a Columbia windbreaker at the outlet center for $20. Score!

We didn't do much else. We couldn't hang out at the beach, or outside, really, because of the pelting sand. We went to the outlet center several times. We ate out twice. We walked to tidepools once and saw starfish. We played a jelly belly game where you eat a random jelly belly and try to guess the flavor. Harder than it sounds. No internet access. Lots of naps.

It was good to have other people available to entertain Fussy Boy Ben. And the older cousins (and the cartoons they watched) were endlessly fascinating to A., so that was helpful too.

In other news:

Ben's getting baptized this weekend along with his cousin Kelly. Why should I hog all the good Catholic weirdness? He deserves as much Catholic guilt as his brother. And there's still that Limbo thing.

I'm watching "Being Bobby Brown" as I type. Wow. Oh yeah, no crack there. If there was ever a couple made for each other, though, there they are. The scary thing is that Bobby turns out to be the reasonable one. When I was a teenager, before her singing career, Whitney was a very popular model in Seventeen magazine. You know, she is still really pretty. Oh hey, there's a sweepstakes on the show's web site where I can win an ipod. I won a free diet coke yesterday, so maybe I'm on a lucky streak.

Xtreme Road Trip

San Francisco, CA: The award for Courage Shown By Parents of an Infant and a Toddler was presented to Lunasea and G after their grueling car trip with two small children. Event organizers reported that it was a very difficult decision, with several deserving finalists. What pushed the Lunasea household over the edge was their risky and, some would say, foolish, decision to drive the 13 hours from Lincoln City, OR to San Francisco in one day, in a fairly small car, with two cranky babies. During the drive, they performed the extremely dangerous maneuver Crawling Into the Backseat and Squeezing One's Bottom Into the Too-Small Space Between Car Seats While the Car Is in Motion not once but several times, previously only seen on Fear Factor: Parents. This activity requires intense concentration by the driver, extreme physical agility by the crawler and is also illegal.

Then they attempted to quiet a screaming infant and a shrieking toddler simultaneously. This feat was made more difficult by the Toddler Obstacle: Sticking One's Peanut Butter Bagel Right in the Middle of One's Face. They faced a formidable opponent in A., whose lung power is legendary and whose shrieking has been known to shatter glass. While cleaning peanut butter can be challenging under the best of circumstances (and Lunasea would like it to be knows that it was not her decision to give the toddler peanut butter in the car), it was made even more risky by the lack of mobility given to a parent squeezed into the Too-Small Space Between Car Seats.

Asked to what they attributed their success, Lunasea said, "We just kept going. We only stopped to nurse, to look at a fish ladder at a dam, and for Burger King. You have to get into the zone, use cruise control and just keep going."

G. added, "I'm just glad it's over."

The Fast Hath Ended

I have some reflections on being without internet access for a week:

I really don't need to know the answer to almost every question within 30 seconds. I do just fine even if I don't find the answer. In fact, not running to the computer every time I wonder about some oddity helps me differentiate what's really important from what's just brain fluff. It also improves my imagination as I focus on the possiblities, instead of looking for the facts. And I don't need the computer for entertainment. There's entertainment all around me, in the clouds, in my children, in conversation.

HAH! Just kidding. God, I'm glad to see my computer again.

Buon Viaggio!

So I'll be gone for about 10 days. Someone planned a "vacation" without internet access. I'll be spending 5 days at the Oregon coast with my in-laws recreating G's childhood vacations. This is the first time since G was little that his whole family has stayed in a house together for 5 days, so you know I'll have LOTS of material but no blog access. Sigh. G's very excited, though, and keeps telling A. how great it will be to stay at the beach and get crabs. (In a pail, to eat, you smart-asses). A. is afraid that his Thomas train is going to get all sandy. I've tried explaining that we're not actually going to be living on the sand with the crabs, but you know how 2-almost-3-year-olds are.

We're driving up, because Ben hates the car and we like to torture him, A. and ourselves.

G: "Hey, I think we're gonna rent bikes up there!"

Me: "Oh?" (thinking: there's a reason I haven't ridden a bike in 20 years - thank god I have a 4-month-old to get me out of this little adventure)

G: "Yeah, but my mom is afraid the kids are going to get hit, so we'll probably ride on the beach."

Me: "How is that going to work?"

G: "We'll ride down by the water, you know, where the sand is harder."

So if you're on the Oregon coast and see some people trying to ride bicycles on the sand and dodging waves, pulling kids in trailers, make sure to wave. I'll be the one sitting on the sand with a fussy baby, watching, taking pictures and wondering what e-mail I'm missing.

Oh, I wanted to relate this little conversation with the lady in the drive-thru box at KFC yesterday:

Me: "How big is the large size of macaroni and cheese?

KFC: "$2.79."

Me: "No, I mean how big is it? How much is in it? Like how many ounces?"

KFC: ::::pause::::: "It's twice as big as a small."

Me: "Oookaaay. How big is a small?"

KFC: ::::::longer pause:::::: "I don't know. It's smaller."

So I got a large, which is just about 2 cups. I'm guessing the small is about 1 cup. There was no one there that could've figured this out? ::::insert rant about what they're teaching today's youth here::::

So try not to be too funny while I'm gone, 'kay? I hate missing stuff.

Home Schooling

We were channel surfing this evening and we came across American Ballet Theater's "Swan Lake" on PBS. A. was entranced. He watched raptly, not even diverting his attention when the charismatically-challenged Caroline Kennedy came on to explain the plot. I saw this as a natural learning opportunity and told A:

"Did you know all those dancers poop and pee in the potty?"

And Another Thing...

Ben's taking an unusually long nap this morning, so I'm making the most of my two-handed freedom. You gotta read Corndog's riff on the headline "Scientists Use Computers to Simulate Terrorist Scenarios." I'm too inept to link to specific blog entries, so you're going to have to scroll down to Tuesday July 5th's entry. Or better yet, read your way down. Very funny stuff.

Giving People the Wrong Impression

A. is walking in a big circle around the family room with his right pointer finger up against his cheek, saying, "I not sure wass on. Seh-me Steet or Teletubbies or Payhouse di-ney? I not sure. I jus can't think."

Just so we're clear - I HAVE NEVER done this. I've answered "I'm not sure," when he asks me what's on TV before I try to distract him with another activity. And maybe I've said, "I can't think," to G. before, but I've NEVER walked around the family room in a circle with my finger against my cheek in bewilderment at the TV schedule, OK?

Pacifier Wars

We're having the pacifier wars here in the Lunasea household. It's Ben's mouth vs. Ben's hands. He's always been a super-sucker* and really, really likes his pacifier. However, he also has just enough coordination to pull his pacifier out of his mouth. What he hasn't gotten yet is the concept of cause and effect, or the skill of putting the pacifier back in his mouth. He gets really mad when the pacifier leaves his mouth and yells at me, his eyes saying, "Woman, why must you ruin my life so?"

I've told him, in my best wise voice, "If you want pacifier in mouth, it is most wise to not pull it out of mouth."

I replace the thing maybe 200 times a day. I tried putting spare pacifiers and various objects in his hands so they would be full, but he's able to loosen a finger, insert it into the pacifier handle, and pull. So then he's holding 2 pacifiers. Then he realizes that the pacifiers are close to his mouth but not inside, and does all kinds of head and neck contortions to get one of them back in. So far, he has been unsuccessful.

I've also tried taking the pacifier away and making him do with his fingers. Doesn't work - he knows the difference and is quite unsatisfied. When we're trying to go to sleep at night, I've tried putting him in a sort of headlock with my hand and wrist snugly over his chest and shoulder so he can't reach his mouth. Some people read Goodnight Moon as their bedtime ritual, we have a mother-son wrestling match.

I've tried nursing instead. He does the same thing by pushing my boob out of his mouth. I have one arm underneath his head, and my other arm alternates between keeping his legs on my lap (he likes to hurl himself off my lap in another fantastically self-sabotaging move), holding the enormous boob up (here come a bunch more Google hits), and holding his hands still so he doesn't push the boob out. I'm an avid breastfeeding advocate, but it's not exactly a relaxing, tranquil bonding experience with this little guy. It's more like lunch at a really chaotic cafeteria in a foreign country. Works for sustenance, but it's not exactly comforting.

G. points out that is a perfect metaphor for life - how many times do we blame our misfortunes on outside forces, when really we're the ones taking the pacifier out of our own mouths? Ah, more Life Lessons from Our Children. How touching.


*He can give me a good hickey in less than 3 seconds if he sucks on my arm. My rather limited experience tells me that's not normal even for a fully grown male.

Self-Portrait

Me and Ben. He does this very cute thing where he presses his cheek up against mine and grins into the mirror. Trying to get a picture of it isn't working too well.

According to A.:

• "No, thank you." - A. on potty training.

• A, about the animals gathered on the train table: "Dey having a con-ver-sa-tion."
  Me: "Oh, what are they talking about?"
  A: (pause) "Bout da con-ver-sa-tion."
  
  - A. being a proper child of therapists and making his animals process their communication styles.

• "I'll be just a sec, OK?" - A., mimicking me.

• "You say, 'Crap'?" - A. missing nothing after I've dumped half a box of cereal on the floor.

• "Wow, what a mess." - A. a few moments later.

• "SBS spider climbed up the water spout..."
  More Things that Make Me Cranky:

• I hate stuffed animals that say "I love you!" How long does it take us to learn that we may love things, but they don't love us back?

• Lady today at Quizno's, looking at Ben: "Wow, he's so beautiful he almost looks fake." Me: "Um, thanks." (Didn't really make me cranky but I don't know where else to put it).

• More horrible children's books: G. actually threw "Carl Goes Shopping" away. Slacker parents leave the baby alone in a department store with a rottweiller. Rottweiller puts baby on his back and goes gallivanting around the store. They steal food and dog biscuits and become a liability nightmare. Maybe I'm hyper-sensitive because we've had several incidents of dogs mauling kids around here, but the pictures are so realistically drawn that there's no reason a kid wouldn't think their friendly neighbor rottweiller is a perfect babysitter. Or maybe I'm just jealous that I can't leave my babies with Carl.

• I don't think I like the Doodlebops. I've given them a chance, and I'll watch them instead of Barney any day ('course, I'd watch pretty much anything short of a snuff movie over Barney). Still, I don't like the guys' manic energy. How long can they really keep it up? The male actors I knew in the theater world like Moe and Rooney ended up living fast, burning bright and going into rehab, if they were lucky. I find myself staring at them and thinking about them off-camera - wondering how long it takes to put on all that makeup, and if they light up when the cameras stop rolling. I never wonder those things about the Wiggles.

• Found this press release:"The ultimate goal will be for the DoodleBops to explode into selective rock concert venues in November, which is a key family entertainment time period," says someone. Exploding DoodleBops in November! Don't say I didn't warn you!

Happy Independence Day!

Happy 4th of July to y'all! I'm betting that I'm the only one who stayed home to see the Washinton D.C. celebration on PBS, but in case any of you saw it, how 'bout that Sharon Lawrence, huh? Is there anything she can't do? And what's up with Barry Bostwick's hair?

Two days ago, G and I celebrated our 5th wedding anniversary. It's been a great 5 years, sweetie. From the girl who thought she'd never get married.

If you'd asked me back then where I wanted to be in 5 years, I'd have said just about here. Two lovely children, a house, a job (more or less). But if you ask me where I want to be in the next 5 years, it's a harder question to answer. Um, a happy 7-year-old and 5-year-old? OK. I guess that's good. A weird thing about this time of life is that we've made (or given up) most of the goals we set in our 20's. So, now what?

On a completely different note, I've never lived in a neighborhood that has quite as many (illegal) fireworks as this one. Some of them are professional grade, sending huge multi-colored chrysthanemums into the sky. They still scare me a little bit, since I grew up in the valley, where fireworks were a real fire hazard and no one had them. A. was really excited about the fireworks, saying, "Oh, GOOD JOB!" after our neighbor boy lit some. "I love red and blue and yellow fireworks! So many colors up in the sky!" he yelled. That's exactly the reaction one should have to fireworks, I think.

I Forgot One

One more weird Catholic thing - although this is really more about my OCD streak than I usually care to reveal. You've seen Catholics do the sign of the cross (do other Christians do it? I don't know). We say "In the name of the Father," (touch the forehead) "and of the son," (touch the chest) "and of the Holy" (left shoulder) "Spirit," (right shoulder), Amen."

So when we were learning how to do it, I guess in first grade or so, it was explained to us that you begin a prayer with the sign of the cross (SOTC) so you'd get God's attention. Like, "Hey, God, gonna pray right now, so listen up, yo." They likened it to picking up the telephone - it was like we were opening the line to God, then we'd talk to him, and then we'd do the SOTC again at the end of the prayer, and that was like hanging up. This was their explanation for why we do the SOTC at the beginning and end of each prayer. Fairly reasonable explanation to a bunch of 6-year-olds, right?

Except that I, again, took it quite literally.

When we enter church, we put our fingers in a bowl of unsanitary "holy" water and make the SOTC. No problem - we're picking up the telephone line as we enter God's house (with Jesus in that little house on the altar), right?

Except that we make the SOTC again when we genuflect before entering a pew inside the church. If we picked up the telephone line when we entered the church, it stands to reason, then, that if we make the SOTC again, we're hanging up, right? And therefore God won't hear any of the prayers we might make as we kneel in the pew before Mass starts.

So, the solution, of course, is to surreptitiously cross oneself quickly after entering the pew, thus picking up the telephone line again. Phew.

Except - we make the SOTC again when we finish prayer and sit down in the pew. Well, there we go hanging up again! Again, a quick SOTC must be made in order to keep the communication lines open.

Except - here comes the priest and he opens the mass by making the SOTC again! Crap! Now the Mass won't count because we just hung up on God! Do it again, quickly! Get him back on the line! And so on.

The Mass ends with, again, the SOTC, and if I'd kept up, I was saying my goodbyes to God and hanging up appropriately. Except...I had to cross myself AGAIN with the holy water as I left the church, thus picking up the telephone line again. It wouldn't do to leave the line open like that, because God would think everything I thought from that point on was a prayer, and I just didn't need that kind of responsibility. So, again, a quick SOTC as we got in the car, and everything's kosher, so to speak.

I did wonder why no one else seemed to be compulsively crossing themselves - if what the nuns said was true, was it possible that I was the ONLY ONE who'd figured this out? Yes, as a matter of fact, it was.

Strange Things I Believed as a Catholic Child

My mother was Catholic, my father was not. They had a deal that any boys they had would be raised Methodist by him, and any girls they had would be raised Catholic by her. God might love Catholics more because they ended up with three girls, and Dad never had to become Methodist (he was raised Jehovah's Witness, which is a whole 'nother post).

So I spent 12 years in a plaid skirt. And yet, I know quite a few non-Catholics who know more about the religion than I do. Perhaps it's because I stopped listening around second grade. So I present these to you, not as weird things Catholics believe, but as the weird ideas I got in my own head about what they believe.

1. Anyone, at any time, can get "The Calling."

On Vocation Day, we had to watch videos of nuns and priests talking about their vocation. It was sort of like career day with one career. What it really was, was a recruitment seminar. They wanted to be sure that we heard The Calling to become a priest or nun if that's what God wanted. But they did a lousy job of making it look like a fun life, so I was scared to death of "The Calling." The nuns would explain:

"I was in high school when I got The Calling."
"I always thought I'd marry and have kids, so I was not expecting The Calling."
"I got The Calling as a small child."

You know how sometimes you think you hear someone saying your name and you look around and don't see anybody you know? As a child, every time that happened to me I was terrified that I was getting The Calling. I thought these people really heard a voice calling their names. I didn't realize that The Calling was actually a conscious decision, and one that most nuns/priests were happy to make. The ones at my school certainly didn't look happy, and I already hated going to mass.

2. Babies who die before they're baptized are in a big airport lounge somewhere.


Surely you've heard of Limbo. Besides being a dance performed by drunk people on cruise ships, it's where babies go if they die before they're baptized. See, we can't have people who aren't baptized getting into heaven - that will make people think they don't need to get baptized and will go against our claim that we're all born with original sin. But on the other hand, we can't say that we think little innocent babies go to hell, either, because that'll offend all the baby lovers out there. So the Catholics made up Limbo.

As a child, when I thought of people stuck waiting, I pictured an big airport waiting lounge. I'd flown enough as a small kid to know that that's where everyone waits. Sometimes you wait a long, long time, especially if you're a military family waiting at an Air Force base to travel space available on a cargo plane to Hawaii because your dad doesn't want to pay for real airplane tickets (again, another post). Thus - many babies stuck at gate 7C.

The idea of babies being stuck somewhere was distressing enough that they shut Limbo down a few years back, and said babies were virtually baptized or something. But it was ingrained enough in me that I felt we had to get A. baptized. Just in case Limbo reopened.

3. Jesus is 10 inches tall.

Many Catholics take their First Communion around second grade. I guess they think that's the age most kids can start to understand the idea of the Body of Christ and all the mystery surrounding the sacrament. They're wrong. Kids are still very literal at that age, so if I'm seven and you tell me that Jesus lives in that little house at the back of the altar, I'm going to think that Jesus lives in that little house at the back of the altar.

But I'm not a complete idiot, and even at seven years old, I'll know that the host doesn't actually turn into Jesus' flesh, even if you tell me it's not a symbol, it really does change. That's why you want us to bow our heads when the bells ring during mass,* signifying the transubstantiation - so we won't see that, actually, NOTHING HAPPENS.** Well, you guys might not know this, but I kept my head up once. And nothing happened. Also, I reasoned, if the host really did turn into Jesus' flesh, we would have run out by now. Especially if he's only 10 inches tall. And why do we have to be cannibals, anyway?

Whenever I brought these issues up in First Communion class, the nuns would start talking about faith. Again, I wasn't an idiot so I understood that they were really saying, "If you ask those kinds of questions, you're a bad Catholic and maybe you're not ready for the First Communion." Well, my mother was counting on me wearing that very short poufy dress that both my sisters wore to their First Communions, so I learned to keep my mouth shut.

And stop listening.


*When A. first heard these bells at his great-grandmother's funeral, he turned to me and said, "Telephone!" Ack! Maybe it was THE CALLING.
** I need to watch out. Apparently sometimes when you doubt the whole transubstantiation thing, God plays a trick on you and actually turns the host into a slice of heart and the wine into coagulated blood clots. Yuck.

Two-Handed Typing

I'm typing very fast because Ben just fell asleep in my arms and I put him down, which woke him up, of course, and I think he's going to demand to be picked up again. I read somewhere that if you're going to put them down when they've fallen asleep in your arms, you're supposed to stop after every tiny movement towards putting them down and wait 30 seconds before the next tiny little movement. I just don't have that kind of TIME, buddy.

I'm going to start calling him Mr.Pilates. He's constanty lifting both his head and his legs up if he's lying on his back. It's like he's straining to sit up, but if I sit him up, he shoots his legs out straight as a board and goes back down. He's going to have a six pack by the time he's 6 months.

Mini-Cooper displays two T-shirts that I want. The mom's says, "Supply," and the baby's says, "Demand." God, no kidding.

Stupid things I heard on TV:

"Having the right tools to cook with is important, but knowing how to use them is even better."

Nah, I'll just have them, thanks. Don't want to overdo it.

"I don't ever want to be that close to death again."

Hmmm. Got some bad news for you, lady.

Phrases from Thomas the Tank Engine that have inserted themselves into our family's conversations:

"You have caused confusion and delay!" (my favorite)
"Bust my buffers!"
and, said in a low, growling voice, "I like children."
"Roads have their uses as well as rails."

New Baby Ticker

No, it's not for me, it's for Big Niece. I like that it tells you what the baby's doing at each stage. Way more useful than a floating balloon. Less than 15 weeks until I become a great aunt!

Big Niece is the first person I've known for their entire life. I was all of 10 when she was born. Although we didn't know her sex, and I knew there was a possibility that the baby could be a boy, I really didn't think that would happen. A boy? In our female-dominated family? Nah. Now here I am with two boys, and she's expecting a boy of her own. We both had the same reaction (as did middle sister, who had the first boy) - "A boy? I don't know what to do with a boy!" But I told her, now that I know, boys rock.

Memesiness

No one tagged me for this, 'cause no one loves me, but I'm going to do it anyway - picked off Jess' site....

Three screen names that you have had: psykphd2be, lunasea, brklyartist (when I was being pretentious)

Three things you like about yourself: that I have a sense of humor about being a mother, that I'm honest, that I can sum things up quickly.

Three things you don't like about yourself: I'm a procrastinator, not good at housekeeping, can be lazy.

Three parts of your heritage: Irish and English. Wish I could throw in Native American, 'cause it would be cool, but I can't.

Three things that scare you: the ocean, losing my children, fire.

Three of your everyday essentials: coffee, the internet, the newspaper.

Three things you are wearing right now: red/white striped VS underwear, pink Land's End T-shirt, denim shorts.

Three of your favorite songs: Melt with You (Modern English), Do You Realize (Flaming Lips), Both Sides Now (Joni Mitchell).

Three things I want in a relationship: someone with a sense of humor, someone who makes a good dad, someone trustworthy. Fortunately, that's what I have.

Two truths and a lie: I've fired a shotgun, I love "Everyone Loves Raymond," I speak some Italian.

Three things you can't do without: lipbalm, kleenex, coffee.

Three places you want to go on vacation: Ireland, Switzerland, Hawaii.

Three things you just can't do: a cartwheel, roll my "r"s, enjoy raisins.

Three kids' names: Jake, Emma, Liam (note - have not succeeded on any of these).

Three things you want to do before you die: Visit the Alps, see my kids have kids, get a really good camera.

Three Celeb crushes: George Clooney, Dr. House, Morgan Freeman.

Three people you want to know these things about: beastarzmom, trish, beej.

I Love...

...that I'm married to a man who makes up his own words for the 1,289th reading of "If I Could Drive an Ambulance," and sings them to the tune of "Oh Christmas Tree:"

Oh Am-bu-lance
Oh Am-bu-lance,
This lady's leg is broken.
Oh Am-bu-lance
Oh Am-bulance,
Please take her to the hospital.

...that he also thinks the children's book "Love You Forever" is as creepy as I do. I know it's a beloved standard, but I think it's weird that the lady crawls through her son's window late at night. And rocks him if "he's really asleep." What does she do if he's not really asleep? "Um, sorry, son, I was just practicing my firefighting drills..." Although I do like that the mom calls her son and says, "Come visit me because I'm old and sick," you ungrateful lump.

Speaking of weird children's books, A. got another one from our friends. These are friends who have saved absolutely everything, including original boxes and directions, from his daughter's childhood. The daughter just graduated from college, and they've found termites in their garage, so it's time to clean it out.

So now we have this horrible book titled, "I Have to Go!" In it, little Andrew is asked numerous times, in numerous situations, if he has to go potty. Andrew always answers, "No no no no no!" And then, several seconds later, yells, "I HAVE TO GO!" so Mom and Dad and Grandma and Grandpa have to drop what they're doing, pull the car over or rip him out of his snowsuit and rush him to the bathroom. Parents do and say nothing.

The climax occurs after he's gone to bed, again promising that his bladder is empty. All the adults predict that he will call out in 10 minutes that he has to go potty, but he doesn't. Instead, he yells, "I WET MY BED!" They change his jammies and his sheets and he still says he doesn't have to go. The parents do and say nothing, although Grandma does mutter, "I never had these problems with my children."

Now, granted, my kid isn't potty trained yet, but I think this is the point where the parents step in and say, "Guess what? You're going anyway, you little brat." or, "Hey, it's a diaper night!" Not in this book. He does end up going potty with Grandpa, which probably leads to a sequel: "I'd Like to Go to Bed Before Dawn, Grandpa, So Could You Have That Prostate Checked?"

Current favorite bedtime reading is the informational brochure for the "322CL: Hydraulic Excavator." It weighs 53,600 lbs. and does not appear to have a CD player in the standard model. We picked up this riveting edition at the Caterpillar showroom.

If Ben Could Talk....

HI!! I'm Ben, the happiest baby in the world! Everything is so absolutely fantastic, I can only shake my head in wonder. Delightful, everything is just delightful. You people are so funny! I just can't get enough! Oops, did I just throw up again? Is it all collecting in my neck? Hah Hah! Everytime that happens it's just as funny as the first time! Almost as funny as when I sneeze!

Wait, has my diaper been a tiny bit poopy for more than 2 seconds? GODAMNIT!! &^%$$%*!!! I HATE LIFE! THIS HOUSE SUCKS! YOU SUCK AS PARENTS! WAAAAH WAAAAH! CHANGE ME NOW - NO, IT'S ALREADY TOO LATE! I HATE YOU AND I'M NEVER GOING TO BE HAPPY AGAIN. I NEED A CLEAN DIAPER IN WHICH TO FINISH POOPING! THEN YOU'D DAMN WELL BETTER GET ON CHANGING ME AGAIN, AND FASTER THIS TIME!

Oh, hey, what's that floating into my field of vision? Could it be my hand again? I wonder what happens if I bring it reallyreallyclose to my eyes? Wow, this thing's fascinating. Does everyone have one of these? It looks like it could be really useful if I had more contol over it, too. Whaddya mean I've got TWO of them? Jackpot! Whoa, where'd it go? It keeps disappearing. I hope it comes back.

Oh, it's the black and white mobile again! I LOVE this thing! I am SO happy to see it! These guys are my best friends. Especially the face with the bald head. I keep telling it I love it and it always smiles back because it loves me too. It's always happy, like me. Life is good. There's that Mama again - she's awesome and I have to give her the biggest smiles. I am so overjoyed to see her! She's the best!

%&$#*#*#* BUT NOW I AM FREAKIN' TIRED AND YOU ARE KEEPING ME UP! DON'T YOU KNOW I NEED VERY SPECIFIC CONDITIONS UNDER WHICH TO FALL ASLEEP??? HAVE I NOT MADE MYSELF CLEAR?? IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT I'M STILL AWAKE! IT'S YOUR FAULT AND I HATE YOU! WHO SAID YOU COULD BE A MOTHER? WHAT DOES A BABY HAVE TO DO AROUND HERE TO GET some rest? Geezus......

Zzzzzz.........

Necessary Lunasea

So I've had to come up with a policy regarding comments on this blog. Here it is: Feel free to disagree with me (plenty do), but personal attacks will be deleted.

How to Melt My Heart:

When I come stumbling into the kitchen in the morning, say, "Good morning Mama! I glad to see you! Did you have good sweep? I glad to see you! We got pancakes for you!" Even if you and Papa already ate all the pancakes.

It's been over an hour since I put A. to bed and he's still awake in there. Not complaining, mind you. He's just singing and telling stories to himself. And turning the Ocean Wonders Aquarium (toy of the devil, that thing is) on and off. I love that he can be happy as a clam in the crib until he falls asleep Sometimes when he wakes up in the morning, G. will go in there and A. will say, "No, I not ready to wake up yet. I still westing."

Other things he's been saying a lot lately:

"Oooh, das wee-mock-uble!" Usually about one of his train engines. Not sure what he thinks "remarkable" means, though.

When he bumps his "bike" into a curb: "Uh oh! I in twubble now!"

"Das a good ideee-uh!" about pretty much anything.

I was surprised he said this in response to my suggesting moving to a big boy bed soon, since he loves his crib so much. And, proof that my child is one of the best children in the universe...he's never tried to climb out of it and he'll be 3 in September.

Up on My Sooooapbox, All Covered With Cheese....

The SF Chronicle has a group of readers that respond to various questions about topics in the news, and some of the responses are printed in a column called "My Two Cents."

Recently they asked the question, "Has mental illness affected teenagers in your family?" And we have this insightful answer from Justin Whitney of SF:

"At least six members of my immediate and extended family are currently taking antidepressants. At family gatherings, everyone seems chipper, if slightly glazed. But you cannot convince me the problem is chemical. Medication is a form of denial."

Spoken like someone (ahem...a man) who's never experienced PMS. Moods are affected by brain chemicals/hormones and even blood sugar. They are. Period.

It reminded me of a disagreement I had a few years ago with my best friend. She insisted that the lead in some movie, I can't remember which, was Keanu Reeves. I was pretty sure it was Christian Slater. We went back and forth for a while, but she didn't enjoy debate like I did. Finally, exasperated, she said, "Can't I have a different opinion?" Surprised, I answered, "No. Not on this."

Well, we were both psychology students and you can imagine how that had to be processed. She thought I couldn't tolerate her being a separate person, and I had to explain that of course she could have a different opinion. On subjects that were subjective. This wasn't about reasoning or opinions, this was about FACT. Either I was right or I was wrong about Christian Slater. It didn't make sense to say that it was my opinion that the lead was Slater, and it was her opinion that it was Reeves.

Whitney's comment reminds me of that argument. Dude, it's not a matter of opinion. If you "can't be convinced" that depression is sometimes chemical and that medication is a form of treatment, not denial, then watch out for the edge of that flat earth you live on.

Oh What the Heck, Here's Another Rant:

And in "breastfeeding in public" news...we have reaction from Ken Schram in Seattle to the nurse-in at ABC studios. He doesn't approve of mothers nursing in public, saying,

But for guys, it is nigh on impossible to switch from breasts as something sexual to breasts as take-out-food.

To which I say:

Hmmm. Your inability to tolerate your sexual urges vs. my baby's need to eat...gee, that is a tough one. Sorry, gonna have to choose the baby.

Oooh, someone got up on the sarcastic side of the bed this morning.

Train of Thought

Don't you hate it when life gets in the way of blogging?

There are a couple of issues currently getting in the way: One is that I often only have one hand available when I'm at the computer. I know it shouldn't stop me - heck, I bet there's a one-armed blogger out there somewhere who doesn't let it stop him/her! I'm never gonna get misquoted in the newspaper with this attitude!
"I was sad because I did not have two hands to blog...then I saw a woman with no hands and she blogged with a stick between her teeth." Heck, I don't deserve you, my loyal readers.

Whoa, um, where was I? Oh, the second thing is that I am a flybaby. You've probably heard of Flylady (www.flylady.com). Yeah, yeah, I know - I don't really believe her when she says, "I love you!" either and all the positive reinforcement gets a bit cloying, BUT...the routines work. They work, and I'm newly productive. I sold 4 (Four!) things on e-bay, and got them to the post office on time. I've already started the laundry and run the dishwasher today, and taken both boys to a dr's appointment. AND..I make menu lists now for the week and go to the grocery store once, maybe twice, a week. Yep. Believe it or not.

Which is a good thing, because G. actually starts at Major HMO today. It's been a ridiculous ride (they called him because the background checker couldn't confirm a previous employment teaching workshops...for them), but he really starts today.

Friday was G's birthday. We packed a picnic and headed to the beach. A. kept saying he wanted to build something "inniseen," which we finally figured out meant "interesting." He did, in fact, build a very interesting pile of sand, oops, I mean castle. His other new word is "bootiful." I made a small scrapbook for him, and he leafs through it, saying, "Wow! I love dis! Iss bootiful!" Which I thought was sooo sweet until he also told me later, "Wow! Look at all da (grocery) bags! They're bootiful!"

But the really, really weird thing lately is that....I'm quite happy lately. Not sure if the nursing hormones are working on me better than they did last time, or if the answer is staying on Prozac and not going off it again...but whatever, I feel like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be, doing what I'm supposed to be doing. I feel so darn LUCKY to have my two boys. I keep thinking, "This is how it's supposed to be." Still got the financial issues, but whatever - there are so many things that are more important than money. A. has finally admitted that I am AS FUN AS PAPA, and Fussy Boy Ben is fussy and spitty, but totally in love with me. I'm even thinking maybe of having another one in a year or two. My God, are those pigs flying outside my window? What happened to the most ambivalent mother on earth?

All of which makes me kind of boring, I'm afraid. Wait, I know I've got angst in here somewhere...

Point and Click

Today I taught A. to use the digital camera. It was a bribe so he would allow me to take photos of him and Ben after their bath. The best part was that he couldn't figure out how to use the viewfinder, so he'd press the viewfinder to his forehead, face whatever he was taking photos of, and shoot. It was this mind-meld picture taking technique, like he was trying to transfer the picture in his mind to the camera. It was very funny, and I couldn't take a picture of it because he had the camera. But here's a good shot he took of my T-shirt that G. bought me in Florence, and one of their feet:

It's Not Paranoia if They're Out to Get You

So I decided to apply for disability (SDI) during my 6 weeks off work after my c-section. I have been self-employed in private practice for almost a year (since leaving the counseling center last June). Despite having paid into State Disability Insurance for 20 years before that, my claim was denied. Here's why:

"You had withdrawn from the labor market prior to the date you became disabled because you were self-employed for profit. Therefore, you are not suffering a loss of wages due to your disability but instead a loss of profits."

OK, first of all: Profits? Where? Where?? I made about $18G last year. I pay almost half a mortgage on a house in the SF Bay Area, and half the utilities. You do the math.

Second: Why is it wages when a CFO signs my paycheck, but it's profit when the client pays me directly? As far as I can tell, my mortgage and utility bill still gets paid from the money collected.

Now, if they'd said, "Hey, chickadee, you're not paying into SDI right now, so you're out of luck," I would've said, "grrr, OK." I mean, you stop making payments on your health insurance and you're not covered, no matter how much you've already paid. (enter duck quacking: Af-lack, Af-lack). But this whole wages vs. profits thing is ridiculous. Since I'm not bringing in any wages, can I apply for welfare?

I'd always heard that it was hard to be a small business owner, and I assumed that was because of the work. I didn't realize it was because the government makes it very hard to make a living on your own.

OK, enough grousing. Here's the PSA for today: If you are sharing a bed with a baby and you feel a warm wet spot, chances are excellent that it is, indeed, a warm wet spot.

I was napping next to Ben, and I'm used to wetness up near my head (baby throw-up) and on my chest (mommy-leakage), but I'd never felt it near my belly before. I thought maybe it was just the warmth of being next to him, but no, it was sort of spreading and getting warmer, like a warm, wet spot.

The diaper that G. had carefully put on him before the nap had come loose. Hence, the PSA of the day.

Finale Roundup

Desperate Housewives: Really good one. I love season enders that wrap up more loose ends than they leave. We don't know if Mike'll be shot by kid-who-might-be-his-son (did we ever find out who shot him before? I missed one and have been confused ever since), but we know who Deidre was and why Angela/Mary Alice killed her. I still had her pegged as the social worker who tried to take Dana/Zach away - can't believe I didn't think of her being his mother! Duh! I like this show even better than when it started - I think the acting's gotten better. Although, I still don't think these four women would be friends. And I don't believe Bree and Rex wouldn't have suspected Creepy Pharmacist much earlier.

Apprentice: Kendra, straighten your neck, for pity's sake! I just want to reach through the TV screen and wrench her head back up.

Survivor: I MISSED IT! Proof that I am a new mother: I lost track of when the finale was, and the next thing I know I'm logging onto the internet and there's a headline saying Tom won! Crap!

Lost: Kind of frustrating. No sooner do they save the baby than the little boy gets picked up by the Pirates of the Caribbean. We're no closer to finding out what the black smoke is, and the hatch apparently goes to China. Pppssssh.

AI: I've called each AI correctly until this one. Nothing against Carrie, but I agreed with Simon that she was a little wooden.

Those are my shows, along with West Wing. Still waiting for that one, although we're still not going to find out who won. What do you think - Alan Alda or Jimmy Smits as the next POTUS? I was hoping Al Bundy would have more to do - how cool to have a showdown between Al and Hawkeye.

More Fun with A.

• A.to G. when he wants him to do something: (singsong) "I got special job for you!"
  
  
• A. to me when he doesn't want to do something: "No, sorry, I busy working something right now." (wonder where he's heard that....)
  
  
• He wanted to watch his Thomas DVD and I suggested Sesame Street instead, and he looked very sad, and said:
  
  "Sesame Street? No, sorry, we don't watch Sesame Street. Boys watch Thomas and the Jet Engine. Girls watch Sesame Street. Sorry."
  
  What cracked me up was that he was shaking his head sadly and shrugging his shoulders as he said it, like he was truly sorry to inform me of these rules. (And it sounds more like "Sesee Steet," which is also cute).
  
  
• Driving home from babysitter/friends:
  A: "I had fun with Susan!'
  Me: "That's great, honey."
  A: "I have fun with Papa too."
  Me: "Yeah, Papa's pretty fun."
  (pause)
  Me (knowing I'm going to regret this): "And you have fun with Mama, too, right?"
  A: "No, I have fun with Papa."
  (pause)
  Me: "But sometimes you have fun with Mama, right?"
  A: "Nooo, I have fun with Papa!"
  

Games

I thought I'd share some of A.'s favorite sports with you. All rules made by him, and he usually takes the part of Player 1.

Basketball

Hold ball in both hands in front of your chest. Toss ball up and out. Wait about one second, then jump. Retrieve ball, repeat. Ask others to play basketball with you and ignore them when they point out it appears to be a one-person game.

Football

Hold ball with both hands, squat as low as possible. Yell out random numbers in any order, but two of the numbers must be "6" and "13". If other player forgets "6" and "13," stop game and make them do it over.

When done calling numbers, stand up and run in a large circle.

Football, Alternate

This form is played when the neighbor boys are playing their own version of football on our lawn (why not their lawn? I don't know). Stand well clear of running, larger boys, but when they tackle each other, run over and throw self on lawn next to them. Clear area when they get up, stand to side, repeat.

Soccer

Player 1 stands behind soccer ball ("home") and sends Player 2 to Exact Right Spot, about 25 feet away. If Player 2 does not stand in Exact Right Spot, leave ball, walk over and point out Exact Right Spot. Player 1 may change his mind about Exact Right Spot on the way back to "home" and need to readjust Player 2.

When Player 1 is finally ready, he walks about 3 paces behind ball, yells, "Ready for big kick, Mama?" runs forward and kicks. No matter where ball ends up, Player 1 raises hands in "touchdown" sign and yells, "Goooooooal!" or, sometimes for variety's sake, "Two Points!"

Baseball

Despite chance of disaster, play game only in family room. Player 1 holds empty paper towel roll behind him with one hand. Player 2 pitches ball toward Player 1, Player 1 tries to hit ball with paper roll. If Player 1 misses, both players yell, "Stteeeeeerrrike!" and Player 1 retrieves ball, saying, "I try it again!" Repeat until paper towel roll accidentally makes contact with ball. Look startled, then yell, "Home Run!" At various points in game, tackle Player 2 ("Papa") and tell him that you're a big elephant.

Spider

If one player is wearing Spiderman T-shirt, other player runs up to him, yells, "Spider!", first player yells "Spider!" back, and both players run in a circle. After the initial circle run, either player, can, at any time, run up to other player, yell, "Spider!" and both players must run in small circle. Both players must be under 4 years old.

Free Speech Now!

So I deleted the post about the craziness in G's hiring process because he's afraid someone will put it all together and dooce him. I'm being censored! (Insert photo of me with black tape crisscrossed over my mouth here).

Anyway, he may actually start June 9. We'll see.

A. stepped on Ben today. Ben didn't seem to mind. A few weeks ago A. leaned on Ben's tummy as he gave him a kiss and Ben turned into one of those bath toys that squirt water, except it was milk and it squirted out in a huge arc, delighting A.and making him want to see it again. He talks about it constantly. I think he was trying to see if stepping on Ben would produce the same result.

All Hail Tortuga!

That was it! You know how code sort of starts swimming in front of your eyes and you can't see straight? She found the missing ul and it worked! Much better - that was really bugging me. Thanks Wendy. Happy knitting!

At a Loss

I have hit the limits of my competency (which doesn't take much). I'm editing the links in the sidebar. I had so many I thought I should divide them into categories. So I have parent-y blogs, by parents and sometimes about parenting; crafty/scrappy/knitty blogs; and other blogs (I'm sorry about that - I don't mean to make them look like also-rans just because the blogs aren't about cute kids or paper and yarn).

Anyway, the parent-y blog part is all nice and centered, with a nice small type. Right below it, in the scrappy/crafty part, the links are big and aligned to the left. I can't figure out why it would look different since, according to the cascading style sheet, which I did not write and only marginally understand, they're all supposed to look the same. I've tried everything I can think of - changing the font size, etc., align="center" and all that. Any nice person wanna take a look at the source and tell me what to do?

Anyway, the crafty/scrappy blog list is mostly new. It includes blogs by some of the big names in the scrap world. These women are great designers and their blogs look awesome. The writing on a few gets a little precious sometimes but it's their blogs and they can do what they want. One, Rhonna Farrer, is my digital scrapping idol. She designs, hands down, the best (and most expensive) digital scrapping kits.

Where Did the White Fence Go, Mama?

Overheard: "Be the monkey you want to see in the world."
~ G. to A. while they were pretending to be animals.

I'm not sure about this, but I think A. could be going through some weird developmental stage where his cognition has surpassed his language skills, or vice versa. He's coming out with more and more non-sequiters (like the title of this post) and nonsensical monologues.

Tonight, in between kicks of a soccer ball (I'm taking a guess on how to punctuate this): "It's a big tree. Big tree goes CRASH, zoom to Thomas, that way ::::waving arms around:::::. And Gordon. It's dark and muddy road. Sometimes, sometimes. Is a good idea. Yes. Frogs. Hear frogs, Mama?"

Oh, hey, I can answer this! "Yes, I hear the frogs."

"Holy Cow! Oh no, That's very very dangerous." Sad head shaking.

I end up saying, "OK," a lot and "If you say so." Who knows what I'm agreeing to, though?

He's also picking things up very quickly. Today I muttered, "Oh, good lord," as Fussy Boy Ben refused to let me sit down again. A. heard me and for the rest of the night, everytime Ben fussed, A. would yell, "OH GOOD LORD!"

So, Anyone Here from Hoboken?

A: "I'm the sweetest big brother in the world."
B: "How 'bout this guy, huh? Give him a nice warm round of applause!"

*Caption courtesy of my sister. I knew Ben looked like a Borscht Belt comedian, but she put the words in his mouth.

And We Usually Tie the Older One to the Roof....

G took A's baby boy doll to work with him to use with in play therapy with a child client. He had it all bundled up in a receiving blanket, and as he was loading up the car to go home, he looked at the doll in his arms and felt a surge of love for our baby boy. He smiled at the doll in his arms, thinking of our little guy. Then he opened the trunk and tossed it in. Closing the trunk and turning around, he looked straight into the eyes of a man in a car nearby staring at him.

Then he went back into the office and explained to our co-worker what to say if the police happened to drop by.

Tractors and Trailers and Trucks, Oh My

I'm discovering that one of the hazards of being the only female in a family is that we end up going to look at Caterpillar construction vehicles instead of the Nordstrom outlet when we have an hour to kill.

BUT....check this out! They had a gift shop! The lady at the shop thought A was so cute that we got three FREE caps! One flame-thrower like this one, and two plainer ones just for visiting! I put this one on and A told me I "look beautiful." I don't know about beautiful, but I do think it looked pretty good. I would never in a million years buy these hats, or a little onesie with the "CAT" logo on it, or any of the other amazing products they offered, but these were FREE! I'm going to wear it everywhere. And we all (except Ben) have one! I'm thinking...Christmas card photo?

We also got a DVD of construction vehicles doing their thing. There's one part strictly of explosions. Boom! There goes a field! Boom! There goes a cliff! Boom! There goes a big hillside! We'll have to get A a DVD of trout spawning or something to make up for the ecological devastation.

I Can't Finish....

Here's my problem with blogging right now. I can't complete a thought. I can't complete the laundry. I can't complete the thank-you notes. I usually complete diaper changes, but that's a loose cannon waiting to go off. I realize this is a normal state for mothers who have just given birth, but it's getting in my way. Here are some of the thoughts I've begun over the last week....

1. In South Carolina they passed a bill making a first offense of cockfighting a felony, while repeated domestic violence remains a misdemeanor. Representative Altman basically said that the chickens are helpless, while women are able to leave their abuser, and it's their fault if they don't. I think we should get Mrs. Altman to beat up her husband, since it's only a misdemeanor.

2. In the same week, George Will wrote a column that annoyed the heck out of me. Misrepresentation of therapy and psychotherapists is, naturally, a sore subject with me. The basic premise was that our culture is treating everyone as if they're feeble, and somehow that's the fault of therapists. I wrote a post trying to tie these two events together, but frankly, it didn't make much sense. Just know that they both pissed me off.

3. A now knows how to use the computer mouse and can point, click and drag. He can navigate the whole Playhouse Disney site, and he doesn't even read. Blows me away - he's not even three (although he'll try to tell you he's four. Don't believe him). Are kids today born with ingrained computer knowledge?

4. I return to work next week. God help us all if my brain doesn't kick back in. Clients will be treating me like I'm feeble, and they'll be right.

5. The novelty of having a new baby is wearing off. He's cute and all, but I want him to sleep more than 2 hours at a stretch.

6. I got a pedicure - it was a GC from last Mother's Day that I finally used. G walked around with A and Ben during my appointment and when I came out, A said in wonder, "You got pink toes?" He's asked me that several times since, like he just can't figure out how or why I would have pink toes. When you really think about it, it is a mystery, I agree.

7. A got a gift recently - "Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus". Cute book. Except that it's taught A to whine "Plleeeeeeeeze?" every time I say no to something. Not so cute. Pretty annoying, really. Be forewarned.

8. The nurse at my dr's office asked me, out of the blue, yesterday at my 6-week postpartum check, "So are you going for a tubal?" Are you trying to tell me something? Did everyone in the office take a vote and decide that I should?

9. Apparently the nursing team that was on the morning I gave birth is being very diligent about sticking IV's in women's arms as soon as they walk in. It's oddly pleasing that I would have such an effect on a whole nursing team. I think they should tell patients that they're performing the "Lunasea Honorary Early-IV Procedure." (I almost wrote "Memorial," but that implies that I died.)

10. Drive-through services are a boon to parents with multiple children in car seats. There are not enough drive-through services in general, and there are not enough drive-through coffee shops in the world.

11. G just took a job with a Major Medical HMO in our area. He'll be doing groups with clients just released from the psych hospital. This means that, since he'll be working full-time, and I'll be working part-time, and we stagger our schedules to avoid paying for child care, we will both essentially be single parents. Let me be the one to break it to you: therapists don't make the big bucks.

12. I was playing with A in the grass, watching him move a toy jeep through the grass (over "bumpy muddy road!" he says). The jeep went on a huge safari-like expedition, this way and that through the tall grass. I asked him where the jeep was going. "Costco," he said first, then corrected himself. "Target" was the final destination. That's my boy.

13. Brothers - they've already got the same smile:



See what I mean? Lots of thoughts started, any of which could potentially be a blog entry, and none finished. On the other hand, 13 blog entries in one! What a deal!

Guest Blogger

I just don't have time to blog this week, so I'm propping Ben up at the computer and giving him a chance to express himself.

Ben's Blog:

Arrived last month. It was very frightening - there I was, just swimming away in the nice warm water, my every need attended to, and suddenly, the walls of my comfortable little spot literally began closing in on me! There was a "pop!" and all the water went gushing out! "Hey! Wait a second! I'm still using that water!" Well, it quickly became clear that my previously beloved home planned to squeeze me beyond recognition and push me down a tube about half my width. I don't THINK so, I thought. There must be another way out. Besides, who knows what's at the end of that tube? Could be anything out there. Let the cord go first, I said, and pushed it out ahead of me as a test, sort of like sending the bird into the coal mine to check for toxic gasses.

In retrospect, though, might not have thought that one through - I ended up passing out from lack of oxygen. Who knew that rope was so important? But, they did get me out of there awfully quickly and I didn't have the conehead I saw on some of the other babies. So it's all good.

They've brought me to what they call "home." There's a big person with boobs, and a big person without boobs (the Dark One). There is also a short person who keeps getting up in my face, all squeaky-voiced "Hello little Benjamin!" and rubbing himself on me. I'm a bit worried about that one. I do not seem to have control of my arms and legs yet, and so cannot grab his hair and pull yet. Give me a little coordination and I'll bet he'll stop all that fondling pretty quickly. But I have to be careful - he looks like a vengeful sort and seems to have many projectiles he could use against me. I'm not always feeling a whole bunch of love in all those "brotherly" pats, you know what I'm saying?

By the way, who's in charge of this operation, Rumsfeld? What do you think we're doing here, invading Iraq? What's with sending me out here without working parts? My arms and legs are, seriously, all over the place! They freakin' wake me up with all the flailing and I can't even keep my thumb in my mouth. And what's with the vomiting? All vomit, all the time. I'm getting better at turning my neck so it flings over my shoulder, but really, I shouldn't have to do that. I also have an inordinate amount of gas for someone who only eats breastmilk, but apparently I get that from the Dark One.

The one with the boobs has an annoying habit of being near me without putting her boobs in my mouth. If she's around and I'm awake, I see no reason for her boob to not be in my mouth. I have learned to begin screaming and then I'm like "Oh, look, wonder of wonders, I guess the boob is available, after all. Funny how that works. I guess you think I'll just stop if you put that thing in my mfmmmmffffff..."

This also works if I'm with the Dark One. He is useful, I have found, for searching out The One With the Boobs and depending on how loudly I am screaming, can find her quite rapidly.

The One With the Boobs seems intent on getting me to smile or laugh. She's always making these goofy faces and telling me to smile. I'm like, "Hey, when there's something to smile about, I'll smile, OK? But right now I'm gassy, my clothes are wet from vomit, my arms are flailing all over the place and you guys don't change my diaper quickly enough." But the fact that I can't speak the language yet is causing a communication breakdown. More bad planning, if you ask me.

Plan is to keep the boob in my mouth as much as possible, continue to work on arm/leg control, and stare at high contrast things. Oh, and keep trying to grab that short one's hair.

WIth a Little Help From His Friends...

G and I were watching the coverage of the new pope while A. played at his train table this afternoon. I didn't think he was paying much attention, and besides, how much sense could all this make to a 2.5 year old? Later, the evening news came on and of course, led with the pope story. A. looks at the TV, sees Ratzinger, and asks me, "He turned Pope?"

I liked the way the clergy they used as commentators kept referring to the Holy Spirit like it was the project manager for the conclave. "The Holy Spirit has been organizing the cardinals to choose the correct direction for the church..." "The Holy Spirit is directing the vote..." I think Donald would be pleased with how quickly the ol' H.S. got the job done this time, (although Ratzinger scares the heck out of me).

The "Fatal Attraction" Lady Should Not Write Children's Books...

The rather ominous-sounding book A. inherited from neighbors.

What IS the point?

1. Quote of the Day: "What's the point of embalming?" said to me, completely out of the blue, by G. as he walked into the kitchen. Turns out he's writing his will and is always looking for ways to save a few bucks.

And let's not even discuss why he thought I'd know such a thing.

2. Things that make me cranky:

• Unplugged toasters (that you don't realize are unplugged until you go back, in a rare baby-allowing-himself-to-be-put-down moment to quickly spread cream cheese on your toasted bagel and your bagel is still partially frozen).
  
  
• Babies born with undeveloped stomach sphincter muscles so they throw up everything they eat. What's the point of that? Talk about a design flaw.
  
  
• The volume dial on the FisherPrice Ocean Wonders Aquarium. Is there a reason children need to be able to turn the volume way up to "split-my-tiny-eardrums?"
  
  
• That it took me almost 40 years to realize that the tune to the ABC song ("now I know my ABCs, next time won't you sing with me") is the same tune as Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.
  

Next Year, I'm Going as a Rabbi

It's always time for a "things A. said" post.

1. Upon seeing all the cardinals decked out for the Pope's funeral
on TV: "Halloween!"

2. A. at the breakfast table: "I like Target!"
Big Sister: "I like Target too - there's a lot to see there."
A: (pause, thinking): "Yeah! There's a lot of red there, too!"

3. Tonight after reading "A Catholic Child's Book of Prayers" at bedtime: "Wow,
that was good story!"

Since Ben has been home, A. has become quite pitiful. He says, in this really plaintive voice, "Wanna play trains wif meeeee?" drawing out the meeee in a way that suggests that no one EVER plays with him and it would be his last dying wish to have you play trains with him just for a few minutes. He will also look out the window and say sadly, "Where kids go? I see my friends?" Of course, when we do meet up with the playgroup at the park, he won't really play with any of the other toddlers. And of course, I feel guilty for not sending him to preschool this year and for not being able to get out for as many playdates now that Ben's here. Does parental guilt ever subside? It's such a big job and there's just no way to really do it right.

The big news here today is that our tub is fixed. There was some blockage in the pipes which meant that we had barely a trickle coming out of the spout. For A.'s baths, I had to fill the tub with a pitcher of hot water filled at the sink. I felt like Mrs. Pioneer Woman, except for not having to lug the water in from outside and heat it on the stove. It was still a chore, I tell you!

Scenes I Want to Remember

Scenes I want to remember from the hospital:

1. G. saying to the woman who came to sign B. up for the newborn hearing test: "Now, we don't want him circumcised."

Woman: "Um, I just do the hearing tests. You should probably talk to the nurse."

He later told me, "Hey, to me she was just a hospital official and as far as I could tell, circumcision hadn't been covered by anyone yet."

Smart-Ass Wife: "Oh, here comes the lady with the meal tray. Make sure you tell her you don't want B. circumcised."

2. The NICU nurse, Ronald, who was a large black man with dreadlocks. The little preemies practically vanished in his big hands.

3. Our other NICU nurse, Roberto, finding out that I was a therapist and telling me his concern that his 3-year-old son was "too sensitive and emotional." "He's a caretaker," said Roberto, and then added, "Hmm. Well, I guess he might get that from me," as he fed a brand new baby.

4. A tiny, very unhappy-looking Indian woman in a sari who stood right outside the NICU door without moving. It appeared that her daughter had given birth, the baby was in the NICU and the rules didn't let grandparents in. She was not happy. The mother of the baby didn't seem very involved in the baby at all, and I wondered if the grandmother would end up raising it. The mother didn't want to carry the baby out of the hospital, saying her back hurt. I guess the father didn't want to, and hospital rules wouldn't let her mother carry the baby, so the unit clerk carried the baby to the car. She came back shaking her head. "They didn't even have the car seat buckled in."

5. After B. was readmitted to the NICU, I was walking back down the hallway to my room, lost in my thoughts, and a nurse came out of nowhere and without saying anything, wrapped her arms around me. I burst into tears.

6. One of the NICU nurses made it her personal mission during one of the shifts to give each baby in the intermediate unit a bath. The bath consisted of holding each baby under the faucet of a large industrial-size sink. It looked like she was washing heads of lettuce.

7. Whenever a baby's O2 monitor went off (and the monitors went off a lot), nervous parents would inevitably look up and stare at the numbers on the screen, prompting a chorus from all the nurses: "Look at your baby! Look at your baby!" Meaning that instead of relying on the monitor, we should check the baby's color to see if he was getting enough O2.

8. On the last day, we were moved to the "annex" because of construction outside the window. The annex is where they perform circumcisions and we saw the materials. There were baby-sized plastic trays that looked like baby-shaped jello molds, to hold their arms and legs still, and little metal rings of various sizes, each with a small razor blade in the middle. I have no opinion on other parents' decision to circ or not, but yikes. I don't even have one of those things, and I was crossing my legs, saying, "ouch!"

9. All the doctors, who, trying to be sympathetic, said, "Wow, a prolapsed cord? Phew, those are really scary. You're lucky they got him out in time." And the neurologist, who said, "If any problems show up on the EEG tomorrow, it's from something earlier in the pregnancy." Perhaps there's a better way to say you don't think there's any brain damage from oxygen deprivation at the birth?

I'll have to add more as I remember them. Sorry to subject you to all this, but this blog is pretty much the only way I'm going to remember anything.

Papal Coverage

I'm just so glad that Entertainment Tonight has promised to bring us "celebrity reaction" to the Pope's death throughout the weekend.

I mean no disrespect by this at all, but as a Catholic, I'm surprised by the coverage. And if I were a non-Catholic, I'd be pretty amazed as well. I saw on the CNN crawl line (before the Pope actually died) that the church was urging Catholics to increase their prayers for the Pope. I wish they'd be more specific - exactly what were we supposed to pray for? His demise or his recovery? Neither seems quite right. That he's admitted into heaven? He's the POPE, for goodness sake. It seems to me that if anyone doesn't need our prayers to get into heaven, it would be him.

Edited to add: I myself have been riveted to the 24-hour coverage. I'm fascinated by the rituals around the papacy, and this pope was particularly charismatic. It also seems that John Paul II, despite what I may think about some of his policies, was a genuinely good, faithful man. What I wonder, though, is what it's like for non-Catholics. Do they think it's a bit overdone; after all, not everyone is Catholic? And praying for a peaceful passing makes complete sense - I'm glad that it seems that's what happened.

I think it would be really interesting if they selected a non-European pope. Maybe one from Asia or Africa. Wonder what the chances are.