a disturbance in the force

Note: if you are especially sensitive to cursing or are a particularly nice person who really loves kids, don't read this post.

I was at the park today and I ran into one of my friends. She was carrying her otherwise active 14 month old around. She said "I am having to carry him today and it is hard for him because he wants to play, but there is this kid with a remote control car and Levi really wants to play with it, but the kid is being kind of mean...." As she said this I sensed a great disturbance in the force--it was as if thousands of one year olds had a toy snatched from their hands simultaneously and were screaming in agonized protest--I looked up and there he was. Turd kid. I told my friend, "yeah, that is turd kid. He likes to pick on one year olds. I hate him. And his mom is my mom nemesis." (keep in mind that all of the moms I know are super nice and no one ever talks ugly about another mom here in Stepford so this was a radical statement, but this is turd kid we are talking about and I don't give a shit when it comes to this kid--see? I just said shit.) Then she said "yeah, well his grandma is no gem either, she just let him be mean to Levi, everyone knows that when you bring a toy to the park, it is community property." Figures. Figures that turd kid has a turdy grandma.

Then he looked our way. And I stared him down. And my look said "don't f___ with me kid. I am operating on no sleep, and if you think, ""oh this is the flimsy-flabby new aged love and logic aughts, where kids don't get spanked, so I am protected from this bitch."" Think again. I will spank, and if you screw with my kid, or any other kid, I'll spank your little ass."

Then he gave me a look and it said "try it bitch, I'll scream and you'll get arrested, and I can cry real hard and look real hurt and be real cute if I need to be."

Stalemate. But in a few years, I will be a state's witness at his sentencing hearing.

Sunday Drive

blue angels bi-plane

yes, he did go down with the baby....

a clean butt after about a million diaper wipes.

Today, we headed west to Chappell Hill to find bluebonnets and take our annual pictures. But where there should be fields of blue there was nothing and we drove and drove--beautiful countryside, but no bluebonnets. We ended up at Washington on the Brazos state park. We saw about a million motorcyclists (and I could tell just from looking at them that they were a Law Enforcement club), played on a dangerous playground from the 70s, admired some longhorns and a bi-plane, saw a coopers hawk, learned about the birthplace of Texas, had a massive diaper blowout--but no bluebonnets. It was still a lovely day, that will be remembered in the hearts of these Texans for all time.

la not-so-much leche

when breast feeding goes wonderfully right: You have your baby, and she is 50 percentile for weight. And she latches on great and she eats, and you breast get engorged, but she plugs away and relieves the engorgement. You go to your first checkup and she has gained weight and is still in the 50 percentile for weight. And she eats every three hours during the day and four during the night, but you have to wake her up to feed her because she is such a sleepy head, and after each feeding you and your hubby laugh at how milk drunk she looks and the two of you feel drunk with love. And you realize that everything about her has come from your body and you are amazed at how perfectly God made us. You go for another check up and she is still in the 50 percentile for weight. Then one night she sleeps for 5 hours and your breast feel like they are going to burst, so even though she might go longer you wake her up to feed her, and then still manage to pump 4 ounces. The you go back to work (boo) and you pump every three hours and everyone in the office knows what you are doing, your secretary has seen your boobs, the judge stops trials so you can pump, no guy wants to put anything in the refrigerator in your office for fear of what they might see, but you don't care, because you love your baby more than anything in the world and feeding her and having her gain weight and be healthy are your biological imperatives. And you go to your 4 month check up and want to give her solids because she is your first baby and you are so excited about doing everything with her and the doc says to hold off and make it to six months because she is doing so great and you do it because you love her more than anything in the world and feeding her and having her gain weight and be healthy are your biological imperatives. A hurricane comes, and people are going crazy and there are no no groceries on the shelves and a stranger rushes up to you in the store and says "hurry-- they are almost out of formula!" and you smugly think "I don't need to, I've got it all right here." You nurse your baby in public. You are nursing your baby while a doctor tells you that your mom has breast cancer. You nurse your baby in bed with your chemo-striken mom and you both watch as she falls asleep on your breast and marvel at the joys of motherhood. You nurse her until your boobs sag and she can say,"mama chi-chi?" You nurse her until one day she toddles over to your lap with a sippy cup of milk and then you stop. And you do it because you love her more than anything in the world and feeding her and having her gain weight and be healthy are your biological imperatives.

when breastfeeding goes horribly wrong: you have your baby and she is she is in the 50th percentile for weight. And she latches on great and she eats and she plugs away to relieve the engorgement. And you go to her first checkup and she has gained weight and is doing great. And then you get mastitis. Two times. But you keep on keeping on because you read the Womanly Art of Breastfeeding and know that you need to power through. And then she gets a cold and you go for a sick baby appointment. And she has gained weight, but not quite as much. You and the doctor chalk it up to her being sick. She coos and smiles and does everything great and starts to sleep through the night, but you are not uncomfortable. And then you go for a two month checkup and this time she seems a little behind on the weight, but you and the doctor chalk it up to the fact that at the last appointment, she was weighed with a diaper and all of her clothes on and he says "don't worry, as long as she pees and poops okay, you are fine." And you say"well,actually, she hardly poops, just every few days," and he says, "some breastfed babies don't poop that much." And you are happy because you are not having to change 10 poop diapers a day like with baby number 1. Then you notice that it seems like you are feeding her all of the time. Some days 12 times a day. One day 17 times. One day 20 times. You dig out the first baby's breastfeeding journal and see that you only fed her 6 times a day one day, seven the next, six, seven, etc. You talk other moms about this and everyone says the same thing, "every baby is different." You start to feel worn down. The baby stops sleeping through the night and starts to wake up every two hours again. The baby seems to cry a lot. She nurses for a few minutes and then starts to pull at the breast and look up at you, and then latch on again. You start to wonder if you are not making enough milk, but quickly discount that as a possibility, because you are an educated woman and know that breast milk is the perfect food and your baby will always help increase your supply. Supplementing with formula is not a good idea because then your body won't make what you baby needs. You repeat this mantra to your mom when she suggests that the baby is hungry and you give the baby formula. You ignore your husband when he recalls all the cajoling you had to do with the first baby to pump enough milk to satisfy the caregivers at the daycare. You recall a friend whose husband asked her "would you even want to be friends with someone who fed their baby formula?" Your baby is strong, but becomes fussy. She moves her arms and legs about all the time. She is happy, but can quickly becomes inconsolable., She wants you, and only you to hold her all the time. She catches another cold and this time she has gained very little weight and the substitute doctor seems concerned but tells you to address it with your regular doctor at the next well baby visit in two weeks. You start to notice that your let-down doesn't feel very strong and you notice that it seems like a long time since you heard the baby coo. But breast milk is the perfect food and your baby will always help you increase your supply, right?? Then you go to your check up. She is on the bottom tenth percent. She has lost weight from the last visit. And all of her accomplishments, that she can roll both ways, that she can bear weight on her legs, that she is trying to sit, everything is over shadowed by how thin she is. You point out some rolls on her legs, but the doctor shows you on her groin where she is very thin. And then he says: "how to you feel about giving her formula? Nurse her, then offer her formula and go ahead and start rice cereal." You try to give her a bottle in the doctor's office but she won't take it. And you silently rejoice because you don't want it to be you. You don't want to be the one who failed her. You just want her to be a skinny asian baby. But you know. You know what is wrong, you knew all along, but didn't think it was possible because breast milk is the perfect food and your baby will always help increase your supply. Supplementing with formula is not a good idea because then your body won't make what your baby needs, so you buy another bottle in hopes that she will like that nipple better. And she does. And you are bottle feeding one of your babies for the very first time and you think, "does she still need me? what purpose do I serve if I am not giving her my milk? I am a horrible mother, I am a horrible mammal" and you go a little crazy for a minute and place a quick call to your friends who talk you off the ledge. Then she starts to poop everyday again. And then she starts to coo again, and it is the most melodic sound you have ever heard. You give her bottles of strange powdered stuff and you do it because you love her more than anything in the world and feeding her and having her gain weight and be healthy are your biological imperatives.

And those other people can find some new friends.

spring break 2011

The Magic Wand




Calling for geese with grandpa




Charlotte the Snail

Little Kiss

Sprinkler Magic

happy reunion

I was tired, weary actually, so spring break found us at grandma and grandpa's house, which meant Annabelle's days went something like this: Wake up late, at about 8:00, get dressed, head to the big house, eat a hearty breakfast of some kind of pork product, and then time to go outside and get on the swing. But since grandpa has not taken his shower, she has to wait patiently and ride her bike or scooter. When he finally comes out, she gets on the swing for about an hour. Grandpa pushes her and talks to his next door neighbor, who by this time has mosied on over for gossip and an 11:00 beer. Then she is done with the swing and gets in the sandbox. She finds a snail, which we kept as a pet, and kept alive, I might add, for an entire week. She names the snail Charlotte and goes about finding plants and a suitable place for him/her to live. Then we eat lunch and watch the birds at the bird feeder outside the kitchen window. Then more swing, bike, scooter, with a break for some shop time with my dad, where they drill holes into stuff. Then she comes inside and makes a mess or paints herself with markers which causes my mom to shoo her outside for a run through the sprinkler. Then more swing time or a trip down to the river to call the geese. Then supper, and a bath. Then we head over to the little house and she sits out on the back porch to watch the stars come out and listen to the sound of the night on my mom's lap while my mom tells her stories. Then we work on our Lenten project which is a prayer cross, where every night we tear out a piece of construction paper and write down the name of someone we want to pray for. I placed behind my mom and auntie and uncle dale and Johnathan the Lion at the Houston zoo but ahead of grandma's cats and papa, so I am feeling pretty good.

Tallulah's day goes like this: eat, happy, put stuff in mouth, suddenly and for no reason decide she is pissed, screams f0r what seems like an eternity, then nap. Repeat until 7 p.m. then sleep till midnight and then wake up every three hours.

My day goes like this: corral Annabelle, make sure the baby doesn't swallow leaves, nurse the baby, play with baby, curse baby, fuss at mom for fussing at me for letting the baby cry it out. repeat.

I really didn't want to come home, but on Thursday Annabelle announced that she missed her dad and wanted to go home immediately, because she "can't live without papa."

Which is just as it should be.

the natural aging process

Having children ages you. After four months of no sleep, longer if you count uncomfortable pregnant lady sleep, I am feeling and looking old--and I am not the only one. In the past few days we have had several instances that have confirmed that we are exiting the super highway of the young and sexy onto the dirt road that is decrepitude lane. It started the other day when a tree fell down on our street. It was "as big as a dinosaur!" and thus our street needed to be blocked off while it was cleared. H and Annabelle walked over to look at it and H stopped to talk to the young Vietnamese cop (I say cop now, not officer) that was on duty. H called him "anh" which is the polite way of calling someone in Vietnamese who is older than you, but not terribly older than you, and the officer corrected him "no, you can call me "am,"" which was the Asian way of saying, "you're the old one here, dude." H found this amusing and was telling me about it. "I'll do you one further," I told him. "I was at the HEB last week and this young man in his 20s called me "miss," and the first thing I thought was, "actually, you can call me ma'am." I actually wanted to be called ma'am."

Then Hyphen took Annabelle to the park and the next day was complaining (shocker) that he was still sore from pushing Annabelle on the swing, and was indeed so sore that it hurt to pick his nose. I wish I was making this up sometimes.

And the kicker? I have been wearing pantyhose to church, because bare legs just don't feel properly dressed to me.

But they are cute black pantyhose with a pattern, not nude sandal toes, and I was playing hide and go seek with a whole gang of three year old ballerinas the other day and I can still pick my nose just fine, so maybe these are just isolated incidents. Not Decrepitude Lane just yet, but can anyone can tell me how to make my way to Middle-Age avenue? Because I am definitely on my way.

a dream is a wish your heart makes, unless you never sleep and then a dream is just well, a dream.

So we do this thing called family movie night and tonight we watched Cinderella. I hadn't seen it since I was a kid and I forgot how hard she had to work. Clean the tapestries, scrub the floors, take care of the animals, etc. And when it got to the making of the gowns part, I was struck by how similar our lives were. Today, Annabelle told me (albeit very sweetly) "Mama, I want you to go upstairs and make me a dress and I will do the pins." I, too, spend a fair amount of time cleaning the house and fixing food and drink for very demanding people.

But there are also some differences.

1. She is awoken in the morning by cheerful birds and mice. I am awoken, well tormented really, by snoring that is so loud that it cannot be fathomed, let alone described, crying, a three year who has wet the bed and is yelling "I'm wet, I'm wet!" and a dog who wants to be let out at the ungodly hour of three in the morning.
2. She has the cranky step sisters, I have a sick, cranky baby.
3. The cat is named Lucifer. I have a dog.
4. At the end of the day, the handsome prince politely demands her hand in marriage, whereas at the end of my day, a paunchy Asian politely requests, well.. you know.
5. She is a blonde and I am a red head.