It Shall Not Be Vanquished

Petal's stomach bug hit me Thursday afternoon, but I was much better on Friday and we thought we were safe to make the Northward journey. Christmas Eve in Connecticut and Christmas Day in Maine went off without a hitch. But last night Shakira was hit. Then Petal got sick again - she hadn't thrown up since last Wednesday morning so I was really surprised. I spent most of the night up with Petal and during the night I realized my brother was sick too. Jack flew back to Maryland yesterday evening, but I woke up to an email from him that he'd gotten sick in the night also. Now my mom is fighting off waves of nausea. Blech.

Another Milestone

Petal has her first stomach bug. I could get really descriptive here but I will spare you. But as I threw soiled bedding directly into the washing machine last night, I remembered reading about urban mothers schlepping bags of similarly befouled laundry to the laundromat and was so, so grateful to be here in our townhouse with the roomy basement and laundry facilities. And also incredibly grateful for Jack as we tag-teamed comforting the baby and cleaning up the mess. I just hope this bug will move swiftly and not put a damper on my baby girl's Christmas.

Fail

A woman from my Moms Club converts VHS tapes to DVDs as a home business. So I was psyched to give her the tape I'd found in my parents' house labeled "Norway '97" and have it converted to give as Christmas gifts. Until yesterday when I received an email that I had actually given her a tape of, among other things, Shakira and her friends listening to The Doors and using bad language. It sounds really funny so I'm still getting it converted, but it's hardly something I can give my grandmother for Christmas.

About That

Funny how Jack has been out of the Army for over a year and it still has the ability to toy with us like the ocean with tiny sea craft. Due to someone else's inability to deploy due to diabetes, we will not be relocating to New York. Two months worth of plans, excitement, worry and stress now erased like they never happened. I am disappointed about not moving closer to many of our loved ones, but I have to admit to a sense of relief at not having to actually go through with moving house. We've been here for 4+ years now and the idea of uprooting is a bit (okay, a lot) unsettling. Instead, we are focusing on the perks of remaining in our Chesapeake community for the time being.

The week has also been stressful because our beloved cat Bullock ("Wooly" to Petal) ran a fever this week and required veternary services. He has been diagnosed with Feline Immune Deficiency since well before we adopted him, but his symptoms were minimal until recently. He was hospitalized in September but bounced back quickly so we were hoping it was just a blip. However, the hospital visit resulted in our learning about a very new treatment for FIV+ cats. I did some research on it and it seems like it can vastly improve Bullock's prognosis. Jack mentioned it to our regular vet when he brought him in on Tuesday and the vet said he wasn't overly familiar with the new treatment but that he would look into it. He called about an hour ago and said he thinks it would be worthwhile to give it a shot! I'm really happy about this. Bullock will get a shot once a week for three weeks, then if blood work shows improvement he will continue to get a shot once a month for the rest of his nine lives. We first learned about FIV when we adopted Bullock in February 2009, and we were told that there really wasn't anything we could do as far as his prognosis. It's amazing that not even three years later there is a treatment so effective that, in rare cases, it has completely cured some cats of FIV. When I was a junior in high school, our family lost two kittens to Feline Leukemia, a related but more lethal disease. This treatment also works on Feline Leukemia, so while my family and I were powerless to help tiny Gracie and Orson, I am gratified that the technology to let Jack and I make things better for Bullock now exists.

I have a million things I should be doing right now, namely picking up the living room and folding laundry, but I'm refusing to leave the couch because sweet Wooly cuddled up next to me and I don't have the heart to get up and disturb him.

Isn't he adorable?

Score

The early morning hours are not my favorite time to be a parent. Especially icky is when I'm up before the sun gazing bleary-eyed at my daughter, who's ready to start her day. Shakira and I refer to the state of just waking up as blinky, as in "Petal is often blinky after a nap." To add insult to injury, when you're up in the predawn hours with a begging to be entertained baby or toddler, it's all you. Hours until playgroup or until the library and the stores open. The streets and playgrounds uninvitingly chilly with lingering night air. No, the early morning is definitely not the highlight of my day.

As the end of daylight savings time drew nearer and nearer, I resigned myself to at least temporarily having a whole extra hour of early morning time to battle. It seemed inevitable.

So imagine Jack and my delight when on Saturday morning, Petal slumbered until the totally civilized hour of 8 am. We immediately decided to start observing standard time a day early and pushed Petal's schedule back an hour for the remainder of the day. And it seems to have worked. This morning I awoke at 7:15 to a room bathed with sunlight shortly before Petal summoned me through the baby monitor. I could get used to this.

Timely

I've experienced 26 New England autumns. I don't ever recall snow in October. But somehow it managed to find us in Maryland before the trick-or-treaters have had their chance to knock on our door for the year.

Fortunately, the premature arrival of the chilly white precipitation did not prohibit Petal from heading out to explore. A few days ago, a package from family in Connecticut arrived bearing a Halloween onesie, a souvenir troll plate from last summer's trip to Norway, and an outgrown snowsuit worn by two of my cousins. And today while shopping at Babies R' Us, we happened upon a pair of pink snow boots perfect for Petal's tiny tootsies. The snow began while we were in the mall, and was starting to stick by late afternoon. I opened the back door to attempt photographic documentation of the phenomenon, and was met by Petal's wordless but unmistakable expression of interest. So into the snow we went!

Note the leaf she's clasping in her right hand, she knows it's too early to say goodbye to fall!

Hurry up and wait

Jack's been out of the Army for over a year now, but, not surprisingly, this phrase can also be applied to non-military federal employment. Despite the fact that the guy Jack is taking over from is leaving in 2.5 weeks, HR is taking their typical sweet time with the paperwork and the date of our arrival in the Empire State is still TBD.

Without a timeline, it's hard to take this move seriously. With the exception of asking my parents to store some outgrown baby clothes for the next relative to pop out a baby (Shakira? My dear cousin TechnoBunny? Nothing would make me happier!) as well as some of my pre-preggo wardrobe and some baby items I need to return to generous lenders, I have done zilch as far as packing. My mother-in-law kindly pointed out over Skype that she could see the books in my bookshelf and that I could pack them, but I don't see the point yet. Yawn. Laziness, thy name is Fairweather New Englander.

In complete denial that the military will not be handling this move for us and that there are things we need to be doing, we've been out enjoying a glorious autumn. Petal has visited the biergarten (loved the accordion,) the pumpkin patch (which went much better than last year,) the renn fest (not such a fan,) and apple picking (see below.)

Tomorrow we will finally be getting our act together. Jack has taken the day off of work and we are meeting with a potential property manager and a potential contractor to make some repairs to the basement. Last night, Jack informed me that the property manager might be interested in taking some pictures of our house if "it [wasn't] too cluttered." I just about fell off the couch laughing. Don't get me wrong, I love our home and all its eclectic reminders of our slightly kooky life, but from a real estate perspective, the decor is a bit of a nightmare. I would take a picture but Petal pulled about a third of the books off the bookshelf and I haven't gotten around to putting them back yet. I wasn't kidding about the laziness.

Island Living

There's something about the idea of living on an island that's always been very appealing to me. The plethora of beaches is a big draw, but I also like the idea of a community with defined borders, without the haziness with respect to delineation found so often in suburbia.

It could be in my blood, my mom's family comes from a small coastal island in Norway south of Bergen.

And of course Jack and I were married on the beautiful island of Nantucket

When we found out that we would be moving to New York, we initially thought that we would live in the borough of Queens, birthplace of my father.

But then we realized that we could get much more house for our money in another community, which happens to have the advantage of being a barrier island with some killer beaches.

Long Beach, here we come.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

Well, now that I have the blog all spiffed up for autumn, I suppose it's time to spill my guts. In a month, we're moving to New York.

Jack landed a job with an organization he's been trying to get into for awhile. For a year, he will be working at JFK airport. After that, who knows?

We're headed up there this weekend to scope out the area and decide if we want to go urban and get an apartment in Queens or opt for more space and fewer public transit options on Long Island. Decisions, decisions.

We're nervous about all the upheaval but pleased as punch that we will be residing so much nearer to New England and all the family and friends we love there. And of course we are psyched to be moving so close to our illustrious New York intimates.

Her Last Day of Babyhood

The hours in which my sweet sweet Petal can be called a baby are rapidly dwindling. Tomorrow she will be a toddler. I usually eagerly embrace each of Petal's new stages and milestones without shedding a tear of remembrance for the previous phase, but the loss of the descriptor "Baby" is really bringing out my melodramatic side. Oh how I love my girl.

Only Boring People Get Bored...

...so I guess we are a dull lot. We have nothing to do!  It's been raining for days (the remnants of Hurricane Lee are here,) and I've heard the roads are terrible. So no unnecessary driving today. That also means we can't go for a walk. No Moms Club activities for Petal's age group today. I really wanted to go to the gym this morning, but I've been the past 2 days and Petal has had a difficult time going to daycare there. Her stranger anxiety improved soooo much over the summer, I had high hopes that she would be able to separate from me long enough to take my classes, but she's been as weepy as ever.

My stay at home job has been driving me bonkers too. I participate in conference calls, usually lasting from 20-60 minutes. The problem is the calls can be scheduled at any time, often with little notice. Since my beloved babysitter has started student teaching, I've been scrambling for care. Last week I had to take a call while Petal hung out with me, and I had to mute my end for almost the entire conversation because she was screaming so much. And yesterday I thought I was in luck because the call was scheduled while Petal was supposed to be napping, but she had a hard time falling asleep and I wasn't able to go in and help her get resettled, which I felt terrible about.

I lined up a sitter with a glowing recommendation for today's call, but I received an email from my boss at the last minute that the call has been moved to tomorrow. And the sitter can't make it tomorrow. I'm waiting to hear back from another sitter, but it looks like I may in yet another tight spot.

Not to mention the fact that I didn't save the notes I made on the document I was working on during yesterday's call, so I had to try to recreate the information last night and I know I missed a lot.

I knew that there would be an adjustment period as we resettled back into our "real life," and I feel like I can't really get on a proper schedule until Petal's nap schedule restabilizes (she's been all over the place since we got back.) At least it's Thursday already!

Time for one of those annoyingly vague blog posts

Good things are in the works for us. Nothing is definite yet but hopefully we will know soon. It's hard to focus on anything else!

Make a Wish

Celebrating Petal's first year

Foul weather New Englander

Hurricane Irene is currently barreling down on both our Chesapeake home and our New England home. I've weathered (pun intended) two hurricanes in New England - I spent Hurricane Gloria in 1985 huddled under a blanket with my cat, and in 1991 my sleepover camp on Cape Cod was evacuated to a local elementary school to keep us safe from Hurricane Bob.

We are going ahead with our weekend agenda with only slight modifications for the storm, which my mom remains convinced will go out to sea. Jack is currently aboard a trusty Southwest flight, and we still plan to hold a slightly early birthday brunch honoring Miss Petal. The only guests who have bowed out so far are the NYC-metro area cousins, who cited traffic concerns. We were planning on driving back on Sunday but it seems much more prudent to wait until Monday. Nearly this same scenario played out during the holidays last year, when Jack's Sunday afternoon flight back to Maryland was cancelled by a snow storm and he had to take an unexpected day off of work.

Last year around this time, Hurricane Earl was on weather-watcher's radar (again, pun intended.) I kept a close eye on the storm because I was nearly full term in my pregnancy with Petal and I was sure that the drop in barometric pressure would send me into labor. I even committed to sticking Petal with the middle name Earlene if the storm had anything to do with her birth (for the record, it had nothing to do with her birth and she has a lovely, non-weather inspired middle name.)

And now I'm off to go retrieve the hubby. Be glad you don't have to drive me with, as I will probably butcher my way through Bob Dylan's Hurricane most of the way to the airport.

Oceans in between us

As I write this, Shakira and Mr. Shakira are en route to the airport to catch their flight back to Madrid. Petal is down for a nap and I am here by my lonesome. Shakira has lived in Spain off and on since 2007, taking the official steps to make her residency there permanent this year. Anyone who knows me knows how important she is to me, and having her on the other side of the Atlantic is very very hard for me. It's not just that she lives approximately a million miles away. It's that her daily life takes place in a different culture. Her job is different, her friends are different, her holidays are different, her life is just plain different than anything I can relate to. I'm not as brave as she is and the lack of familiarity can really overwhelm me.

I know many families have it a lot worse, and most of the time I try to have a little more grace when describing the situation. But today my baby sister left and I'll be lucky if I see her at Christmas. So today I'm going to pout and wish things were different.

Lazy

So I've kind of been avoiding my blog, mostly because I haven't felt like figuring out how to get the header off the post I deleted down. No big scandal, I just over-shared a bit about Jack's occupation so it had to come down. I have a really really big mouth, so I tend to specifically ask if I am allowed to share news once someone shares it with me. I still owe Bridge an apology over a misunderstanding over the announcement of her pregnancy a few years ago, I thought I had gotten the go-ahead to post it on my photoblog but I think I made a faux pas.

ANYWAY, we've been summering our little hearts out over here. Lots of beach trips, Petal's first trips to the Cape and to the aquarium, campfires and s'mores, soaking up family time, greeting every passing dog and making tons of new friends. I've been enjoying being able to get out in the evenings, spending QT with my ladies and making memories while crooning power ballads.

As summer winds to a close, I find myself fantasizing about cute toddler sized sweaters, halloween costumes and piles of leaves. It's easy to immerse oneself in the beach culture of summer, but I want to embrace each coming season with the same level of enthusiasm.

Beaming

My little girl said "Mom-mom" tonight - to refer to me. She babbles "Mamamamama" (and "Dadadadada")  consistently, but tonight she really said it, as in saying her First Word. She crawled up to me as I sat on the couch and said it while she pulled on my legs. I picked her up and she said it some more. She repeated it back to me. When my mom said it, she turned to look at me and grabbed my leg. She crawled after me to the kitchen as I went to make her evening bottle, and said it while holding on to the baby gate.

I love you, Petal. I love watching you take in your world, and learn to give back to your world too.

Hungover

I went to a cocktail party last night and didn't get back until the ungodly (in my sleep-revering world) hour of 1 am. I happily gulped down the non-alcoholic punch and didn't feel even a twinge of envy of my friends pounding Jaeger shots (Shots aside, it was a very classy party - good work Bridge!)

Yet this morning I dragged myself up with Petal feeling like death warmed over, and quickly suckered Shakira into spending a few hours of quality time with her niece. When I finally emerged after 10 am, I mumbled through a sleepy fog through conversations with my mom and Jack, then asked my mom if she would like to spend a few hours with Petal while I put in some hours on my contracting work, feeling that it would take far less energy than chasing a rambunctious almost-toddler.

It's no secret to anyone that I used to be a hard core drinker. A hangover was a small price to pay for a night of mayhem - the word my 2 best male friends and I used to describe our shenanagins. We referred to ourselves as the Toxic Trio and loved nothing more than a night that was sure to generate epic sagas in the retelling for years to come. I had fun trotting out some of the oldies but goodies for my friend Nessie's new boyfriend last night (he's totally a keeper.)

In the past few years, I've cut way back on my drinking and because I'm currently taking anti-depressants, I'm not drinking at all. I'm proud of myself from emerging from a cycle of binge drinking that would put some rock stars to shame, but I don't have nearly as many good stories these days.

Clunk

I was just thinking the other day that my brain was starting to turn to mush and that it would be good to start my new assignment with my work at home job. With new work to start and loose ends I didn't know about to tie up on my last project, I now have plenty to keep me busy - my plate runneth over.  Don't you love mixed metaphors?

Long Time No See

We were supposed to meet up with Jack tonight at a family friend's home in Long Island. Unfortunately, a family member of theirs is unwell and we had to cancel the weekend. Jack is so swamped with work and school work that we're not going to be able to see him until August 5th. That means he will go over a month without seeing Petal.

We chose this separation, and, hearing how busy Jack is, I believe it is for the best. Petal is thriving here with the attention of my parents and sister (Shakira returned Stateside on Wednesday!) Her stranger anxiety has essentially vanished, and she is eating nearly every morsel of food we offer her. It just makes me sad for Jack that he has to miss out on all this.

Zzzzzzzzzzz

When I was pregnant and dreaming of life with my new sweet babe, I also did plenty of fretting. I don't know what newborns eat! How will I know if she's cold? I don't know how to give her a bath! But far and away, I worried most about how I would handle the sleep deprivation that is synonymous with new motherhood.

Dating back to my teenage years, I've had a tendency to lust after sleep as if after a particularly fine specimen of the male gender or a rich, luscious chunk of chocolate cake. In the ninth grade, I fell asleep during English class while watching Romeo & Juliet and had to turn in an assignment covered in drool. When I was a camp counselor the summer between my junior and senior years, I would conk out on the beach while my campers had their swimming lessons. Once I learned to drive, I would pass my car keys to a friend and curl up in the passenger seat while she busily drove us nowhere, as teenagers are wont to do.

I didn't outgrow this behavior as I got older. I remember an evening when I was a grad student during which I had curled up on a friend's couch and wailed at the cruelty of my friends who had come to round me up and take me back to my own bed. 

I also inherited my mother's ability to sleep through ANYTHING. There can be a freight train running through the kitchen and neither of us will so much as stir. Obviously, this was also of concern with the impending arrival of a squally newborn. My poor dear Jack is a light sleeper, and the decibels at which I require the baby monitor to blare in order to rouse me shatter his fragile sleep as though it were a Fabrege  egg.

Fast forward through nearly ten months of parenthood, and we have a sweet baby girl who sleeps through the night extremely well. The days of bleary midnight wake ups and stumbling to the crib appear to be behind us, at least for now.

But in the mornings, I still crave more sleep like a chicken pox-sufferer craves a good, deep scratch. I drink it in greedily, sinking in it, luxuriating in it. Thyroid medication, exercise, anti-depressants and caffeine have all failed to keep me from flinging myself into the Sandman's illicit caresses, morning after morning. Sunshine helps a little; when we lived in Arizona, I rose unprompted before 0700 each day. I thought I had outgrown my adolescent-like daily early morning coma. Ha.

Mormor

Mormor is Norwegian for "Mom's mom" and that is what Petal will call my mom when she's old enough to talk (she babbles like crazy, so it could be soon!) Mormor is so wonderful with Petal, my clingy little girl who would launch herself away from anyone else holding her to get to me now cries when Mormor leaves and she's stuck with boring old Mumma.

Petal is not the only one who thinks that Mormor is wonderful. As much as I hate living 400 miles away from my parents, I also feel incredibly lucky to have this uninterrupted time with them. My mom and I butted heads so much throughout my childhood, adolescence and even early adulthood. But she has always been one of my biggest supporters, and I like to think that now I am one of hers. I really hope that Petal will feel the same way about me one day.

Ringing in the 4th

Jack, Petal and I had a wonderful four (five?) day weekend filled with family and friends who love us. So why does it still sting to find out from Facebook that other far-flung friends were in the area and didn't make the effort to get in touch? I keep reminding myself to focus on the good times we had and the people who did make us a priority.  I guess something about being back in my old bedroom and driving on my old familiar streets brings out my latent teenage angst. It's a good thing Facebook wasn't around when I was in high school because I definitely would have gotten butt hurt about every event I wasn't invited to - I'm self-centered like that. I do try to be considerate of others and not post Facebook pictures that have the potential to make someone feel left out. But I'm sure I would not have had that sort of restraint in high school - my mean girl streak ran fairly deep in those days, the highlight probably being when some of my friends and I attempted to stare down some cheerleaders from a rival town, all because one of them had had the audacity to have previously dated my then-boyfriend. I'm trying not to get too lost on Memory Lane but it's hard when I'm constantly coming face to face with mementos from those days.

Back Again

I sometimes facetiously describe my upbringing as feral. My siblings and I were raised in a laissez-faire household, with few restrictions and fewer routines. I didn't begin thinking of our family as pretty far outside the mainstream until high school, when the differences became more pronounced. The attitude towards possessions in our house was that the idea of "personal" basically didn't exist - it was par for the course for me to wear a pair of my dad's jeans with a shirt left behind by one of my sister's friends on any given day. Grunge culture ruled in our house until at least 1999, so androgynous, ill-fitting clothing was highly sought after. My parents also had a relaxed attitude towards guests, and, as my siblings and I went to the same high school, it wasn't unusual to run into any member of the student body in my living room or out by the pond.

When I was in high school, I thought I had the coolest parents on the planet. No rules! No curfew! No chores! Not having to engage in meaningless rituals like family dinner! Years later, I read David Sedaris' memoirs and recognized elements of my own clan in his family's idiosyncracies.

Later in my 20s, however, I felt that I had been done a great disservice. I craved parents who would worry over whom I was hanging out with and what time I would be home. I wanted a home-cooked meal. I found it difficult to keep my home clean and blamed my lack of exposure to the process growing up. I reveled in eating a proper dinner with my husband each night and in maintaining a chore schedule. I was happy to be boring.

Now, I'm back in my parents' abode and seeing the chaos with fresh eyes. Sure, there are downsides, like the disgusting carpet on the second floor that my parents haven't quite gotten around to replacing. But the air of relaxation and being out of the rat race that permeates this place is undeniable. My dad typically doesn't go into his office until the afternoon - it means he has to work later, but it gives him time to enjoy a leisurely breakfast on the deck and maybe get a bike ride in. If the weather is particularly nice, he takes a day off work and he and my mom hit the beach (he has over 6 months of unused leave.)

I've become more and more convinced that a high-powered life is not for me. The European creed of "Work to live" resonates much more strongly with our little tribe than the American "Live to work." It's one of the reasons that Shakira is now an ex-pat. So here, on the 5.5 acres where I came of age, I will teach my daughter to embrace this crazy pack she was born into. I wonder if feralness is a dominant trait?

Glorious

We are here. Petal is adjusting well, the backyard is alive and lush with greenery. My mom had a juicy tidbit of gossip that we've been enjoying sucking the fat out of. Happy happy happy.

Motherlode

My new addiction

Belated Father's Day Post

1981

In my first memory of my father, I am riding in a child seat attached to the back of his bicycle. It is dark and we are coasting through Provincetown on our way back to our motel. This is a special Daddy-Daughter trip, Mommy and the babies had to stay at home. Daddy bought me a small stuffed black cat but I dropped it as we pedaled around town. Later, Daddy went back and found it for me. I love you Daddy.

No Baby Fever Here

But I can't get baby names off my mind. I don't obsess about the boy names too much - it would be either Theodore or Luther, with a middle name of William.

But the girl names.

Oh, the girl names.

Frilly or tomboy? Classic or modern? Recognizable or unique?  There are so many to choose from, plus it has to live up to and complement Petal's name. I personally think we knocked it out of the park when we named Petal and I don't want her (theoretical) younger sister's name to be any less special.

Plus, working around a rarely heard one-syllable German surname that sounds like an English verb AND noun has proved to be challenging. Since our last name starts with a V, anything ending or starting with the V sound is out. Farewell Eve, Vanessa, Victoria, Genevieve, we hardly knew ye.

Then there's my self-imposed rules. The first name must be phonetic and have only one common spelling - I don't want any Sara vs. Sarah confusion. (I'm more lenient with the middle name.) The name cannot sound  similar to the name of any family members (again, I am more lenient with the middle name.) Emma and Clara/Clarissa are out thanks to cousins Emily and Claire, and there will be no little Cora since Jack's brother's name is Cory.

Poor Jack had no idea what he was in for when he married such a name aficionado. The summer we got together, we spent a weekend on Cape Cod with a group of my friends. When the ladies indulged themselves in a languid chat about names they'd like to give their future children, I bit my tongue and forbade myself to participate. I was dying to jump in but I didn't want Jack to think I was a baby-crazed ring chaser. I managed to hide my yearning for offspring for the next year, until the following summer. We were hiking in Yellowstone National Park as part of our cross-country goodbye-college-hello-Army extravaganza, and I felt comfortable enough to declare that I wanted to have children in the future. Four of them.

Ha. I am SO not cut out to be a large brood mama. Petal is getting precisely ONE sibling, so I've got to make sure his/her name is perfect.

Twitter

Maybe I should have stuck with Twitter, because I have lots of things I want to mention in my blog, but not the kind of things that should have whole entries devoted to them. Like how on Friday I asked my babysitter to come at 9:30 am and Petal fell asleep right before she got there, so I paid her to sit on my couch. Today I got smart and told her 10:00 am, but this time Petal hadn't even conked out yet, so guess where she spent an hour. Riveting, right?

Cryin'

The service was very, very emotional and sad, but it was seeing his baby pictures that broke my heart.

Spared

I'm 30 years old, and I've never been to the funeral of someone my own age. That will change on Saturday. For three years, I worked with a young woman named S. We had lunch together nearly once a week. To know anything about S was to know how devoted she was to her boyfriend, K. Six months ago, she became K's wife. Last weekend, she became his widow.

I met K a handful of times. Happy Hour, Bowling, Trivia Night, Wine in the Woods. I knew him largely through S's eyes. And though I've known of his passing for several days now, I just can't wrap my mind around the idea that her partner, her other half, is gone forever. The baby she wanted to have with him, who she'll now never hold, never hear cry. I hope that K will rest in peace and that S will be able to find her own peace.

PSA

I clearly remember a few years back when third hand smoke joined the long list of reasons to abstain from tobacco. About a year later, I got a BFP (big fat positive, as in on a pregnancy test for those not familiar with the acronym.) I became concerned about the copy of Under The Dome by Stephen King I had borrowed from the library when my wait list number came up. I'm pretty sure that a previous reader was blowing smoke directly into the pulpy pages, because that's the only explanation for why this book smelled so much like the dive bar I used to go to when I was underage in college. Too stubborn to find something else to read and too paranoid to simply enjoy the book, I donned latex gloves and a face mask favored by those fearful of bird flu or SARS when reading the thriller. The smell of latex still brings back the waves of nausea I associate with the majority of my first trimester.

This PSA, however, is not about tobacco. It's about the third hand effects of another addictive substance, coffee.  I personally am not a coffee imbiber, with the exception of the rare heavily sugared iced coffee from Dunkin Donuts on a hot day. But two of the people closest to me, Jack and Shakira, both have the habit pretty bad.

Smears from filters on the lid of my white trash can. Coffee grounds coating Petal's bottle carousel. Dried droplets spattered on exposed surfaces both probable and improbable, coffee detritus is insidious indeed. Living with the brown gunk is not new to me; I grew up with a mother who frequently left cold, abandoned mugs of the stuff in her children's closets while putting their clothes away. But today the Colombian menace launched a bold attack into previously unmolested territory: my purse.

I suppose it was my fault really. I took Jack's car out yesterday evening (my vehicle has the car seat installed, and we try to ensure that whomever is caring for Petal has the means to transport her if necessary.) When I returned home, I thoughtfully removed the assorted remains of Jack's breakfast from the cup holder.  I shoved the nearly empty coffee cup into the brown paper sack and then jammed the whole thing into my purse. I tossed the mess into the garbage can when I got inside and forgot about it.

Until this morning, when I reached into my purse and noted that my checkbook was covered in brown, sticky stains. And that the little pocket I use for gift certificates was, um, moist. Even my glasses cases smelled weird.

The problem wasn't insurmountable (though I did already have Petal strapped into her car seat.) I dumped out the contents of the purse, rinsed off the essential elements and stuck them in the diaper bag. I put the check that had born the brunt of the assault in the to be shredded pile. And I liberally applied vinegar and water to the lining of the purse (no harsh cleaning chemicals in this house, thankyouverymuch.)

But I couldn't help feeling that as a committed tea drinker, this shouldn't have happened to me. It should have happened to some caffeine fiend jittery and looking for her next fix. I guess this is what I signed on for when I said I Do. Well, my parents have made it work for 38 and a half years and my dad never touches the stuff. I'm sure Jack and I will be able to follow in their brown, gritty footsteps.

No Bueno

You know those days when everything comes together perfectly, you hit only green lights and there's not a cloud in your personal sky? Today has not been one of those days.  It's gone a little something like this:

0630 - Wake up from series of mundane boring dreams about changing diapers and measuring box springs. Say farewell to Jack as he heads to Virginia for a conference and then to visit his great-aunt.

0700 - Petal wakes up, an hour later than usual. Probably because she went to bed late last night, which in turn probably occurred because she took an extra long nap yesterday afternoon. Unsure how to get her back on schedule. Also note that she has stood up in the crib for the first time and extra precautions will need to be taken to ensure that she does not topple out of said crib.

0900 - Feed Petal pureed apples, which are a huge hit until the split second that her entire palette changes and she begins to shriek hysterically as though I'm feeding her the dreaded green beans. Declare breakfast over.

0925 - Attempt to get Petal to take her morning nap (Normal nap time is 0900.) Endure 40 minutes of screaming, flipping onto tummy and other shenanagins to avoid sleep. Finally crash at 1005.

1010 - Notice that cat has produced hairball approximately 3 inches long and 1/2 an inch wide. Ponder how cat could have possibly coughed up something this massive while cleaning it up.

1020 - Attempt to follow up on request made by Mother-in-Law (MIL for short) several weeks ago to create email address for Petal. Initially made mistake of using Petal's real birthday when completing set up process, which led to denial of account and implications that am interested in child porn. Ran into same problem when trying to create gmail account for mother, as browser had apparently saved Petal's birthdate. Had to explain to confused 61-year-old borderline computer illiterate mother that gmail said she wasn't old enough to have an account. Was able to get around problem by changing browsers, to tried that again today without success, only vague message about account not able to be completed at this time. Suspect that gamil is on to us about Petal being underage.

1045 - Feed Petal and make our way to the gym, arriving only five minutes after yoga class has started, which is pretty good for us these days. Attempted to hand Petal to Kids Klub staff member and am met with intense resistance (by Petal, not by staff member.) Realize that Petal's stranger anxiety, after a latent period of several weeks, is back full force. Spend 40 minutes in Kids Klub attempting to get Petal sufficiently acclimated before admitting defeat.

1145 - Attempt to drop off prescription using fancy drive through system at pharmacy. Manage to send tube off empty and am unable to get it to return. Defeated again, park car and lug pale, easily flushed child back into the late spring Maryland sunshine (heat index, 105.) In line for pharmacy, get stuck behind pharmaceutical  rep monopolizing pharmacist. Think nasty thoughts about pharmaceutical industry.

1208 - Mail Netflix envelope that both Jack and I managed to screw up mailing yesterday. Congratulate self on making it to the mailbox a whole hour before pickup, ensuring it will go out with today's mail. Return home to see that my mail has been delivered early, which most likely means the mail in the street mailbox was picked up early too. FML.

1230 - Webcam chat with Shakira. Ask her if she got the job at the international school that she interviewed for. Met with puzzlement as Shakira explains that she isn't supposed to hear for a few weeks. Insist that had been told Wednesday, as normally have very good memory for that sort of thing.

1320 - Remember that am scheduled to have webcam chat with mother and her class of preschoolers. Realize that V-neck t-shirt and sports bra produce a lot of cleavage, which get amplified on webcam. Attempt to tuck shirt into sports bra to avoid indecent exposure to class of four year olds.

1420 - Attempt to get Petal to take her afternoon nap, normally scheduled for 1400. After similar antics that occurred with morning nap, she falls asleep after 20 minutes. Debate whether should use down time to work on work at home job, do housework or read book. Opt to read new Erik Larson title that purchased for Jack but poached from his nightstand to read because it looked interesting.

1540 - Petal up. Think (for the thousandth time) how inopportune it is that Petal's babysitter is unavailable this week and that all playgroup events this week will be held outdoors (No thanks, too freaking hot.) Consider asking babysitter to come Monday- Friday next week so that can get work done. Remember that babysitter is turning 21 on Tuesday - crap, should have chosen nun-like babysitter with no discernible social life instead of pretty young college student.

1605 - Have Petal bare butt on changing table when phone rings. Fairly certain that it is Jack, so grab undiapered baby and run to bedroom to pick up phone. Can't hear Jack on his cell phone, finally ascertain that he is calling from a parking garage and will call back once he gets reception.

1615 - Still waiting for Jack to call back, and worried that will be late for gym class AGAIN. Call Jack and tell him headed to gym. He says he misses Petal and me, feel sorry for him that he will be stuck in the house all alone while Petal and I are in New England (leaving a month from today!)

1625 - Make it to Kids Klub five whole minutes before gym class starts, yes! Unfortunately, this means that Petal's favorite Kids Klub worker has not arrived yet. Make token efforts to get Petal acclimated to unfamiliar staff member but suspect that it will be in vain. See preferred staff member arrived, plot how can deposit Petal in her lap without offending new staff member. Finally, scoop up Petal and tell her that we are going to "say hi to CareBear." (Her real name is obviously not CareBear, but she is cheerful like a carebear.)

1645 - Leave gym defeated again.

1650 - Back to pharmacy, drive through this time. Told that I don't have health insurance. Produce health insurance card and told that will have to wait for info to be processed. Meanwhile, Petal is screaming in the back seat. Told that health insurance will not cover my Synthroid prescription since it is brand name. Am confused because have had coverage through this plan since October and have always had Synthroid covered. Tell pharmacy tech will call insurance company and come back later. Begin drive home, remembering all the problems we've had with this insurance and shudder.

1658 - Get text message from friend Mrs. Ice saying that she got the job. Remember that Mrs. Ice is the one who said she would hear about her job interview on Wednesday, not Shakira. Feel like crappy friend and crappy sister.

1700 - Call insurance company and explain problem. Am told that prior authorization is required for Synthroid and that I have been receiving it since October in error. Inquire about steps to obtain authorization and learn that I will have to call my endocrinologist's office, they will have to call the insurance company and that I will then have to get the pharmacy to change the fill date on the prescription if I want this bottle covered.   Realize that project will have to be delayed as it is after business hours.

1815 - Attempt to feed Petal a dinner that she normally enjoys, oatmeal and yogurt. Am met with shrieks of protest. Suspicions that another tooth is coming in confirmed. Prepare self for several days of food refusal, crankiness and sleepless nights.

But, despite the title of this post, there were parts of the day that were bueno. Like unexpectedly getting free shipping when ordering Dad's birthday gift from the National Geographic Store (my new favorite site for gifts.) And in between (and even during) bouts of crankiness, Petal was adorable and hilarious. For a sure -fire webcam crowd pleaser,  I lay a blanket on the floor and she launches herself onto it and cuddles and strokes it. I love a good blanket myself, so she gets that from me. 

What's in a name?

I've been mulling over how I want to refer to my nearest and dearest in my blog. I could avoid the use of proper names entirely, but that can make for dull reading. I could provide the preferred monikers of my friends and family, but everyone is a little different in what they are comfortable sharing online, and, since I tend to be an over-sharer, it seems wise to build in some limits before I go spewing people's social security numbers all over the internet. I could use initials, but I know way too many J's for that to be practical.

So I've decided to go with nicknames. Sometimes it will be a person's pet name, sometimes a celebrity they resemble, sometimes the resurrection of a long unused inside joke (I have a memory like an elephant.)

For starters, I will introduce you to my daughter, Petal. Yes the nickname is a bit overly precious, but if you can't be sappy and sentimental about your baby girl, then who can you be a sap about?

Petal's daddy and my hubby reminds me of the star of one of my favorite (now sadly off the air) TV shows, 24. So he is Jack, for Jack Bauer.

And my gorgeous sister has often been compared to Shakira, so Shakira she shall be in Fairweather New England.

Memorial Day Weekend

The New River, West Virginia, May 2009

I usually start planning what I want to do for Memorial Day weekend months in advance. I've hiked the Grand Canyon, gone white water rafting, taken a babymoon in the Outerbanks and partied on Cape Cod.

So today's trip to Home Depot couldn't help but feel a little anti-climatic.

A tech guru, I am not

So a few things to address. 1) As brought to my attention by the asthma sufferer mentioned in the last post, who happens to be a life-long friend of mine, the comments section was not working correctly. I messed around with the settings a little, but I don't know if that fixed the problem. 2) I don't know how to insert pictures into a post. I hope it involves photobucket, because I already have a photobucket account. 3) I have no idea how to do a RSS feed, but I'm not sure if that's a blog issue or a personal problem.

Clearly still a work in progress. But aren't we all?

Web of Life

This week, the week before Memorial Day weekend, was the highlight of the school year when I was in second through fifth grade. This was the week we had the ultimate field trip, five days and four nights staying overnight on Cape Cod. Our hippie-leaning alternative school participated in a nature-based learning program where we did things like eat sea pickles we found growing in the marsh and sing songs about bugs such as "Head, Thorax, Abdomen" to the tune of "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes."

I have clear memories of each year I went on the trip. In second grade, the most popular girl in the class was mysteriously ill for days before disappearing in the middle of the night. The rest of us speculated that she had died, but it turned out that she was suffering from undiagnosed asthma and had been sent home. Third grade was the year the temperatures dropped far below average for the time of year and we shivered in multiple layers of sweatshirts and shivers. In fourth grade, I spent the week with my right arm in a blue cast, my limb broken from a fall from my swing set a few weeks earlier. And in fifth grade, the girls in our cabin followed the annual tradition of sneaking out to meet the boys. We were a little on the lame side and had the have the "sneak out" facilitated by our adult chaperones. We played a very tame version of Spin the Bottle as our teacher looked on.

Good, good times.

But aren't you a little old to spend summer vacation at Mommy and Daddy's?

Yes, yes I am.  So why am I doing it? There's not really one reason, more like a bunch of factors that all happened to coincide.

First and foremost, as I alluded to in my last post, the DC region is unbelievably yucky in the summer. I often feel like I missed out on summer entirely because it just isn't enjoyable to be outdoors. So the opportunity for my daughter to get to play outside in the grass instead of hiding from the heat in the air conditioning is quite appealing.

Also, my mom is a teacher and doesn't work in the summer. My dad has a flexible work schedule and lots of unused vacation days. And my dear dear sister, who lives in Madrid, will also be visiting during the same time period. So there's THAT.

Finally, the classes my husband needs to complete his Master's degree have a condensed schedule during the summer, so there will be multiple days during the week where he will leave the house before 7 am and not get home until 9 pm. And he will have plenty of reading and papers to keep him busy on the off nights and on the weekends. So we really wouldn't be seeing much of him anyway. Instead, he's going to take a 3 or 4 day weekend midway through our stay in Massachusetts and fly up for some quality family time.

Not to mention the opportunities to hang out with my Boston-based buddies, my Connecticut-based extended family, and my Massachusetts-based in-laws.

Also, in case you haven't gathered, I'm quite fond of New England in and of itself. I'm looking forward to seeing the sights with a vacationer's eyes and to making memories with my daughter in the places that form my own most treasured childhood memories.

Introductions

I am: 30 years old, a new mother, happily married, a work-at-home contractor for a consulting company, a resident of the Baltimore-Washington Corridor and a native of New England.

You are: Sufficiently interested in my life to check out my blog. 

So let's begin, shall we?

My parents both spent the majority of their formative years in the NYC area, my mom in Brooklyn and Westchester and my dad in Queens. They met at Syracuse University and moved to New England in the late 70s.  I was born on the last day of 1980. I left New England only for brief stints until I got married a month before my 26th birthday. I then moved to Germany, Arizona and Maryland within a year's time. My beloved had a nomadic childhood spent partially in New Jersey, partially in Kansas and partially in Massachusetts. His familiarity with the inside of a moving truck made the Army a natural fit, but, tired of deployments, he hung up his beret after seven years and is back to civilian life.

So here we are, displaced New Englanders growing softer each winter as we rarely brave a morning colder than 20 degrees. Our daughter was born in Baltimore and only wore the adorable puffy pink snowsuit I bought her for a photo op. And summer has begun to become synonymous with battling the humidity with 24/7 air conditioning. But this July, my offspring and I are headed Northward for six weeks, ready to soak in the mild breezes and gently warming sun of a perfect New England summer. I can't wait.