In the old house, Iris started out sleeping in the guest bedroom downstairs, if she ever really was able to sleep away from my person. This was mainly because it was closer and less noisy to get to her if she woke up and had the potential to be coaxed back to sleep. The creaky stairs to the finished attic would have, at the time, killed any ability to reestablish sleep if there was one. Still, in a bedroom, behind a door just a few feet from where we were, Iris always slept with a baby monitor.
I remember people rolling their eyes at me for jumping to tend to her when, to most, there was nothing happening. She always sounded just as asleep as she had moments before to anyone else, but to Kyle and me, she sounded awake, because the monitor allowed us to hear the moment her breathing changed from "deeply asleep" to "going to wake up in 5.3 seconds." We were not wrong. Even just the few relatively silent steps we had to take to get to her once we noticed the breathing change always overlapped with her zealous scream of wakefulness. The thing is though, that change in breathing which allowed us to act short seconds faster than we could have had we waited to hear an actual cry, always meant the difference between relative ease in reestablishing sleep, and the unholy terror that is infant Iris, righteously pissed off that you dared to wake her. Even though she likely woke up because she did something like stab herself in the eye with the points of all her fingers and then sit up (while still asleep).
When she was older and much better at sleep, and she did sleep upstairs in her own room, we still had to keep a monitor on her. She was gated from the stairwell, so even though she was of an age where most children wake up and then walk down the hall to let their parents know that nap time is over, she was trapped a few feet away from the top of a 60 degree-angled stairwell of doom. The only way to know that we had to go get her was to listen to the monitor. So we did.
Then we moved to the Ugly Brown Ranch (shush. you know I love her, but she is ugly. and brown.), and Iris' bedroom was merely down the hall. No monitor needed. I mean, where would we be? The kitchen? She was fine. I was 64 months pregnant, so I wasn't exactly moving from wherever I'd parked my butt once she finally passed out.
We lived in this house for like a week and a half before Cormac was born. I managed maybe 15 days of monitor-free life before I had a brand new baby who almost sort of liked to sleep alone, and who subsequently needed to be monitored. Let me tell you, those days of monitorless life were really awkward for me.
Almost without break, I have been listening to the soothing sounds of white noise via oscillating/box fan through a monitor for three years. Every moment I have to myself, truly to myself, alone reading or pretending to care about chores or something, I have heard the sound of rushing air through a baby monitor. I'm listening to it right now. I have come to the point where I actually, literally and completely cannot relax unless I can hear the monitor buzzing away next to me.
Sometimes I almost grab it when I'm gathering small purse items before I leave the house. I sleep with it cranked up to "it even annoys the crap out of white noise-obsessed husband" volumes. I take it to the bathroom with me. Kyle and I had a rare night away on our recent anniversary (THANK YOU JENNIFER PARKER, YOU ARE THE BEST PERSON EVER), and I found myself standing outside the hotel with Kyle, lamenting that I couldn't quite relax because I couldn't hear the monitor.
As I sat here tonight with my monitor-cum-binky, I realized that someday, because we now live in the Ugly Brown Ranch (bountiful and beige though she may be), I won't actually require the use of the monitor anymore.
I'm not completely sure what I'm going to do when that day comes.
Showing posts with label Rambling Nonsensical. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rambling Nonsensical. Show all posts
5.08.2012
4.14.2012
Phone does tricks; takes the fancy movin' pikchers
I swear, when the camera is off, this child is a non-stop chatterbox. Well, he is when he's the only child around - gotta fill the void and all that, and a pretty significant noise void is created when Iris leaves the house. Anyway, I just downloaded the camcorder app for my iPhone, since it's a hand-me-down from a friend and only happens to be a 3G (anything newer and it would have had this function already)(not that a hand-me-down 3G is anything to spit at. I LOVEEEEE my free iBrain. Also spitting at phones tends to make them stop working). So this was an adventure! A totally lazy, unshowered, couch surf of an adventure. I'm very active in my free time, you see.
Since Cormac is normally this completely jumpy, effusive noise box when he's in his exersaucer, I thought I'd try to get a few minutes. He makes a few sounds here and there, but I must warn you that this is about a minute forty of basically nothing much happening. I said like, "hey" or something to him once in an attempt to get him to do some kind of interesting baby trick, but I didn't want the whole thing to be a silently staring Cormac with my voice screeching in from the ether going, "Say hi to Mommy! Say hi to Mommy's camera, Cormac! Cormac! Cormac! Baybeee Cormmm-nessss!!! Cormie, Mommy's over here! Over here! Over here! Overhereoverhereoverhereoverheerrrrrrreeeee!!!" Which is what normally works quite well, actually, but wouldn't have this time because I was filming, and obviously he knows it, and really needed to win the stare down.
SO. Here is Cormac... chewin' on stuff.
2.12.2012
Blishhhhh
Once upon a time, these web log thingies were supposed to be online journals. I could be mistaken, but I feel that perhaps journal indicates a level of attention to detail heretofore untouched by this tiny pocket of the internet.
I didn't set out to intentionally gloss over life, but responsibility for this kind of thing tends to lead to the kind of circular naval-gazing which pretty much always ends with, "well nobody cares about THAT, so never mind...." Do you care about the mundanity in El Chap? Well, you're here, so I guess you do. Let's take these new shoes for a lap around the store, folks.
Cormac started waking me up this morning around five, five-thirty (read: smacking me in the face and grunt-shouting repeatedly till I woke up and noticed that morning nursing time had run its course). I finally gave up at quarter to six. Slinking past Iris' room revealed her to be awake, still in bed, singing full-belt a song I have no doubt she composed on the spot. I peeked my head in, invited her to get up and hang out with us, and she, like the precious good-hearted child that she is, looked over to her night light (which shows a moon when it's time to stay in bed, and switches to a sun when it's time to get up), saw that the "sun" was up, and said, "Okay, Mommy, the sun said it was okay, right?" MomSigh forever.
Change Number Two's diaper. Recommend potty break for Number One. Liquid ice cream/cake batter bottle for FBK (gentlease formula/rice cereal), chocolate milk for the Whiz (carnation instant breakfast), Coke Zero for myself (weight watchers zero points!!!), then morning PBSKids time is afoot. By this point, Cormac has vomited at least 10 times since the smack/shout party began back in bed, and the span of time this marks is somewhere in the 30 minute range.
Change Cormac's clothes; apply bib. Don robe because it's cold; admonish Number One for getting naked, again, when it's clearly colder than satan's toes over here. Agree to live and let live, change diaper, change Cormac's clothes, spot-clean the carpet where barf splattered, again, think about making breakfast.
Walk to the kitchen to make breakfast with robe open and trailing behind, Iris shouts, "You're like SuperMom with your cape! Cormac has a cape too (fingers his hand-towel-bib which drapes evenly over front/back), he's like SuperCormac!"
Indeed.
Prop baby up in bouncy seat on the counter. Frighten firstborn with speed of omelet execution with the hope of avoiding FBK meltdown. Iris, would you like ham in your omelet? Yes! Would you like green peppers and garlic? Yes! Do you want to help me whisk the eggs? YES! Chop/sautee/mix/pour/wait, wait, wait... omelet!
Mom, can I have some toast? momsigh....Yes.
Diaper, change clothes, new bib, nurse, bottle, nurse, nurse, re-dress the big one, locate coffee, repeat.
8:10 AM, Kyle emerges from his allotted one day of sleeping-in per week. Sees remaining (still warm!) omelet waiting on the counter for him, eats bowl of cereal. WifeSigh?
Kyle takes the dog out, Iris dances and sings some more, Cormac screamybarfgrunts several thousand more times, then finally takes his morning nap. As do I, on the couch, while dreaming about nursing and getting smacked in the face, and being intermittently woken up to tend to Iris' random motor skill limitations.
Looks like this whole journaling thing really is as mundane as I thought, and you only got the first couple hours of the day. I'll be kind and leave it here. Please remember this when you ask me to blog more, friends. For no other reason than I'm sure you had better things to do with the last several minutes of your life, let's agree I'll leave that "publish post" button alone till something actually happens.
12.14.2011
Semolina Pilchard
Cormac has brief periods of false lucidity wherein he says things like, "Hey Mom." Sometimes it's just "Mommmmmm." I usually respond with "Hi! How's it going?" Then he barfs on himself.
He's been smiling and chattering with little babyvoice noises recently. I like to encourage him, so I do little dances and sing songs with him when he starts talking. Iris gets in on it and drops that little booty like it's hot. Iris is always down for a dance party, with or without music.
Anyway, today I sat with Cormac on the couch, just chilling out after work and trying to tame his cold/reflux issues, and I swear I'm not making this up, he said, "coo coo cachoo!" And then he barfed on himself.
He's been smiling and chattering with little babyvoice noises recently. I like to encourage him, so I do little dances and sing songs with him when he starts talking. Iris gets in on it and drops that little booty like it's hot. Iris is always down for a dance party, with or without music.
Anyway, today I sat with Cormac on the couch, just chilling out after work and trying to tame his cold/reflux issues, and I swear I'm not making this up, he said, "coo coo cachoo!" And then he barfed on himself.
11.26.2011
Patrician Vomitorium
Not a real update, but I just wanted everyone to know that while baby poop smells like buttermilk, and baby skin smells like honey and powder, and baby breath smells like cauliflower, or bread, or something really normal and homey, baby barf just smells like barf. Ask my shirts. Or the couch. Or any soft surface in our house. They know.
11.10.2011
Let Me Sum Up
...Buttercup is marry' Humperdinck in a little less than half an hour. So all we have to do is get in, break up the wedding, steal the princess, make our escape... after I kill Count Rugen...
Sorry, I had to go there.
Anyway, Iris likes school. She cried when I left her the first two days (like, monkeyed herself to my neck and had to be pried off by a surprisingly strong teacher's aid), then on the third day, bemoaned school in general for the entire ride in, then let me go without even a sideways glance. Win.
A couple of nights ago, in an effort to kill time while Kyle was at work, I bathed both kids. Iris, then Cormac, got all clean and snuggy and good-smelling. I tucked them both into the couch with me and everything was just delicious. Then Iris got up to "clean up some crumbs" and swiped her hand through a hidden pile of errant ketchup from dinner. Then (says the ketchup-enhanced child), I picked up Kashmir because she was sad, and there's cat hair on my ketchup, oh hey, I have to pee. Oh, I peed on the floor... oh, and the rug... and also Mommy it got on my legs and my socks. Hey, can you help me?
About three hours prior to this event, Iris informed me that she was going to work, she'd see me after lunch, she loved me and, okay-bye-bye. When I disentangled myself from nursing a few minutes later to investigate the disturbing silence, I found Iris in the refrigerator. Let me explain. I mean that Iris was bodily and wholly INSIDE of the refrigerator. It was shut as much as she could get it shut while standing inside of the refrigerator.
I honestly do not know how to express my total horror and also inappropriate abject amusement at this turn of events. I mean, this level of terror, this is karma, right? I seem to recall a warm, tired voice telling me she couldn't wait till I had kids who were exactly like me. So, that happened. Neat. Can't wait for this show to really get interesting. Perhaps I'll go scrounge up my 13-year-old person's diary and review a bit.
Meanwhile, in New Kid Land, I was simultaneously pooped, peed and barfed upon the other day. Then a few hours later, Cormac lay astride the boppy, looked right at me with a precious little gummy grin, and flipped me right off. Almost got a picure of that one too. It was. so. awesome. Those two facts pretty much encapsulate all there is to know about Cormac these days. I'm going to get him a little bathrobe and start referring to him only as The Dude.
Both kids are napping right now. It is 74 degrees and sunny on this fine November 13th, and I am sitting on my deck, hanging out with the dog. I can hear "This Magic Moment" softly twinkling in my ears, and little birds just carried a garland of sparkly unicorn magic to me in their beaks. Win.
Sorry, I had to go there.
Anyway, Iris likes school. She cried when I left her the first two days (like, monkeyed herself to my neck and had to be pried off by a surprisingly strong teacher's aid), then on the third day, bemoaned school in general for the entire ride in, then let me go without even a sideways glance. Win.
A couple of nights ago, in an effort to kill time while Kyle was at work, I bathed both kids. Iris, then Cormac, got all clean and snuggy and good-smelling. I tucked them both into the couch with me and everything was just delicious. Then Iris got up to "clean up some crumbs" and swiped her hand through a hidden pile of errant ketchup from dinner. Then (says the ketchup-enhanced child), I picked up Kashmir because she was sad, and there's cat hair on my ketchup, oh hey, I have to pee. Oh, I peed on the floor... oh, and the rug... and also Mommy it got on my legs and my socks. Hey, can you help me?
About three hours prior to this event, Iris informed me that she was going to work, she'd see me after lunch, she loved me and, okay-bye-bye. When I disentangled myself from nursing a few minutes later to investigate the disturbing silence, I found Iris in the refrigerator. Let me explain. I mean that Iris was bodily and wholly INSIDE of the refrigerator. It was shut as much as she could get it shut while standing inside of the refrigerator.
I honestly do not know how to express my total horror and also inappropriate abject amusement at this turn of events. I mean, this level of terror, this is karma, right? I seem to recall a warm, tired voice telling me she couldn't wait till I had kids who were exactly like me. So, that happened. Neat. Can't wait for this show to really get interesting. Perhaps I'll go scrounge up my 13-year-old person's diary and review a bit.
Meanwhile, in New Kid Land, I was simultaneously pooped, peed and barfed upon the other day. Then a few hours later, Cormac lay astride the boppy, looked right at me with a precious little gummy grin, and flipped me right off. Almost got a picure of that one too. It was. so. awesome. Those two facts pretty much encapsulate all there is to know about Cormac these days. I'm going to get him a little bathrobe and start referring to him only as The Dude.
Both kids are napping right now. It is 74 degrees and sunny on this fine November 13th, and I am sitting on my deck, hanging out with the dog. I can hear "This Magic Moment" softly twinkling in my ears, and little birds just carried a garland of sparkly unicorn magic to me in their beaks. Win.
11.06.2011
Duermen, Ninos
I swear, I should retitle this blog "The Sleep Chronicles," since it's all I seem to be able to talk about. The new kid stopped sleeping, btw...
Iris likes this Sesame Street DVD called "Favorite Kids Songs: TWO," or something, and there is a song on it called "Duermete, Mi Nina." It roughly means, "sleep, my little girl." She likes the song a whole lot for someone who hates sleep. I think Cormac has been studying her, because he went from being the kid who sleeps in these big beautiful four-hour chunks with no problem, to being a fussy, tired, sleepless baby.
It's not all bad. I mean, he does EVENTUALLY sleep, but the fact that we have to work so hard for it now is very reminiscent of the whiz, and not very awesome in the least. I know this is kind of rambly and uninformative, but I just realized tonight that only NOW (now that Cormac shuns sleep with the pros), do I have that stressed out/senses-heightened/mama-bear-will-KIIILLL YOUUUU-if-you-mess-with-my-babies...thing happening. This feeling must be a direct result of sleep deprivation in new parents. I was beginning to wonder if something wasn't wrong with me, simply because I'd been so relaxed about Cormac up till now.
I actually have emergency congingency plans all laid out to deal with various (completely unrealistic and barely probable) scenarios. I remember doing this when Iris was brand new. I had this plan that if someone came to the house to plunder/rape/pillage (because vikings are so prominent in columbia and everything), then I would sacrifice myself and destroy the baby monitor, all while silently dialing 911, in the hopes that even if I died, eventually some emergency responders would find Iris, safe and sound in her crib. Or something.
The point is that I was so proud of myself for not going to that crazy place this time around, and now look at me, all wondering if crazed hobos are living in the woods behind my house. I mean, at least I usually have the dog with me back there, and I'd totally throw her underthe methodone addled freaknut the bus to buy us a few minutes....
I think it's important to note here that I don't actually believe that any of this could or would happen, but it's important to plan ahead.
Right?
I should maybe sleep some.
Iris likes this Sesame Street DVD called "Favorite Kids Songs: TWO," or something, and there is a song on it called "Duermete, Mi Nina." It roughly means, "sleep, my little girl." She likes the song a whole lot for someone who hates sleep. I think Cormac has been studying her, because he went from being the kid who sleeps in these big beautiful four-hour chunks with no problem, to being a fussy, tired, sleepless baby.
It's not all bad. I mean, he does EVENTUALLY sleep, but the fact that we have to work so hard for it now is very reminiscent of the whiz, and not very awesome in the least. I know this is kind of rambly and uninformative, but I just realized tonight that only NOW (now that Cormac shuns sleep with the pros), do I have that stressed out/senses-heightened/mama-bear-will-KIIILLL YOUUUU-if-you-mess-with-my-babies...thing happening. This feeling must be a direct result of sleep deprivation in new parents. I was beginning to wonder if something wasn't wrong with me, simply because I'd been so relaxed about Cormac up till now.
I actually have emergency congingency plans all laid out to deal with various (completely unrealistic and barely probable) scenarios. I remember doing this when Iris was brand new. I had this plan that if someone came to the house to plunder/rape/pillage (because vikings are so prominent in columbia and everything), then I would sacrifice myself and destroy the baby monitor, all while silently dialing 911, in the hopes that even if I died, eventually some emergency responders would find Iris, safe and sound in her crib. Or something.
The point is that I was so proud of myself for not going to that crazy place this time around, and now look at me, all wondering if crazed hobos are living in the woods behind my house. I mean, at least I usually have the dog with me back there, and I'd totally throw her under
I think it's important to note here that I don't actually believe that any of this could or would happen, but it's important to plan ahead.
Right?
I should maybe sleep some.
9.27.2011
AHHH NO INNERNETZ BOO
Hey Dudes! We have no internet at home till Thursday. I am trying to unpack the house, cram in 40hrs of work, and not go into labor till this weekend. So... I'm busy.
So is Kyle. He stopped being able to feel his legs a couple of days ago; it's pretty nuts actually.
Baby shower was fun and apparently you guys DID think I was being an assy lush (thanks?), as I got several boxes of wine. Yes. Several.
Been having cramps/backaches all day, and they hurt.
Also, um? Dudes - NINE FREAKING DAYS. NINE. LESS THAN TEN. SINGLE DIGITS.
That is all.
So is Kyle. He stopped being able to feel his legs a couple of days ago; it's pretty nuts actually.
Baby shower was fun and apparently you guys DID think I was being an assy lush (thanks?), as I got several boxes of wine. Yes. Several.
Been having cramps/backaches all day, and they hurt.
Also, um? Dudes - NINE FREAKING DAYS. NINE. LESS THAN TEN. SINGLE DIGITS.
That is all.
9.16.2011
Info Aperitif
Gosh I wish somebody was handing me an aperitif... am I too focused on alcohol these days? Someone let me know if I'm sounding like a jackassy lush over here. But just so you know, it is only 20 days till I can (probably) partake of a deliciously crisp and refreshing alcoholic beverage, and oh by the way, have I ever mentioned how much I love the efficiency and economy of a nice box of wine? Say, some Franzia? Just checking.
Some quick bits of info which I presume to be precursors to an actual, rambly-style post which I will write Some Day:
Some quick bits of info which I presume to be precursors to an actual, rambly-style post which I will write Some Day:
- Not dilated nor effaced
- Started having contractions the day after last cervical check (also: ouch).
- FBK is for sure head down (or was on Wednesday).
- OMG WE HAVE A CLOSING DATE OMG (Sept. 23rd).
- Started full-time work from home today, which will last till baby comes.
- I have decided not to have the baby till Grandma & Grandpa Reinhard get here.
- This will work, because I said so.
- If you have any cats you need harassed, I have just the toddler to do it. She accepts nachos as payment.
8.31.2011
With the Quickness
Real quick like, since any position my body can get to that is pro-typing is also pro-"please can I have some more stabby everything pain," I give you a tiny pictorial:
The Yard Sale
We had a yard sale, I think we sold a bunch of stuff, and we also made $52. It was a tiny bit disappointing after investing $13 into an ad in the paper and prepping all that junk for days and sitting in the stupid hot driveway at 6:30a.m. Kyle is hosting "Driveway Sale Part Deux" this weekend sometime, and he was able to sell more stuff on craigslist after the fact, so there's something. Honestly, I'm not holding out a lot of hope for "Please Buy My Stuff 2.0" this weekend. Especially after last Sunday's tepid response to "Old Stuff We Don't Use, v. 1.5" (wherein Kyle sat out with the stuff another day, but didn't like, tell anyone he was going to do that, and just really hoped that the giant neon signs all over the neighborhood would draw folks in. They did not.) I'm just shocked all the baby stuff didn't sell. There were FOUR strollers and like, three tons of awesomely cute (and in some cases NEVER WORN) girl clothes.
Fig. 1: Approximately 1/8 of the baby clothes that were presented for sale last weekend
Fig 2: More clothes which sadly remained betagged during their tenure in the wardrobe
Pirates Have Feelings Too, Express Them Via Finger Paints on Sundays:
Iris caught me folding laundry the other day (don't tell Kyle I did that willingly - he'll try to make me do it all the time), and in it was an old bandanna. As soon as I picked it up I heard, "It's a pirate hat, Mommy! A PIRATE HAT, MOMMEEEEEEEE." So Iris wore the pirate hat and asked to paint a little bit. We put the old Dad shirt on and tied up the pirate hat just so, and when I asked Iris if she wanted me to get her a snack or anything to munch on while she expressed her big deep pirate feelings, she said, "ARR." I'm so not joking. Ask her sometime.
Fig 3: Iris, mid-pirate joke, "So I sez to the blue whale, CHEER UP!" Har.
Fig 4: Quoth the shirt, "My Sultry Sunday Shirt (Pants Optional)"
Belly shots, yo. Do not try to take belly shots at work. Even if you have no full-length mirrors at home, and heaps of messy crap everywhere that will show up in any photo you take anyway, do NOT try to take belly shots at work! Especially if you forget to turn off the flash, and it's anywhere near lunchtime, and crazy ol' HPD is roaming the halls. Especially not then.
Fig 5: Just learned today that I'm "about to pop," the baby has "dropped," I am "carrying low" and also "look WAY more pregnant" than I am. A-haaaaa-wesome.
8.10.2011
A Month In The Life
I know it's been a month and I'm total fail at blogging, but I'm not about to start getting better today. I have a quick break at work which I will use to post some stuff super quick like, but for a real update you'll have to wait till I screw my brain on a little tighter than it is now.
The Great Lone Range, or Why My Butt Loves The Couch Way More Than Me
So Iris and Kyle did go out of town, and lo, there was much lazing and repose. On my part, that is. Kyle and Iris did whatever they did, and it was all a mystery that I don't care to solve. I decided that Iwas so excited for their departure was going to miss them so much that I simply had to snap a photo right before they got on the road. Don't they look joyous? So precious in their stylishly coordinating travel costumes, those Kelleys....
Anyway, I actually did have to work the first two days they were gone, so it's a good thing Grammy took pity on me and babysat Iris for the weekend. I got all my work done and sat on the aforementioned sofa, and I do believe that was the last time FBK was small enough to avoid directly stimulating my sciatic nerve. If you're not familiar with your sciatic nerve and what it can do, do not bother trying to learn. That would be like researching what, exaaaactly jellyfish stings are like.
I was all set to blog about stuff that weekend, in fact, but then Babs' charger broke (Barbara Jean - the Apple laptop), and I had to rush order a new one. Then I was going to meet Grammy and Papa in Concordia to pick up Iris, and noticed the huge bolt/nut/washer combo sticking out of my driver's side tire. I did not drive to Concordia that day. G & P did bring Iris back home though, which is nice, since I kind of like my kid and everything. And - bonus - they fixed my tire too!
MOMMY, TakemypictureCHEEEEEEEZE!
Iris really likes having her picture taken now. She actually directs photo shoots starring her. It's... kinda weird in an endearing little way. I think it might be the "CHEESE" face that gets me the most. I mean, it reminds me of one of those poor, harried stage children whose mothers bleach their teeth and put them on toddler diets. I seriously have no idea where she learned that. I barely even wash my own hair, so I think I can safely opt out of that little blame cycle. Fortunately these shots look relatively natural. Here is a small sampling of a recent photo shoot:
Irisey With The Fringe On Top
The hair in the face was about to kill me. So, as much as I hate bangs, hated having them growing up and hate that they make children look creepily precocious, it had to be done. I stood her up on the toilet lid last night and chopped those suckers off. They are crooked and jaggedy, but at least she dosen't look like one of those Afghan dogs with the hair and the not-seeing and whatnot anymore.
Oooo, Let's Dance, Awight?
...quoth Iris when she first heard this song, and then of course again every time after. This is the time when I shamefully admit that my kid likes dance music. Like, that one might find in a dance club. For dancing. I um... will be sitting on my couch with my unwashed hair. Someone who likes glow sticks and sequins can be responsible for endoctrinating Iris into the land of technopop:
The Great Lone Range, or Why My Butt Loves The Couch Way More Than Me
So Iris and Kyle did go out of town, and lo, there was much lazing and repose. On my part, that is. Kyle and Iris did whatever they did, and it was all a mystery that I don't care to solve. I decided that I
Anyway, I actually did have to work the first two days they were gone, so it's a good thing Grammy took pity on me and babysat Iris for the weekend. I got all my work done and sat on the aforementioned sofa, and I do believe that was the last time FBK was small enough to avoid directly stimulating my sciatic nerve. If you're not familiar with your sciatic nerve and what it can do, do not bother trying to learn. That would be like researching what, exaaaactly jellyfish stings are like.
I was all set to blog about stuff that weekend, in fact, but then Babs' charger broke (Barbara Jean - the Apple laptop), and I had to rush order a new one. Then I was going to meet Grammy and Papa in Concordia to pick up Iris, and noticed the huge bolt/nut/washer combo sticking out of my driver's side tire. I did not drive to Concordia that day. G & P did bring Iris back home though, which is nice, since I kind of like my kid and everything. And - bonus - they fixed my tire too!
MOMMY, TakemypictureCHEEEEEEEZE!
Iris really likes having her picture taken now. She actually directs photo shoots starring her. It's... kinda weird in an endearing little way. I think it might be the "CHEESE" face that gets me the most. I mean, it reminds me of one of those poor, harried stage children whose mothers bleach their teeth and put them on toddler diets. I seriously have no idea where she learned that. I barely even wash my own hair, so I think I can safely opt out of that little blame cycle. Fortunately these shots look relatively natural. Here is a small sampling of a recent photo shoot:
Irisey With The Fringe On Top
The hair in the face was about to kill me. So, as much as I hate bangs, hated having them growing up and hate that they make children look creepily precocious, it had to be done. I stood her up on the toilet lid last night and chopped those suckers off. They are crooked and jaggedy, but at least she dosen't look like one of those Afghan dogs with the hair and the not-seeing and whatnot anymore.
Oooo, Let's Dance, Awight?
...quoth Iris when she first heard this song, and then of course again every time after. This is the time when I shamefully admit that my kid likes dance music. Like, that one might find in a dance club. For dancing. I um... will be sitting on my couch with my unwashed hair. Someone who likes glow sticks and sequins can be responsible for endoctrinating Iris into the land of technopop:
(Sorry - would have embedded the actual video but Yeasayer said "no," if you can believe it.)
Miscellany - Ask Me Later
We bought a house! We did not manage to sell one though.
The dog died and I didn't even cry. Only part of that statement is true.
I like yard sales and I especially love preparing to host one! That entire statement is false, which makes the likelihood of its occurrence no less probable.
Cats only barf where bare feet go, and children only pee on the floor when you're late for something - discuss.
I'm way pregnant. Whoa.
7.13.2011
Wilco Copper Norge
I just scammed a bunch of words off of the bulletin board in my cubicle to come up with today's post title. It's utterly meaningless, but sounds cool, no? If it didn't have the already super-recognizable "Wilco" part in there, I'd pretend it was a really awesome new band that only I had ever heard of. I'm so in-tune with the indie scene. Man. Anyway...
I was just reading someone else's blog (you don't know her; I don't even know her), and in it she explains that she recently had to cry into her mom's lap for a bit about how stressful children are, how much they suck when you can't take them outside of the house, how they're never going to stop being all needy and loud, recognized her own continued needy/loud-ness in regard to her mother, cried more, etc. Yes to all. Yes times a million. And this woman is a stay-at-home of three girls under the age of eight. I get to go to work three whole days of the week (hah - I GET TO WORK)! And for two of those home days, I'm not even primary care! And yet!
And yet, I am still embarrassed of the shallow lack of patience I currently sport. Iris is so wound up, all the time. The child just needs an energy outlet, and that is impossible when the heat index is 112 degrees. Poor, poor, awesome Kyle deserves an award for how well he cares for her and also refrains from tossing her out the window daily. She's just hysterical, and not in the funny awesome way, more in the losing-her-damn-mind kind of way.
She has been talking lately. Like, really talking. Talking like a big kid who has some level of reasoning skills and likes to ask questions. Her favorite question at the moment is "because why?"
(sounds of cat sadness coming from Iris' direction....)
Me: Iris, stop patting Kashmir's back please, you're hurting her.
Iris: Because why?
Me: Patting her back too hard will hurt her.
Iris: Because why?
Me: It will hurt her because hitting hurts.
Iris: Mommy, I not hit Shashir's back, I PAT her back. She not crying.
Me: Kashmir doesn't know the difference between patting and hitting, Honey, she just knows she doesn't like it.
Iris: Because why?
Me: Because it hurts her.
Iris: I NOT HURT SHASHIR!
Me: Well, you're going to have to take that up with her because she thinks you are.
Iris: Shashir, I not mad at you, I pat your back! No crying!
That could seriously go on for hours. She is somewhat willing to be redirected, but it takes a high level of bribery and waaaaay more patience than I have right now. Massive high-pitched melt downs are very common around the Kelley abode. The cat convo was just a tiny example, but my brilliant solution to that problem is to ban cat interaction forever. This will soon be a problem if it becomes my solution to every problem, as I can't very well ban her from touching everything in the house, especially when the inside of the house is the only place she can go.
Iris also recently decided that the things we ask her to do are pretty much just suggestions that can (and should) be ignored. Not awesome. Yesterday the only way I was able to get her to listen to me and stop running/screeching/giggling maniacally was to stand in front of her and let her ricochet off of my legs. I certainly couldn't have caught her if I was actually running after her. Then of course there was the resulting fallout/tantrum of epic proportions. I ended up doing that awesome thing where I drag the pissed off child around by the upper arm while she does her best protester limp. That was all within the first few minutes of my arrival home from work.
Did you know that July 4th marks the beginning of child abuse season? Did you know that there was a SEASON? I think it's only something referenced by ER staff, but still, this is a THING. I learned that little tidbit in my random other people's blog perusal as well. Apparently it has something to do with school being out, children being insane dictators, and the heat index being such that taking them outside to run off steam is something akin to child abuse. I'm just saying, you know I'd never participate in such a season, but I SEE WHERE THEY'RE COMING FROM, YAKNOW?
In lieu of my own mother's lap upon which to cry, we are shipping Iris off to KC for two weekends in a row. I have next to zero guilt about this. Okay, maybe like 5% guilt. Possibly more, but I'm repressing it. Kyle is going out of town to visit friends in Texas that he's been trying to find time to visit for like six years or something. The decision to send Iris to KC this weekend was a last-minute deal, offered up by Grammy because she knows I'm nuts? I don't know, I'm not questioning it, because you know what? DO YOU PEOPLE KNOW WHAT? (I just don't even know how to make shouty-caps shoutier than this...)
I AM FINALLY GOING TO BE HOME ALONE FOR TWO WHOLE NIGHTS. THIS IS ALL I HAVE EVER WANTED.
The only thing that would make this more bursting with awesomeosity is if I could bring my friend Franzia along for the ride. Alas, FBK would not enjoy the resulting brain damage, so I guess this will just have to happen again next summer! Booya. Silver linings are shiny and pretty/I heart shiny things!
I was just reading someone else's blog (you don't know her; I don't even know her), and in it she explains that she recently had to cry into her mom's lap for a bit about how stressful children are, how much they suck when you can't take them outside of the house, how they're never going to stop being all needy and loud, recognized her own continued needy/loud-ness in regard to her mother, cried more, etc. Yes to all. Yes times a million. And this woman is a stay-at-home of three girls under the age of eight. I get to go to work three whole days of the week (hah - I GET TO WORK)! And for two of those home days, I'm not even primary care! And yet!
And yet, I am still embarrassed of the shallow lack of patience I currently sport. Iris is so wound up, all the time. The child just needs an energy outlet, and that is impossible when the heat index is 112 degrees. Poor, poor, awesome Kyle deserves an award for how well he cares for her and also refrains from tossing her out the window daily. She's just hysterical, and not in the funny awesome way, more in the losing-her-damn-mind kind of way.
She has been talking lately. Like, really talking. Talking like a big kid who has some level of reasoning skills and likes to ask questions. Her favorite question at the moment is "because why?"
(sounds of cat sadness coming from Iris' direction....)
Me: Iris, stop patting Kashmir's back please, you're hurting her.
Iris: Because why?
Me: Patting her back too hard will hurt her.
Iris: Because why?
Me: It will hurt her because hitting hurts.
Iris: Mommy, I not hit Shashir's back, I PAT her back. She not crying.
Me: Kashmir doesn't know the difference between patting and hitting, Honey, she just knows she doesn't like it.
Iris: Because why?
Me: Because it hurts her.
Iris: I NOT HURT SHASHIR!
Me: Well, you're going to have to take that up with her because she thinks you are.
Iris: Shashir, I not mad at you, I pat your back! No crying!
That could seriously go on for hours. She is somewhat willing to be redirected, but it takes a high level of bribery and waaaaay more patience than I have right now. Massive high-pitched melt downs are very common around the Kelley abode. The cat convo was just a tiny example, but my brilliant solution to that problem is to ban cat interaction forever. This will soon be a problem if it becomes my solution to every problem, as I can't very well ban her from touching everything in the house, especially when the inside of the house is the only place she can go.
Iris also recently decided that the things we ask her to do are pretty much just suggestions that can (and should) be ignored. Not awesome. Yesterday the only way I was able to get her to listen to me and stop running/screeching/giggling maniacally was to stand in front of her and let her ricochet off of my legs. I certainly couldn't have caught her if I was actually running after her. Then of course there was the resulting fallout/tantrum of epic proportions. I ended up doing that awesome thing where I drag the pissed off child around by the upper arm while she does her best protester limp. That was all within the first few minutes of my arrival home from work.
Did you know that July 4th marks the beginning of child abuse season? Did you know that there was a SEASON? I think it's only something referenced by ER staff, but still, this is a THING. I learned that little tidbit in my random other people's blog perusal as well. Apparently it has something to do with school being out, children being insane dictators, and the heat index being such that taking them outside to run off steam is something akin to child abuse. I'm just saying, you know I'd never participate in such a season, but I SEE WHERE THEY'RE COMING FROM, YAKNOW?
In lieu of my own mother's lap upon which to cry, we are shipping Iris off to KC for two weekends in a row. I have next to zero guilt about this. Okay, maybe like 5% guilt. Possibly more, but I'm repressing it. Kyle is going out of town to visit friends in Texas that he's been trying to find time to visit for like six years or something. The decision to send Iris to KC this weekend was a last-minute deal, offered up by Grammy because she knows I'm nuts? I don't know, I'm not questioning it, because you know what? DO YOU PEOPLE KNOW WHAT? (I just don't even know how to make shouty-caps shoutier than this...)
I AM FINALLY GOING TO BE HOME ALONE FOR TWO WHOLE NIGHTS. THIS IS ALL I HAVE EVER WANTED.
The only thing that would make this more bursting with awesomeosity is if I could bring my friend Franzia along for the ride. Alas, FBK would not enjoy the resulting brain damage, so I guess this will just have to happen again next summer! Booya. Silver linings are shiny and pretty/I heart shiny things!
6.07.2011
Limpid Bagel
Wouldn't that be weird, and probably a little gross? Like Crystal Pepsi? Ew. Anyway, disregard the title, I just thought it sounded cool.
So I don't have any major (or minor, really) updates, and obviously you didn't get a song last week. I mean, I'm perfectly comfortable posting The Farmer in The Dell (AGAIN), but as Aunt PittyPat noted, you guys aren't really here for the cartoons, no?
Potty training is going much better; thanks for the suggestions. Turns out bribery does work, we were just doing it wrong. I mean, stickers are nice and all, but she was holding out for chocolate. We've actually noticed that Iris might be saving up trips to the bathroom to ensure more trips to the Potty Candy Stash. Smart kid.
I continue to get huge and FBK continues to kick about. I'm not really sure what's going on in there, but his feet are definitely still firmly planted on my bladder. It's neat.
That's about it for now. Again, name suggestions? Anybody? You know you are just dying to tell me what to do (right? people love telling other people what to do, don't they? that just me, then?).
So I don't have any major (or minor, really) updates, and obviously you didn't get a song last week. I mean, I'm perfectly comfortable posting The Farmer in The Dell (AGAIN), but as Aunt PittyPat noted, you guys aren't really here for the cartoons, no?
Potty training is going much better; thanks for the suggestions. Turns out bribery does work, we were just doing it wrong. I mean, stickers are nice and all, but she was holding out for chocolate. We've actually noticed that Iris might be saving up trips to the bathroom to ensure more trips to the Potty Candy Stash. Smart kid.
I continue to get huge and FBK continues to kick about. I'm not really sure what's going on in there, but his feet are definitely still firmly planted on my bladder. It's neat.
That's about it for now. Again, name suggestions? Anybody? You know you are just dying to tell me what to do (right? people love telling other people what to do, don't they? that just me, then?).
5.26.2011
Take a Gander...
...And throw him down the stairs. That jerk totally deserves it after what he did to that old guy. We don't have a new song this week since Iris is still firmly in love with the Farmer in the Dell, but she did expand her horizons to include Goosey Goosey Gander sometimes. I'm not saying I approve of this behavior (*cough*kylestopshowingherthestupidvideo*cough*), but it is what it is, so here you go. I guess we do have a new song, just try not to watch it around children.
Okay, why is he in his lady's chamber? Why would a goose who is seemingly intent on checking out some lady's bed care one way or the other if some old guy was praying or not? Are we really teaching the youth of India (and elsewhere, I suppose) that violence is okay if you don't follow the rules? Don't get me wrong, I enjoy threatening to cut my co-workers if they chew too loudly or play with their clicky pens too frequently or like, breathe really loudly, but that's FUNNY because I would never ACT on it. Probably. But that goose is seriously just rude. Don't you think that old guy was kind of frail? Has he no concern for osteoperosis? Why is this a children's song?
TELL ME WHAT TO DO
Iris is fully potty trained at school. She initiates her own visits to the bathroom and almost never has accidents. She naps without a diaper and has for weeks. I think her last accident happened like two months ago, seriously. At home, her response to "do you have to pee" is always "NO." If you force her to sit on the potty, she will sit for hours and hours and insist the entire time that there is no pee. Then she'll stand up, pull up her pants, and pee on the couch/floor/your lap. She will wake up in the morning with a dry diaper and hold her pee for hours after waking. I have seen her go over 14 hours without peeing. Help me.
Okay, why is he in his lady's chamber? Why would a goose who is seemingly intent on checking out some lady's bed care one way or the other if some old guy was praying or not? Are we really teaching the youth of India (and elsewhere, I suppose) that violence is okay if you don't follow the rules? Don't get me wrong, I enjoy threatening to cut my co-workers if they chew too loudly or play with their clicky pens too frequently or like, breathe really loudly, but that's FUNNY because I would never ACT on it. Probably. But that goose is seriously just rude. Don't you think that old guy was kind of frail? Has he no concern for osteoperosis? Why is this a children's song?
TELL ME WHAT TO DO
Iris is fully potty trained at school. She initiates her own visits to the bathroom and almost never has accidents. She naps without a diaper and has for weeks. I think her last accident happened like two months ago, seriously. At home, her response to "do you have to pee" is always "NO." If you force her to sit on the potty, she will sit for hours and hours and insist the entire time that there is no pee. Then she'll stand up, pull up her pants, and pee on the couch/floor/your lap. She will wake up in the morning with a dry diaper and hold her pee for hours after waking. I have seen her go over 14 hours without peeing. Help me.
5.18.2011
Toploftical
5.17.2011
Jovian Heavy
I'd like to think that I am particularly in-line with Thursdays in general. I am drawn to them. I am of them. I have always loved them. Thursday is my day.
FBK is due on a Thursday. My half birthday and Thanksgiving fall on the same Thursday this year. Iris was born on Thursday, February 26th, and I have been convinced all day that today is definitely Thursday. This pregnancy hits 20 weeks this Thursday, and conveniently enough, Iris Music Thursday! usually happens on Thursdays, mostly because it happened to be Thursday when I came up with the idea.
The contemporary name Thursday comes from the Old English Þunresdæg, "Thunor's Day." Somewhere along the line the "n" was dropped and we got "Thor's Day" out of that mess. A lot of other changes happened over the ages, but mostly we need to know that Thor is the god of Thunder, and his name from the Romans is Jupiter (Latin: Iuppiter, Iūpiter) (also called Jove). In Vedic Astrology, Hindu astrologers named the planet Jupiter after Brihaspati, the religious teacher of the gods, and often called it "Guru", which literally means the "Heavy One."*
Jupiter is a gas giant with a mass slightly less than one-thousandth of the Sun but is two and a half times the mass of all the other planets in our Solar System combined. Jupiter is primarily composed of hydrogen with a quarter of its mass being helium; it may also have a rocky core of heavier elements. Its shape is that of an oblate spheroid (it possesses a slight but noticeable bulge around the equator).*
Being that I am so full of Thursday-esque properties, it is extremely accurate to state that I am a massively heavy oblate spheroid, a thunderous gas giant if you will, with a rocky core. Watch out.
And now, here is a random picture of Katie Pants for No Reason At All (tm)!!
FBK is due on a Thursday. My half birthday and Thanksgiving fall on the same Thursday this year. Iris was born on Thursday, February 26th, and I have been convinced all day that today is definitely Thursday. This pregnancy hits 20 weeks this Thursday, and conveniently enough, Iris Music Thursday! usually happens on Thursdays, mostly because it happened to be Thursday when I came up with the idea.
The contemporary name Thursday comes from the Old English Þunresdæg, "Thunor's Day." Somewhere along the line the "n" was dropped and we got "Thor's Day" out of that mess. A lot of other changes happened over the ages, but mostly we need to know that Thor is the god of Thunder, and his name from the Romans is Jupiter (Latin: Iuppiter, Iūpiter) (also called Jove). In Vedic Astrology, Hindu astrologers named the planet Jupiter after Brihaspati, the religious teacher of the gods, and often called it "Guru", which literally means the "Heavy One."*
Jupiter is a gas giant with a mass slightly less than one-thousandth of the Sun but is two and a half times the mass of all the other planets in our Solar System combined. Jupiter is primarily composed of hydrogen with a quarter of its mass being helium; it may also have a rocky core of heavier elements. Its shape is that of an oblate spheroid (it possesses a slight but noticeable bulge around the equator).*
Being that I am so full of Thursday-esque properties, it is extremely accurate to state that I am a massively heavy oblate spheroid, a thunderous gas giant if you will, with a rocky core. Watch out.
And now, here is a random picture of Katie Pants for No Reason At All (tm)!!
* I ripped off all sorts of information from Wikipedia. In the words of the great Mike and Em: "Look it up."
4.05.2011
It's too late to change your mind
You don't get to arrive all round and heartburney at 40 weeks and go, "know what guys? I maybe was just kidding. I think that adoption is an excellent route for our family, and here let me just... wiggle this thing here, and toggle this doo-dad, and er....yep! Just magicked THAT reality into existence."
You don't sell your house, buy a new one, then settle in the new place and say, "I think I liked the old neighborhood better, let's just go ahead and move back now."
You don't name a brand new human, then try it on for size and decide a few months later that Bob-Ellen is really a much more appropriate name. I mean, hopefully nobody thinks that's ever an appropriate name, but that's not the point.
I am certainly not saying that I don't want to be pregnant right now. We want another child now and I love this baby. And so far (even with the 3-month hangover minus the fun drunky times the day before) this pregnancy has been much easier to deal with than the last. I guess I'm just feeling rather fatalistic these days. I just sort of got on this train and now I don't really know who is in charge, but it is most definitely not me. That's fine. It's a little scary, but perhaps it's best to identify the situation then just let it go. I'm going with the flow. I'm zen. I suck at zen, btw.
And we are thinking about selling/buying house these days. And we are struggling to come up with a name for this kid. And somehow I can't lay on my stomach anymore because there is a beefsteak tomato sized person in there, and he really doesn't like it when you lay on him.
I feel like suddenly one day I'll be in a new house that I don't think is very cute, next to crazy zealot right-wing neighbors, while Iris again completely ignores my warnings about loving small creatures too hard and squashes baby Englebert in a breath-stealing crunch. That is, she will do so after she decorates him with butt cream and explains the pitfalls of eating markers and peeing on the couch.
I can't have a baby named Englebert, people!
1.27.2011
Indeed!
Just a quick update: I am indeed pregnant! I've been to the doctor and had a blood test done, and I am apparently such a professional at being pregnant that my HcG levels are extra high. Not like, excessively extra high, but perhaps on the high end of normal. Point is, I'm pregnant. Fo Sho.
We told Iris about the pregnancy the day of the squinting at the second line game, and she's taken to talking to my abdomen. Mostly she says "HIIIII BAYBEEEEE." It's really cute. Like, really, really, capital-C: Cute. We asked if she thought she was getting a baby brother or a baby sister and she immediately responded with baby sister. Or "baby shishtuh." Something like that. Then we asked her what we should name her baby sister, and she said something like Dido, but now I realize that she might have been saying Lola, since she always replaces the "L's" in Lola's name with "D's." And she does completely idolize Lola, so... not sure.
I'm super duper tired all the time, and I discovered today that if I don't eat every two hours on the dot, I actually get woozy and shaky like I've consumed three pots of coffee in 10 minutes. I'm eating about six meals a day, and it's now 9:23 pm and I feel like I might pass out from exhaustion. Higher cognitive functioning is completely beyond me at this point. Kyle swears I didn't get like this last time till more like second trimester time, so I don't know what's going on. This pregnancy is just an overachiever, I guess. I'm gonna sleep on it, and I'm sure I'll come up with an amazing explanation for the complete ass-kicking I'm already getting here. Okay, no, not complete. This is me NOT jinxing things. Complete destruction would include barfing, which I thankfully am not involved with. I'd MUCH rather sleep 100 hrs a week than barf. So. On with the sleeping then...
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