Ferocious G

Hi.

2011-02-03T10:08:00.000-08:00

I figured I would use my new and faster phone to pop in and say hi to any of the crickets still left out there who might check this. I have mo computer to myself these days, nor would I have much time to blog on one if I did. And the previous phone was so slow that in my sessions of holding a sleeping baby, I still couldn't update anything successfully from it.

So here I am with my new phone and so far it's pretty easy. I just wish I could update with photos from the phone. Come on, blogger. Get with it. What is that? It's silly, that's what. Especially for those of us mom-types who are on the run! Or is it "on the go"? On the go, yes. Not running from the law, currently.

Re-cap:
October was busy, November was busy, and add to that the good ole trip to Arlington, WA for Thanksgiving. Cut to December, where running the studio became the mist challenging it has ever been. People sick, gone on vacation, moving away, etc. But with the help of my staffers, we made it! January was my much more manageable, but the germs of Winter viruses invaded our space and we all took turns being sick. I guess we think that's pretty cool, because we keep doing it.

One common thread through all of this, however, is we have remained so happy! I love these darlings of mine so much, and in between all the nutty busy times, which I also relish, we have been having a blast.

Lyrics Police

2010-11-10T17:06:00.001-08:00

Oliver's second favorite song is Poker Face by Lady Gaga. I was singing it absentmindedly today...

"Can't read my, can't read my, no he can't read my pooooker faaaaaace."

Oliver tapped me on the shoulder and said, "Mom, it's 'carry ma'". "What?" I said. He replied by singing...

"Carry ma, carry ma, no he can't read ma Pooooker FACE!"

"Ahhhh," I said. "I had no idea I was doing it wrong."

I have internets again.

2010-11-04T16:19:00.000-07:00

We are no longer pilfering our neighbor's wireless signal - we chose to go with Clear Wireless and save a few bucks. However, while it is once again easier to use my computer, Her Majesty Sparkles doesn't always deem it pertinent for me to do so.

I am stealing a few minutes while she slumbers in the other room to sneak on here and say hello!

I have not forgotten that I need to begin New York Part Two. It's coming. I think Jessica is working on her own version, too.

Amongst things that have been keeping me busy are:
-Her Majesty Sparkles
-His Majesty Lego Batman
-Preschool
-Work: we were Portland's deal of the day on Groupon on Tuesday!

So now I am off to work to help out the front desk staff in case a bunch of Groupony types stroll through the door and need assistance. I have to load the kids up in the car now. Sparkles is going to be pissed.

Interim

2010-10-01T13:43:00.000-07:00

I have not been able to continue the saga of my trip yet, largely in part to Roxy Girl being a major Klingon, and annoyingly in part to the fact that I am currently pilfering my Internet connection from some unsuspecting old lady who has to pay her bill from the jangling nickels in her Victorian cross-stitched coinpurse. The connection seems to be set to "hobbling slowly and awkwardly with a walker while attempting to shop for groceries" level.

This entry is being posted from my phone while my needy sweetheart is catching some z's in my arms. Also time consuming.

Poor Roxinator seems to be eyeballing me with suspicion every time I set her down. Don't you dare leave me again, MOM, or I will wreak havoc on your time and personal space like no other. God help me, you will rue the day you ever left me to drink that vile feces-from-a-can out of a false plastic breast! Did you really think I could be tricked? Think again! And feed me the good stuff now or I will never sleep again.

Oh, I rue, Roxy. I rue.

Really though, it is quite pitiful how attached she is to me this week and I feel so sorry for her that I am happy to oblige. I'm not getting anything done, but it will still be there later. In the meantime, I will allow myself to feel flattered by her love and absorb as much as I can of her.

New York City Epicness. Part One.

2010-09-29T12:38:00.000-07:00

(The following is the story of my trip as documented by my iPhone photos. The real camera photos will come later.)

Well, hello, dear handful of friend-readers! I think you know that I recently flew (read: popped Xanax, clutched the arms of the seat, and passed out) on a JetBlue airplane to New York City. Most of you know that I don't care to fly in the air, or otherwise. I also still have a breastfeeding baby at home who has demonstrated nothing but disdain for drinking out of a bottle. I mean, how uncivilized. We may as well just give her a can of Diet Coke and a Twinkie and call it a gourmet meal, as long we're offering her crap. So there was just a wee bit of anxiety as the dates of my departure drew near. Joe helped push me out of the nest assured me that everyone would survive.

I was invited by this person:

I am not sure if this is her favorite photo of herself, but I think it's so feminine and pretty and sweet. Like her. This is Jessica, in case you don't already know. She's famous. She lives with her cute husband, Cyrus, and her sweet baby Walter.

I arrived at JFK at around 7am on Friday morning, and hopped in a cab to Jessica's house. She lives in the West Village, which, until I was actually in Manhattan, meant literally nothing to me. I get it now. It's so old fashioned and cool and darling and quaint and still everything is so vast at the same time. The streets intertwine and curve around, and directionally, I was stupefied. So I just followed Jessica around and didn't really pay attention to the street names, like when I am the passenger in a car.

I got to her building, buzzed her apartment, and then jammed up to the 6th floor (all stairs. Feel the burn.)and knocked on her door. She has been living NOT in my city for several years now (four! Gross!) and in New York for two of them and the only times I have seen her are in Seattle or when she visits Portland. I do get to see her frequently, but actually knocking on HER door in New York City was really cool.

She greeted me, we hugged, I took off my shoes in accordance with the row of shoes lined up next to the front door (they so brilliantly realized that walking around the apartment in their shoes was getting "New York on the floor". Good point.) and we had coffee. I even got to hear her operatic neighbor warming up her vocal chords for the day and it really does sound like Snow White hailing woodland creatures and birdies.

After a shower and an outfit selection, we hit the 'hood for some lunch at Mary's Fish Camp. We had lobster rolls, which is basically a whole lobster tail, some mayonnaise, a bun, and some fancy greens perched atop. It was the most delicious thing I have ever eaten.

After lunch, we went to a few shoe stores. One of them had the cutest ever, and I hate myself for not buying them. Feck.

After shoes, came the bigguns: H&M, Top Shop, All Saints (I curse that store for having everything I want and nothing I could afford).

We had big plans to go to a hip hop class at Broadway Dance Center, but the shopping and my non-sleep got the better of us so we skipped it in favor of drinking and eating.

After a pit stop back on Charles Street to let Walter out and pick up Cyrus, we headed to hmmm. Uh oh. Where? Oh yes! We actually did NOT pick up Cyrus. We freshened up and went to a little bar called Orient Express. As in "MURDER ON THE...". Except in this case, the bar wasn't at all murder-y. It was just shaped like the inside of a train car and decorated like one, with old timey luggage and racks, and the drinks on the menu had Christie-esque names. My kinda joint.

Whilst enjoying our cocktails and chatting, in walks the famous Amy Collingwood, or A-Coll, as she is lovingly referred to by her fans. Not to be outdone by A-Coll's magnetic and flashy appearance, her boots held a competition with her face. Of course, the face won, but the boots. Oh, those boots. Cowgirl kind with Swarovski crystals practically pouring out of them all over the place. She's lucky she's so pretty, because those boots were vying for attention in a serious way.

Back to us, we drank another cocktail (except Amy, who had inconveniently for opted for teetotaling during the month of September) and then made our way to dinner, where we DID meet Cyrus! It was pizza. It. Was. Pizza. Holy God.

After The Pizza (and bottle of wine), Cyrus left us to our own girlie devices and we sauntered to The Bar Where Everyone Sings Show Tunes While Some Guy Plays the Piano. I don't know the name of it, but our server was Barry or Gary or Larry. He was delightful and funny and brought us beers. It was small, it was underground, and it was so heartfelt and fun and sincere in the way that everyone was having fun singing to their favorite Broadway shows. We stayed for a million songs and then headed to another sing some songs bar, but that was way more 80's in an awesomely bad way. More beers. (I would love to insert a photo here of me punching Jess in the face, but I have not uploaded those onto my computer yet.)

In between those places, however, we were serenaded by a homelessy type man in a sombrero who made us laugh and laugh. He had one more to sing us, but couldn't remember it so he told us to hold on while he thought of it. 15 minutes later, it was still a mystery.

After the Awesomely Bad 80's Keyboard Singing Place, we parted ways with A-Coll and enjoyed a mini-break on a stoop before walking home. Upon the ground was a silver treaure. We actually picked it up and took it home for further deliberation on what to do with it. More on that later.

I somehow remember crawling onto my bed with Mr. Walter, and waking up to a quiet house... Day Two's journey was about to begin...

The Ice Cream Man

2010-09-07T17:16:00.000-07:00

Earlier today, Oliver wanted to play on my bed with Roxy and me. I shuffled us all in there and crawled up on the bed with Roxy, while Oliver stood on the floor at the foot of the bed and declared that he was the ice cream man.

I asked him what kind of ice cream he had to offer and he told me that there were all different kinds.

Great! What kinds?

Vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry, he said. He demonstrated the flavors by doing a Vanna White flourish on my wall next to each imaginary dispenser.

Naturally, I asked for strawberry.

He asked if I like it on a cone, and I told him that I did. He gave me my invisible ice cream cone and I devoured it with glee. Next up was Roxy's ice cream cone. She chose vanilla.

Oliver walked her cone around to the side of the bed, but before he handed it to her, he farted on it.

And that's how ice cream cones get sprinkles.

I'm not even lying.

I live and breathe...

2010-09-06T23:29:00.000-07:00

Also known as: I am still figuring out how to have two kids and make sure that my house and business don't fall apart. Plus, my computer doesn't live with me anymore do my blogging is mostly limited to being done via my phone.

Things in the Grahamily are quite delightful, though, and we are gearing up for a busy Autumn filled with preschool, dancing, winterizing the house, much baby snuggling and occasionally giving Joe a high five as we pass each other.

Oliver is the king of pooping every day (for the time being) since he learned that we let him do things based on whether or not he has pooped yet that day.

Miss Roxy Violet continues to crush life. She is stealing hearts taking names, that one. We are best friends.

I will try to post more often now that I have finally broken the seal and posted from my phone. A bit cumbersome, but I miss talking to you.

I am not looking forward to this...

2010-07-13T14:17:00.000-07:00

At Roxy's checkup today we talked to her doctor about her refusal to drink a bottle and how it is paralyzing our ability to get on with life in regards to Mom being gone for longer than an hour at a time.

We were told that a healthy well-fed baby who hates bottles will basically hold out for the real thing until she gets it, and can go for as long as four hours before finally giving in. The feel of something foreign in her mouth just really pisses her off. It's heartbreaking for all of us, really. Joe doesn't feel great about not being able to feed his own child, Roxy is upset and confused and all she wants is to feel better and why won't my mom show up to fix this?!, and I have to race home, talking to Joe on the phone, hearing her scream in the background. Despite logic, it makes me feel as though I have abandoned her and Joe and Oliver so I could traipse around town being all selfish.

Joe is far from a helpless, hapless dad, too. He doesn't call me at the first sign of trouble - he sticks to it, and sometimes she finally drinks her bottle and stops screaming, but it's never pretty. And other times, most other times, she snubs the bottle and chooses the crying instead. For hours. And that is when I get a very polite tiny text message that reads "hi there. what's your eta?". As if I don't KNOW that is code for please come home and put me out of my misery. He tells me that the crying doesn't bother him so much as it makes him feel sorry for HER. And you know? I think that is even worse. Feeling sorry for your tiny baby and not being able to fix it is so frustrating and I can't think of much else that would tug at my heartstrings.

Anyway, Doctor told us how to do warfare on the bottle refusal, and frankly, I am not eagerly anticipating the day we do it. I know I have to, though, so I will barrel through it. Joe has to do the hardest part, too, so I will shut my complaint hole.

It basically consists of me pumping every time I would otherwise be breastfeeding her. For 2 days. He said she will eventually give in when she realizes I will not be coming around, and she will drink the bottle. About 2 days, he said, is usually enough to solve the problem for good.

I think I am going to have to leave the house for this event because if I have to hear her crying so heartbreakingly, I think I will race over to Joe and snatch her right out of his arms and just start feeding her myself, thereby foiling our plans. Plus, I will probably cry. Or have a nervous breakdown.

I think I will take it as an opportunity to have Mom/Oliver time just by ourselves, so Joe doesn't have to worry about anyone other than the little nugget of baby goodness.

Dear Roxy Violet, 2 Months Old

2010-07-13T12:06:00.000-07:00

Yesterday you turned 2 months old, lovey. I have had the most wonderful time with you!

You still sleep with me, and whenever Daddy keeps you with him in the living room while I go to bed, I feel like I am missing a limb. You are a very comforting presence in my life and I already feel like we are going to have a relationship that extends beyond parent and child, into a lifelong friendship.

You had your first cold a couple weeks ago, thanks to the beauty of having an active preschooler as a sibling. Germs abound! But you really barely complained. In fact, you never complain about much at all, you're just so quiet.

I have been bringing you to Push Jones rehearsal, and all the girls LOVE you. You get passed around and loved on, and then you just kick it in your lounge chair while I do some dancing. The other day, you started crying in there, so I picked you up and held you while I walked through the dances and formations with the team. Finally, my arms got tired so I had to put you down, and it turns out you just had a dirty diaper and that's why you were crying when I put you down. Changed it, and you went back to lounging and watching us dance.

Based on that experience, I took you up to the studio with just myself the other day so I could choreograph. Here you are helping me:

Upon closer inspection, it turned out you weren't really contributing much.

We went as a family to your 2 Month checkup with the doctor today, and you weigh 10 lbs, 13 and a half ounces, and you are 24-ish inches tall. That's what the nurse officially called your length when she measured you. 24-ish inches. It's hard to measure a tiny person who always pulls their knees up, I guess. Anyway, You're in the 99th percentile for length. That means that 1% of other girls your age are taller than you. It also means that you will probably be taller than me someday, and not my Mini-Me offspring that I had totally expected. I'm doomed. You, however, can at least take comfort in the fact that I will never borrow your jeans. I will totally steal your Forever 21 jewelry, though. Make no mistake about that.

I love you so much, and OH MY GOD, so does your brother. I am in awe every single day of his gentleness with you and his undying willingness to help you in any way he can. Sure, there have been some mishaps, like poor depth perception in flailing arms that resulted in an ouchie for you, or he felt so much love for you that he had to hug you really really really hard. But he is learning about all that, and wow, you are so lucky to have him. He's a special friend.

He takes a lot of pictures of you with my iPhone. Here is one that he is especially proud of, considering his favorite word right now is "butt". He calls this Roxy Flower Butt:

You have started smiling at us, too. It transforms your whole body. You are
beautiful.

Love,
Mommy

Where the hell have I been?/Roxy turned 1 month old...

2010-06-30T12:19:00.000-07:00

Well, let me tell ya... Having two kids, a business, a husband (who?), three dogs, weeds, laundry, grocery shopping, cleaning, cooking, time with each child, breastfeeding, etc... really eats into my blogging time. I pretty much only log onto emails and facebook via my iPhone.

My next post is Roxy's One Month Old post that I wrote when she turned one month old on June 11, 2010. I never loaded it because I wanted to include photos, which is time consuming, and when I did have free time, I chose to spend it watching The Good Guys and eating cereal.

Roxy Violet - One Month Old

2010-06-11T19:59:00.000-07:00

A belated One Month Letter... I wrote

Dear Roxy Violet,

Today (June 11) you are officially one month old. A month? I must be taking crazy pills, because didn't I just give birth to you five minutes ago?

I'm sure as soon as I finish typing this, that the universe will implode, but so far you have been the easiest baby. (There. I just heard thunder, and my living room light flickered off and on.) Seriously, I am waiting for the other shoe to drop with you, but so far... nothing.

It might be that Oliver was the same way, but we weren't used to the job, so it WAS a job. This time, I am used to cries and middle of the night feeding and giving baths, so it's not a job at all, just one more person to play with.

Your temperament so far is quite serious. You are starting to pay more attention to your surroundings, and actually make eye contact, and it's mostly with a furrowed brow. Like mine. Great. Start saving for your Botox now, kid.

The novelty of you has still not worn off for Brother. You can be asleep for two minutes and sure enough, when you wake up, he comes running and ends up kissing and hugging you and squealing in a high-pitched voice that you are awaaaaaaaaaake! and you're so cuuuuuuuuute!

Whenever you do happen to get fussy, a pacifier will NOT suffice. No way, no how, eff off, Mom. Oliver was content with those things, and they helped in times when nothing else comforted him (clean diaper, full belly, plenty of sleep, no gas). It makes for tough times when you are wailing in the back seat of the car, I can't pull over, and we are stuck in rush hour traffic. Yes indeed, I wish you would take a liking to the ol' pacifier THEN, that's for sure.

You also do not care for bottles. No sir. I am trying to get you used to not having me around when it's time for me to start being at work more by making short visits to the gym and leaving you with Daddy and a pumped bottle. Once you get snacky and Daddy gives you a bottle, you steadily start building up for a major meltdown. It's like I left you abandoned in a room full of televisions all showing videos of Carrot Top. You're curious at first, and you might try to laugh a little, and then you wonder why his face looks waxy like that, and then you start screaming because you realize he's not human at all. He's a freakish monster and he's here to kill us all with whatever he has in his prop bucket. Bottle = Carrot Top.

You love being held over my shoulder at all times, which makes for sticking you in a sling or Baby Bjorn a breeze - and I get to go shopping and run errands without pushing around a stupid stroller. Pretty soon, the stroller will be my friend because you will want to look out at the world as we walk by, and that will be fun, too.

At this moment, however, any excuse to squeeze you as close to my body as possible is a valid one for me. You are growing so fast that it makes my head spin, and I know I won't be able to wear you around forever. I could, but it would be pretty disturbing when you go on movie dates with boys.

Trying it on for size...

2010-06-11T19:54:00.000-07:00

I noticed there were fun new templates to play with here on blogger, so I thought I would play with them. Thus, the new purple feel. Fitting, if you know me . While I was at it, I figured I would change the header image to reflect both of my little biscuits.

Meet and Greet.

2010-06-02T12:52:00.000-07:00

I know, it's been three weeks now, but I have been a bit busy with the new nugget to do a lot of posting. And, rather than skip these subjects entirely, I wanted to include them, even if late.

Today, I wanted to mention what it was like when Oliver met Roxy for the first time. Dear lord, adorable. Grandma Linda and Uncle Jeff brought him down to the hospital the morning after Roxy Violet was born.

I was so excited about this moment because we had been talking about Roxy since we knew there was a baby in my belly, and Oliver seemed so at peace with it. When we told him one night at the dinner table, he smiled really big and just absorbed it immediately. I kept waiting for the jealousy to kick in, as my belly grew bigger, and his room got rearranged, and "presents" for the baby started to arrive. Except that never happened. He just got more excited. In fact, he is the one who suggested they share a room. He always rubbed my belly and talked to her in there. At night he would say goodnight to her and tell her he couldn't wait until she was born.

He was never hyper about it, just genuinely looking forward to having her here and he was so peaceful about it. Like, yeah yeah yeah, you're knocked up and now I have to share everything with a girl. It's no big deal, guys. Let's DO this.

Part of me wondered if maybe he just didn't understand what was about to happen to his life of being the center of our world and that once the baby got here he would melt down about it.

We so far have not seen anything like that happen. He showed up at the hospital, all shy and quiet and wondering where she was, and we let him crawl up into bed with me to meet her. He instantly kissed her face. And then we set him up on a rocking chair and let him hold her all by himself. He showed so much respect and love for her, it was magical. The only strange behavior was on the part of the rest of the group, who just stared at him with these big goofy grins and wide crazy eyes while we watched intently to see his every reaction to the event. The kid looked scared of us, and was probably wondering how he could sneak out of there with his new baby sister and save them both from a life with us goofballs.

And now, three weeks into our lives as a family of four, it's like she was always here. He gets ornery, yes, bored, yes, but mostly because we have all been cooped up in the house so much. He gets tired of my face and my nagging, probably, but he never takes it out on his sister. Always kisses. Always wanting to help. Wanting to snuggle. I can't help but remark on what a nice person Oliver is.

I know that someday she will throw a hairbrush at him and tell him to stay out of her business, she can date whoever she WANTS! GAH! And he will complain that she is monopolizing the car. So I will relish in these sweet days that they are little, for they stay little for such a short short time.

The First Week aka Every Time My Nipple Stings, an Angel Gets Its Wings

2010-06-01T21:08:00.000-07:00

WARNING - MUCH ADO ABOUT MY BOOBS. Don't read if you are squeamish about the word "nipple".

We got home from the hospital on Thursday afternoon, May 13, and Roxy and I crawled into bed together for some more rest. Well, rest for her. I was already dealing with pinched, chapped nipples. (Eek, she said "nipples"! Can she do that?) (She can.)But other than that, I felt really great. I have already been sleep deprived for nearly four years, so this wasn't as big of a cannonball to the face as it was when we brought Oliver home.

Also, I was not pummeled by a 39-hour labor this time so, in comparison, my body felt great. Amazing, actually. And the pelvic pain I have had since Christmas flat out disappeared instantly. And I didn't break my tailbone. So I was up and about the house a little on that first day, which was nice.

The second day was spent doing a couple loads of laundry in between bouts of nursing and resting in the living room. I know, people shouldn't have to do laundry when they just gave birth. I really wanted to get back to normal, though, and it felt good. In the early evening, my friend Jennifer came over with a bag of delicious homemade food for us to enjoy, and she met Roxy and played with Oliver. He LOVED that.

Later that night, my sister, Donna, and her husband, Joe, came into town to see us for the night and we all hung out and chatted and Joe played with Oliver in his room until after ten! Talk about heaven for Oliver during a time when Mom is spending so much time holding The New Kid.

The third day home, Saturday, I started to notice the boobs swelling up, and hurting. Plus, they were as hard as marble. Later that night, Joe noticed Roxy's eyes looking yellow, so we talked to someone at Emmanuel Hospital and she recommended that we go into the doctor on Sunday for a jaundice test.

Sunday, we went to the doctor (I had to put my boobs in a wheelbarrow to haul them around - no bra ever created could hold them up) and the nurse had to put a wee slice in Roxy's heel and fill three tubes up with her blood. Joe held Oliver back as he yelled, "Hey! Don't hurt my sister!" She screamed. It was sad. The results came back that her bilirubin levels were on the high side, which is normal in a newborn and generally gets taken care of on its own by the 3rd or 4th day of life, but in some instances, it's the 5th or 6th day. I could go on, but basically, since it was on the high side, we had to go back in the next day for the same test. More slicing.

By this time, the boobs were of comically epic proportions. Well, not comical for me, but if you saw them, your eyes would pop out of your sockets and there would be an old car horn sound effect to accompany it.

On Monday, we did the test again and the level had dropped, but not enough for comfort, so the doctor we saw (ours was out) said my homework was to put some more weight on her by the next day. An ounce, to be exact. More weight means she is eating properly and she'll pee and poop more, which will flush out the jaundicey stuff. Also another test was ordered for the next day. Sheesh!

Well, I DO like to get A pluses on my homework, so I did put that ounce her. Plus one and a half more.

Which brings me to why that was such a feat... My breasts (can she say THAT?) were HUGE! and ENGORGED! "Breast" and "Engorged" just isn't a pretty combination. And the pain. Oh, the pain. Breathing even hurt. No, thinking even hurt. And my nipples were sore and cracked and chapped and pulled a mile from their original origins every time she ate. I was so swollen, it was hard for her to latch on properly and the end result was she wasn't getting enough food to flush out her system. At one point, Joe just melted and told me how sorry he felt for me. Probably because I was crying. he couldn't even hug me, either, because it would have shot rockets of pain through my body just from the contact. He threw down and went to the store for a fancy breast pump, and industrial ice packs that I would end up using after every nursing session.

Breastfeeding is a very big commitment, but one that is gratifying in the end. It just IS. I had a great experience nursing Oliver, and I intend for this to be no different. The pain is only a few days worth, but MAN, it feels like an eternity of hell that makes you wonder what you are doing, who you are, where you live, and who is this creature trying to suck the soul from your body?

So, she had to eat every two hours for me to put that weight on her. And you time it from the start of one session, to the start of the next. If she nursed for twenty or thirty minutes, then I iced for twenty, plus took care of my own body's needs for healing (if you have given birth, then you know how long a bathroom break takes. I will leave it at that) then I had about 30 to 45 minutes to myself before starting the process all over again. Even in the middle of the night.

Like I said earlier, the sleep deprivation doesn't bother me as much anymore, but it does when you know that for about thirty minutes straight, your murdered nipples will experience even more carnage than you ever thought possible.

But we made it through! The swelling has gone down, and the latch instantly improved, which allowed healing for everything else. She is awesome, and cute, and she pees and poops like a MACHINE. I can finally focus again. I could barely even hold a conversation before, or laugh at a really funny joke because the pain was ever present.

So for now, we just lay low and get our new groove on, whatever that may be. I have to learn how to be a mother of two now. Wow.

The Birth Story Part Two - The Nitty Gritty...

2010-06-01T20:52:00.000-07:00

I realized I never quite finished my birth story. I wrote that last paragraph back there and had to call it a night because I was a bit weepy about it. Plus, I didn't really need to write this new stuff in a letter to my child.

So here is Part Two.

I failed to mention in the letter to Roxy that I had not eaten anything ALL day. Again, I woke up at 6am, and didn't give birth until 8:42pm. And while I was so excited to have her here with me, I must admit that there were some moments when the reigning factor of getting myself through some of those hideous contractions was the thought of food. Not just any food, no. But real, solid, stick to your ribs DINNER.

I decided I best mention it to the troops. And as soon as Roxy Violet came flying into the universe, Mindy and Jill high-tailed it to Pastini to get me some food. And what to get, they wondered? How about a repeat of the last post-delivery meal: lasagna. Oh, and also a second meal: baked ziti.

Man, oh man... as soon as I was stitched up, Roxy was measured and cleaned and snuggled, Joe and I tore into those food boxes with recklessness. By Joe and I, I just mean me. He took some bites like a proper grownup, but I was blindly stabbing my fork into the cardboard takeout box and shoving whatever stuck to the fork into my mouth. Joe turned his back for a minute and I dove into the other box. By the time I was done, both boxes were empty and I was trying to wish more food into them. I could have eaten forever. Imagine my excitement when I looked down and noticed a penne noodle on my chest. I ate it.

Another item I failed to mention in Roxy's letter is that as beautiful as that birth was for me, real life still applies. Once the epidural kicked in and I lost control of some of my muscles, I farted. A lot. And then I pretended to be demure about it.

Dear Roxy Violet,

2010-05-23T11:04:00.000-07:00

Hello, sweet baby girl.

This is your first letter from me, and I chose to write about what it was like to meet you, and how it felt during the day leading up to it.

You born on Tuesday, May 11, 2010 at 8:42pm. You were 7 pounds, 6.5 ounces and 20 inches long. You born with a head full of dark, curly-looking hair, and the sweetest cry I have ever heard.

The day before I knew those things, I was nervous, and anxious, and scared and elated and floating on air. Because I knew I was meeting you the next day. I only told a few people, but Dr. Murray and I discussed the fact that I was barely able to function in my giantly pregnant body and how she really felt I was ready to give birth. We agreed to schedule an induction for the 11th.

We were able to really be organized about packing our bags, and plan when to take your big brother to your grandma's house so he could spend some nights there while Daddy and I were in the hospital with you. We loaded Oliver up in the car with his suitcase and drove to Grandma Linda's house. The last car ride with just the three of us. Once we got there, he requested we leave. I'm pretty sure he gets sick of us sometimes! Oh well. It made it easier on my psyche to know he wanted to be left there. We told him that the next time we saw him, that you, Roxy Violet, would be here and that he got to visit you in the hospital. (which he pronounced "hostable".)

On the way home from Grandma's, your daddy and I felt quiet and dreamy, wondering what this was all going to be like. We decided to stop and eat dinner alone together at a restaurant we tried getting into one Valentine's Day, years ago. It's called Gino's, and it was delicious.

After dinner, we got home, double checked our readiness for the hospital, watched a little tv, and went to bed. Surprisingly, I slept! I have insomnia a lot, but I think I was really at peace with our decision to kick you out of the nest instead of waiting for you to do it on your own. I was ready to meet you.

The next morning, we arrived at the hospital at 7am, where we were shown to our room and greeted by one of the most wonderful people I have ever met... Nurse Deb Draper. When she came in the room and our eyes met, it was like a bolt of energy that connected us together. She introduced herself and said, "Oh, I am going to have FUN taking care of you. This is going to be your spa day. Whatever you want, you will get." And then she told Joe that he was to leave the hospital for someplace of quality and get me a real breakfast and a latte. She refused to let me eat the hospital food.

I got set up with an i.v., and Deb and I sat together and talked while your Daddy was out and about acquiring the goods. She told me all about herself, and I told her I was nervous because labor with Oliver was so long and so frightening and painful and dangerous, blah blah blah. Nurse Deb held my hand and assured me that this was going to be so much better and easier and it was all going to be okay.

By the way, Deb, so you can get a mental picture, is tall and lean and in her early 50's. She has short cropped salt-and-pepper hair, spiky all over, and she wears spectacles. She has fun pet names for many things, mostly babies. She kept calling you "muffin" and "little bird" every time she monitored your activity. Her number one priority during the induction is that YOU were doing well and not getting freaked out by giant contractions.

Dr. Murray came by after a while and, after giving me the opportunity to change my mind (I decided to continue with things, obviously) we all discussed starting the pitocin drip to get the contractions going. She decided to break my water first to see how that stimulated things on its own. Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod, there was no turning back now! You were GOING TO BE HERE, some way or another, and it was going to be soon. They predicted dinner time.

It soon becomes a blur after all of that. I know they started a slight drip of pitocin, and soon, the contractions were coming long and strong and I swear you were RIGHT THERE, ready to come out. So much pressure!

The pain started to increase, but I would breathe through it, and Daddy and Nurse Deb coached me through and held my hands, rubbed my legs.

Auntie Jill showed up around 1:30pm, and I was in some pretty good pain by then, but still able to have conversations in between contractions. I even stupidly checked my work voicemail right during a contraction and it was one of the most silly messages I have ever gotten, so I deleted it and threw the phone on the bed, kicking myself for even checking. (no, I will not rearrange a 6-week-long workshop so it is more convenient for your daughters' schedules. And no, you may not pay when it's over.) I tossed the phone onto the bed from where I was sitting on a bouncy ball, looked at Jill and rolled my eyes while I told her I couldn't believe I even focused on something like my voicemail. I guess it was supposed to be a distraction for myself, but after hearing the dumb voicemail I realized that I needed to come up with better ideas.

By now, she felt like you was RIGHT there, since I was sitting up and rocking on the ball, and I decided to crawl back into bed. Sometime after that, Mindy arrived, around 4pm or so, I think. Jill, Mindy and Husband - oh and my Mom? When did she show up? She was in there somewhere, too! - anyway, they all got to witness some really painful contractions where I was probably doing some moaning and groaning. Soon they became so close together and there were so many aftershocks that I felt like I could barely ever catch my breath. And I wanted to really enjoy the experience and the company and be more present in the room, so I made the call to get the epidural. Besides, I had to pee like every ten minutes and walking and having a contraction at the same time was bone chilling. BONE. CHILLING.

So, I was dilated to about an 8 when the Epidural Dude came in, and according to the nurses, I was about to get a really good epidural. What, exactly, I wondered, made it a good one versus a just-okay epidural? Thank god, I didn't know the answer first hand.

I was warned about some of the sensations (read hideously painful feelings)I might experience during the epidural process, and with those warnings, I was able to breathe through them when they happened so I didn't make any sudden movements and paralyze myself. But one of the sensations was NOT made apparent to me before hand and I was not expecting it, so my body did an involuntary twitch and the Epidural Dude SCOLDED ME. He scolded me! He actually said that I was going to make a sudden movement like to warn him first. Um, dude. Warn ME first, and then I will take it like a woman and not move at all because I will be expecting it. However, I just looked up and a gritted my teeth and said I was sorry. Then he said he was going to have to start over and I was dangerously close to having to skip the epidural since I was already at an 8. With my lips pursed together, I blinked slowly and then hissed, "Got it."

Nurse Deb Draper was totally with me on the mental telepathy and I swear our psychic convo went like this:

Draper - Don't even pay attention to him, he's an ass.
Me - Does he think I'm stupid? He didn't even warn me about that stab wound he just gave me.
Draper - Don't even pay attention to him, he's an ass. And you look very cute right now.
Me - I am going to kick his ASSSSS as soon as my legs aren't paralyzed anymore.
Draper - I will do it for you.

Joe was on the other side of me during this process and was pretty much just staring at the giant needle in my back. Dr. Murray came over and said you are going to feel a warm rush in your right leg, it's normal so don't move. THANK YOU! That would have freaked me out and yet it didn't when it happened and I didn't flinch. Take THAT, Epidural Dude. I am not a whiny wimp, gah.

A little later, I felt so wonderful and happy to be back in the room with every other wonderful person instead locked in my room of doom in my mind, dealing with pain. I was told how huge my contractions were based on the monitor, rather than actually experiencing them fully. Turns out, it WAS a really good epidural. First impressions aren't always truth-telling I guess. Perhaps he was making it MY fault that I flinched in case he destroyed my spinal cord, and therefore covering himself. Smart man.

I was still not dilated quite enough yet, and it was close to Deb's quitting time. She was determined to see it through, she said, because she wanted to meet my baby. She stayed until 8pm and finally had to say goodbye. She came and hugged me and told me I was a good person. Dear lord! What a wonderful nurse! I told her I felt like she was my new friend and promised to bring you to meet her at your two-week checkup.

My new nurse was Marisa, and it turns out she was the employee of the month in the entire hospital staff. I am the luckiest new mom ever! She was so good at her job and sweet.

By now, I was so close, but there was still some cervix left. Apparently, it's "floppy". I have a floppy cervix. Who knew? Anyway, Dr. Murray's solution was for me to lay on my left side with my right knee pulled up toward my chest for a half hour, then flip to the other side and repeat that for another half hour. After this, I was ready to go!

We did a practice push, and then I did a real push. Four pushes per contraction, and I pushed for only two contractions and you were already crowning. Dr. Murray had us wait through a third contraction to get both our bodies really ready, and then the fourth contraction I pushed again and...

You were here. Finally, miraculously, adorably and beautifully here. You were brought to my chest, and the rest of the room zoomed away from my sight and it was just you. I kept saying I love you I love you I love you I love you.

And I am still saying it. Welcome home, Little Sister.

39 Weeks

2010-05-06T22:46:00.001-07:00

I am dilated to a 2, and 50% effaced. Hooray for my body doing this all by itself so far. I think one reason is because it has already done this before and it knows what to do now, and another reason is because I have been getting adjustments from my adorable chiropractor, Dr. Amy. She just plain got me all fixed up.

She's probably going to be here so soon.

Also, I love Oliver. Today at the chiropractor's office he sang his ABC's to an adorable little girl in a leopard print dress, and made silly faces for her so she would laugh. It worked. Later, he told me that I needed to tell him right before baby "pops out of my belly" so he can hurry and put on his Iron Man glove, his Iron Man other glove, his Iron Man suit, and his Iron Man helmet so he can surprise her. Thank god babies can barely see anything when they are born.

At bed time this evening I suggested he sleep in mom's bed so we can snuggle. It went like this:

Me: Okay Oliver, it's time for pj's! Do you want to sleep in (insert barely muttered words here) Oliver's bed, or (insert crazy-eyed, too-wide smile and raised eyebrows here) do you want to sleep in (insert opposite the "inside voice" here) MOMMY'S BED?!

Oliver (laughing): Mommy's bed! That's a good idea, Mom. You are hilarious.

After all, there will be a new baby here soon causing me to be tired all the time, and she will be stuck to my body nursing every two hours, and sleeping in our room for a little while. I feel like I am going to miss him.

Wow. 39 weeks. We are almost at the finish line. It's been quite a ride.

Cinco de Marvelous!

2010-05-05T10:44:00.001-07:00

Hey everyone! No baby yet. Please forget my past predictions of an early arrival and go back to relying on the due date, which isn't until May 14. Thankfully, we are already really close to May 14! That means there is still time for me to get my diaper bag, the cute new baby swing, and a baby gate (which really means dog gate) for the hallway.

I probably will not be Facebooking "I'm in labor" or "I'm at the hospital right now", because that just sort of oogies me out. If you are on the text list that states any such thing, please feel free to verbally tell people and spread the word, but I'm hoping it stays away from the internet until I am awake and alert and posting it myself. I am excited for it to be my own story.

The text list is long, and the only people who read this are probably people either on that list, or you are someone who talks to someone on the list anyway. So think labor thoughts for us!

I wouldn't mind staying pregnant the whole time, but I'm not gonna lie... this one is verrrry hard to carry around these days. And I'm having contractions all the time. The kind that hurt and fake me out because they get longer and stronger and closer together over the course of four hours, and then stop. Sonsabitches.

Today, I would like to focus on the fact that I am going to make some amazing gall dern chili with ground beef AND kielbasa in it - whaaat? And add to that some homemade guacamole and chips.

The most important fact of this day, however, is that it is my ECBF's birthday. She used to live here in the past, and since our birthdays are two days apart, we have had a few joint celebrations with our friends. But now she lives in New York Ci-tay, and we must birthday separately... Here's to you, Jess! May this day fulfill all your hopes and dreams!

Blame your sister.

2010-05-01T20:25:00.000-07:00

Today I bumped Oliver's head into the wall as I tried to squeak past him in the bathroom. Touching the owie on his head, he turned to look at me with shocked eyes and I felt like such a bad mom.

I picked him up, sat him on the sink and gave him big hugs while I said I was sorry. His response was to take my face in his hands and say, "Mommy, your big giant belly made me bonk my head".

Yeah, yeah, kid. Keep it up and we'll just see about that trip to the carnival tomorrow.

38 Weeks - Small Victory

2010-04-29T19:50:00.000-07:00

I had my weekly OB appointment yesterday and I was having a wee challenging time getting myself showered, dressed, cuted up and getting Oliver to participate in getting ready as well.

I called Joe on the way to the doctor's office and voiced being a tad stressed about time - I do NOT care for tardiness. He said he was on his way to meet me there and that he would be bringing me a treat to make up for my harried morning.

Oliver and I got there first and Joe arrived shortly thereafter. Oliver, of course, freaked out about Joe showing up and they did that run into each other's arms thing from the movies and Joe twirled him around amidst a sea of giggles. Smile. Melt. Smile.

And then the lobby door opened again and in walks another person. Whoa! Wait! What?! Brad! Brad who lives in Idaho and is a fancy schmancy elementary school principal. Brad who we barely ever get to see, but who we miss every single day. Brad who lights up any room he is ever in. And THAT was my treat that Joe brought to me. At my gyno's office. I mean isn't that just romantic?

And then I found out I'm at a one. The cervix is seein' some action, people! Two whole weeks early. And hey, I may stay at a one for a while, but I don't care. I wasn't a one with Oliver until two weeks after he was due. That's a whole month's difference. When Dr. Murray told me, my arms and fists shot straight into the air and I hissed "yesssss!"

Good day.

Exhibitionist

2010-04-21T14:55:00.001-07:00

I tried taking Oliver's picture at a park outing a couple weeks ago, and met with resistance:

He eagerly, however, let me take this photo (This was not a prompted photo, either. He sported this all by himself):

Status update...

2010-04-14T08:39:00.000-07:00

In two more days, I will be 36 weeks pregnant. And that means that the dramatic stories I was told about babies coming 5 or 6 weeks early no longer apply to me. For some reason, this pregnancy has felt so physically different than the last one that I was worried this baby was going to just show up at a moment's notice and we wouldn't be prepared. This is probably due to the fact that since my body has already done this before, things seemed to have moved along a lot quicker, such as the belly getting really big really fast, and the baby settling into "the zone" sooner because my body made adjustments sooner than last time. Muscle memory and whatnot. There were days, as earlier entries state, that I didn't take all that into consideration and swore she was just going to show up.

So, for now, I am going to chill out on the baby-comes-early thing and just relax and enjoy it. She really is a good little baby. She never kicks me in the ribs, and none of my discomfort was actually her fault. Plus, now that I am not worried about an early delivery (she can come anytime now and be completely fine) I can visualize how cute she will be in her teensy weensy pj's. And wonder if she will have curly hair. Or any hair. I vote curly hair.

My hospital bag is packed, the bassinet is here (unassembled, in my car, but here), the crib is set up, the changing table/dresser is stocked with socks, pj's, diapers, blankets and various baby necessities, the car seat is all cleaned up and re-dressed with a fancy new cover, thanks to a tip from superstar friend Allison, and I got a new lamp. This is very important, because since I will be spending so much more time in the house instead of at work, I couldn't possibly stare at the awful lamp in my living room ANYMORE. Oh, and that other lamp. The one over there on my mantel. Get out of my life, lamp. You've been replaced, too. Why have I not noticed or cared about this before now? All I do know is that I was sitting here in my leopard chair and suddenly directed my gaze at the stupid lamp in the corner. Then I whisked my eyes over the lame lamp on the mantel. This won't do. This will NOT do.

The lightbulb (no pun intended) went on and I realized I had some Target store credit so I packed up the boy and drove like the wind. I did good, too. Cool lamps. The light bulbs are a bit too bright and it feels like daytime in here right now, but that's an easy fix. Phew.

Where was I? Oh yes! I am going to sit back, wash and rewash baby clothes, play with Oliver while he is still an only born child, and enjoy sleep for a while. Work is still in my day, too, but not teaching dance classes makes it seem like a cake walk.

So there is my update, for those of you wondering. Next doctor appointment is Thursday the 22nd, and we'll see if there is action going on then.

An unfortunate visual...

2010-04-12T18:10:00.000-07:00

I stopped by the store on the way home tonight to grab a few food items and on my walk from the car to the Fred Meyer entrance, every single person I passed was staring at me. What the hay? I know that I am really short, so this belly is even bigger on me than on others, and yes, I have that end of pregnancy waddle at times, but where are people's manners? I admit I have noticed a pregnant belly or two, but I always smile at the woman with my best "you're belly is so adorable" facial expression. I am not sure there is such an expression, but I do my best to telepathically convey to the person that I was only staring at them because they are awesome.

But these stares were more like, "why are you even allowed out of the house?" kind of stares. They were bordering on disgust.

I was not in the mood for this. Not at all. I love my big round belly. And if other people think it's distasteful for me to walk around with it being so, so... NOTICEABLE like that, they can take a leap.

I made it past the two yokel-esque grisled men in overalls (I am not even lying about the overalls - they even had a beat up old pickup truck a la Bella Swan) whose very cud-chewing, beady-eyed stares told me they didn't approve of my kind. I mean, clearly I was a harlot of giant proportions. I made it past the old lady and the old lady's mother. I made it past the conservative, neatly-trimmed and bearded, bespectacled man in Dockers.

I went inside and bent down to grab a basket, and that's when I realized I was wearing my Push Jones tee shirt. Push Jones is my hip hop crew at Vega. The shirts are black with Push Jones in silver cursive letters, and they are totally cool. Only what makes them mostly cool is that "Push" is on the front and "Jones" is on the back. Did you catch that? "Push" is on the front.

My giant baby belly is testing the limits of the circumference of my tee shirt, and right above it is my future mantra.

No wonder I freaked out the locals. Good, god-fearing folk have no need to use their imagination like that.

Since yours is so busted.

2010-04-06T08:50:00.000-07:00

Oliver was snuggling with me on my lap the other day and he touched my little diamondy piercing on my face and said, "Do you have a hole in your face?"

I responded, as I have done before, "I do, yes." And this time, he suggested, "We can get you a NEW one..."

The latest and greatest...

2010-04-01T09:45:00.000-07:00

It was a dark and stormy night...

I awoke with an awful belly ache. The kind that makes one moan with discomfort. I tried to poop, I tried to throw up. Nothing.

I stole away in the night to my living room chair and decided to watch American Idol to bide my time. Hmmm. Contraction. Simon talking. Tim sings. Another wave of belly ache washes over me, but I attribute it to Tim singing. Contraction. Dang.

They kept getting stronger and stronger and crawled up my back. After an hour, they got worse and I decided to go and lay down, but first shuffled over to Joe to nudge him awake and let him know what was going on. I laid down, and things just got worse and worse, making laying down very unpleasant.

I got up again, frustrated and kind of worried. The fakey contractions usually don't get stronger and stronger over time, and usually go away if you change activities. I tried pacing the kitchen and it was so painful I had to sit down. Joe was right there, listening and watching, and making sure I was okay.

This went on for three hours and I kept apologizing for being waking him up, but he kept right on assuring me that it was okay and that either way, I was in pain, so he was going to stay up with me and make sure I had what I needed. That dude is cool.

Finally, he started rubbing my back, like REALLY getting in there and relaxing all of my tense muscles, and the contractions began to wane. They didn't disappear, but they did get dialed down to a feeling more akin to hideous menstrual cramps. And suddenly, I was awash with fatigue and decided to try sleeping again.

This was a huge relief because these contractions were previously just minutes apart, intense, and lasting for almost a minute a piece. We were wondering if we should trek to the hospital for a dialation check. And I starting get a sinking feeling that perhaps she was trying to make an early appearance. Not good.

Plus, it's hard for us pregnant chicks because WE know how we are feeling, but at the same time, it could be mean nothing. And no one wants to be the over-paranoid (or over-eager) girl who cried wolf.

Anyway, I was able to sleep through the crampy contractions and when I woke up I made an appointment with my doctor to get checked out.

Result? Cervix is locked up tight as a drum. However, she wasn't super excited about the strong contractions and doesn't want that to happen again, so she asked if I was opposed to "modified bed rest". I was all no, not at all, but then I looked at Joe and asked, "isn't that what I have been doing, though?"

He looked at me like I was insane and told me I was pretty over-active this past week and should probably take it easy. In my mind, since I am not teaching dance classes right now, that IS limiting my activity. But I guess modified bed rest means: no exercise at all, no lifting things (do my giant fake fingernails count?), lots of rest, and no bow-chicka-wow... until I am 35 weeks. Once I hit that milestone, she said she is fine if baby wants to come early.

The nutty thing about this is that 35 weeks is NEXT FRIDAY. That's all. Next Friday. However, my feelings of this baby coming early are starting to come into doubt. I just don't know anything. Those contractions the other night were really painful. And usually the more intense they are, the more work they are doing to dialate you. And I was not dialated at all. So perhaps I am headed down the same path as before, and she is just going to hang out in there until we kick her out. Again, I don't know anything anymore, other than I need to pack my bag, and make Joe do some more prep work for me.

Anyway, I left the appointment and instead of going home to rest, I went to the mall to get Oliver's photo taken with the Easter Bunny (I promised). And I might have walked up and down a whole bunch of stairs. I couldn't help it, because I had to procure these things:

She had better be smart, because she is stealing my brain.

2010-03-30T18:51:00.000-07:00

In addition to my intense nesting and irrational justifications for adding weird projects to my to-do list, I am becoming increasingly absentminded.

I decided that it was absolutely necessary to re-paint my whole living room and kitchen, because I will be cooped up in here once the baby is born and need some fresh colors to look at. You see my logic, right? RIGHT? Say you see my logic. Anyway, today I went to Miller and stewed over paint colors for I don't know how long, picked a palette of swatches to take home, stapled them all together at the counter... and left them at the store.

In my own defense, we were waiting for a gallon of paint to be mixed for a separate project, and we went to the waiting room where there is a tv, chairs, and popcorn. I got distracted.

Thanks, East Coast Kind and West Coast Kind.

2010-03-29T18:52:00.000-07:00

I spent a lot of my weekend (when I wasn't working!) with these two. I will do an official pictorial later, when I have more in me, but for now, I will just say that I was given the most thought-out, full of love, frenchy, boudoiry, pulled porky, woodland creatury baby shower ever. Complete with gold glitter letters hanging from purple satiny ribbons and sugary Alice in Wonderland mushroom confections atop a cake that looked like a real log surrounded by moss and adorned with an edible frog. Oh, and peacock feather hairpins for everyone, clipped to China cups filled with real violets in them (and teensy deer) to take home to our gardens. I mean, sigh...

And this just doesn't even touch the fact that some very special and wonderful people came to experience this, too, and shared their own joy, love and cupcakes with this excited mama. So much to say about it...

WEEK! OF! FUN!

2010-03-24T13:20:00.000-07:00

Now I can finally get to the post that I have been looking forward to writing before the sickness detour...

This week is full of super fun things! And that's just such a nice change of pace for me, since I have been a crazy pregnant dance teacher, business owner, mom and wife who suffers from weird chronic pelvic pain like ALL the time. This is MY week. Dammit.

Yesterday was Joe's birthday, and I got to run a few secret squirrel missions while Oliver visited Grandma. Missions included getting some thank you cards, some birthday cards, some wee and darling hostess goodies for a darling couple of hostesses, birthday cake fixin's, and special request Thai birthday dinner. We topped the night off with a viewing of The Blind Side, with Sandy B. Yep, it's everything everyone says it is, and she is amazing. So uplifting and wonderful, and I have been talking in a Memphis accent all morning because I totally want to be her.

Today, Husband is finishing a job for the studio so we can have brand new flyers, and gift certificates and signage just in time for a huge dance event this weekend. It's going to be so dreamy I can't wait! I am working like mad to get some ducks in a row for said event, while at the same time trying to organize Oliver's room. Let's just say the event is starting to come together, but Oliver's room looks like tornado-aftermath in a trailer park.

Tomorrow I get to rock my day with some more chiro care at this lovely place, and then... THEN! I get to see the NYC BFF. Oh dear god, I can't wait to pick that tiny little thing up and twirl her around. Okay... I guess there won't be any picking up. But there WILL be twirling.

We get to luncheon together, and then PDX BFF Mindy is coming over with Milo and there is going to be a BFF Festivus/Cute Boy Playdate Maximus. My cup runneth over. But to fill it, I just found out that Seattle Mindy will be driving through town and stopping by to bring the teensy baby a gift and say hello! This is almost as good as getting drunk on my back patio.

Friday I get to go to the Baby Doctor and hear some more heartbeat action, and then go to Jess's MIL's house and put an apron on to watch while the East Coast friend and the West Coast friend prepare snacks with Pat the Mother-in-Law.

Friday night I get to promote Vega at Foundation, a breakdance and hip hop convention thing-a-ma-jig, and see my hip hop dancers perform for the crowd. Go Push Jones!

Saturday, my mom, my sister, and my favorite special special special people are attending a BABY SHOWER! FOR MY BABY! And it's at PDX Mindy's house! And it's co-hostessed by Jess! And that's why she flew here this week, and that's why they are making snacks at Pat's and I just can't even believe that I know people like this, let alone get to be friends with them.

I don't know what happens the rest of the weekend because I don't even care. It all culminates in this gathering on Saturday and that fills my heart. College girlfriends Kathy and Amy are even driving down from Seattle just for the day so they can see the belly and be part of the fun.

Friends and fam, thank you for making the effort for me. I love you tremendously and am lucky to get to share this experience with you guys and even more lucky that you want to share it right back. Moreover, this special little baby is lucky.

My little soldier. The Pink Eye Scare.

2010-03-24T13:10:00.000-07:00

It turns out that Oliver did not have an eye infection. But since he woke up yesterday with his eye all crusted shut, I took him to the doctor, and it was confirmed that he has an ear infection. And his ear doesn't even hurt. Wha? I'm so confused! But we had a good laugh about it at the doctor's office.

So we got a prescription for some antibiotics to clear up his ear, which will clear up his eye, and his stuffy nose, and his hideous blisters that are plaguing his lips, inner cheeks and tongue.

This poor kid has been pummeled over the past year with some really lame illnesses. I am just thankful, in a way, that there was an actual diagnosis so we can start making him feel better right away. Also, the doctor said he's not even contagious, so he can still play with Milo tomorrow. Win!

Nice Timing...

2010-03-22T18:52:00.001-07:00

I posted on Friday all the things we were going to do this weekend. About 6% of those things actually occurred. We planted my flower pots, which look adorbs with all the baby plants in them (rosemary, chamomile, lavender, hyacinth, weird spidery forms of tulips) and Joe and Oliver weeded and planted our new heather and our new baby azalea bush in our front yard. So cute and fresh!

Then we went in to eat dinner and get our third wind for the day, and noticed Oliver was run down. Hmmm. We decided to take it easy and then hit it the next day for the crib and room rearranging. Later that night, I heard a whimper, followed by a tummy gurgle, so lightning fast, I bolted upright and caught Oliver just in time with the towel I was using to bolster my belly while I slept on my side. He threw up in the towel, and had a fever. Oh good. It's been a month and a half since his last fever, so I was beginning to worry. I mean, god forbid all three of us are well at the same time.

We all moved out to the living room because I find a change of scenery can help calm things down a bit and put some space between you and whatever bad thing was going on in the other room. We gave him a swig of water and some Tylenol, which he then threw up a few minutes later. Joe decided to just sleep on the couch with him and let him watch a wee bit of tv to get his mind off the throwing up.

Saturday, we battled the fever all day long, and it was high, reaching 103.5 at one point, and the poor kid looked tattered. There isn't much you can do when a small child is sick because they just want to be comforted at all times and snuggled. So I did the snuggling, handed it off to Joe, went to rehearsal and then came home for more nurturing.

Sunday was more of the same, with the addition of completely scrubbing our room and washing all the sheets and blankets of the sicky body.

While it seems like I might be complaining, though, I am not at all - because in the face of worrying about your kid, nothing else matters. Your stuff will just get done another time. And if they want to glue themselves to your body, it's not an inconvenience. Again, nothing else really matters. Time stands still and you just nurse them back to health and give them comfort. Especially when you don't know why they even have a fever in the first place. You can't really bring yourself to do much of anything except watch them like a hawk.

Today we were fever-free (Hooray!) until about 4pm, when it returned (Suck it, Fever!), but at a very low grade. And now he keeps rubbing his eye and it's all swollen. YIKES. And SHIT. And EFF. I am hoping it's just a random coincidence and he had some dust in his eye. Although I did notice some goo in the corner of it earlier today. PLEASE DON'T HAVE PINK EYE. Gross. And then I will get pink eye and then the world will end. Do you hear me? We will all die.

Think good thoughts!

32 Weeks

2010-03-19T08:47:00.000-07:00

Well, we are rounding the bend, friends. This weekend we will be putting the crib together and stocking the changing table dresser, cleaning the closet and making space for Baby's things. We will be taking advantage of the nice weather and doing some gardening. Heaven knows that when I am tired and sore, coming in and out of a house with a yard that still looks tired itself from a hard Winter is just dreary. Thus, the insane mental need to consider sprucing up the yard a "Baby Is Coming" preparation.

Today includes a meeting with my fabulous Vega team who will be running the front desk and making sure they are prepared with the appropriate tools necessary shall I ever be unreachable at all. It includes me getting to use a label maker and making binders. And THAT, is just... satisfying. If you own or have ever used a label maker, you know what I am talking about (Mindy).

Later today includes coercing Husband to decide between yard work, or the crib construction. Tomorrow's menu of pleasurable activities include more of the same, and me getting to hobble my way through teaching my hip hop crew some new choreography. To Prince. PRINCE!

To continue in the fun for this week of pregnancy, Oliver has a few play dates scheduled - his favorite thing in the world. Jess will be boarding an airplane to come to Portland, and I will be spending time with her for several days straight, along with the above mentioned Mindy. Methinks a pedicure should be squeezed in with that fun, although it would purely be a favor to the rest of the world who might chance a glance at my bare feet. I can no longer see them.

I also have my next doctor appointment a week from today so I will have an update on how things are progressing in that department as well. But that will have to be on next week's "33 Weeks" post.

Happy Weekend everyone! Hug your friends! Call your mom! The sun is shining!

9 Weeks To Go (i.e. Nesting Terror Watch - Code Yellow)

2010-03-12T22:21:00.000-08:00

I just finished reading the labor and delivery section of my WTEWYE (What to Expect When You're Expecting) book and brushed up on all that super neat information (cringe). And there WAS space left the childbirth preparation refresher course in April, so I have that to help with my mental preparedness for this second round of labor headed my way.

I had another round of nesting occur today, wherein I drove to three different stores looking for a HEPA air cleaner for my house. Once I started researching them, I was appalled at myself for not ever having one sooner. Every single sickness and croup and case of the sniffles flashed through my eyes, and all I could think about was the dust, dander, dirt and mites that have all most likely been floating through my house with the intent of murdering us in our sleep. I felt faint at the thought and wracked with guilt. So off I went, stopping first to see Kristina for a cut and color, of course.

And remember all that pain I have described in recent posts? I got home with my new air cleaner (Did I mention the three different stores? Did I also mention keeping a three-and-a-half-year old happy during this quest?), and then proceeded to vacuum my living room and kitchen, making sure to use my new "pet power paw" vacuum attachment on my sofa (a token purchase from one of the stores that let me down in the air purifier department). The fact that I was even mobile is a miracle. I powered through these activities with my crazy nesting energy burst, but pretty much crippled myself in the process. By the time I was done, my lower back was cursing obscenities at me that made me blush with shame.

After two visits to my new life saver chiropractor, my pelvis area feels so much better (seriously, God bless you, woman) but because things have been guided to where they are supposed to be, there are other parts that are protesting at their new, though rightful, position. Combine this with hardcore and vigorous vacuuming and being 31 weeks pregnant, and you'd think I would pass out. But no. That's what nesting does. It tells your body to SUCK IT UP, SOLDIER. And CLEAN THAT DAMN FLOOR! AND MAKE SURE YOU DO IT TWICE OR THIS BABY WILL BE PERMANENTLY RUINED. RUINED!

The will to do my instinct's insane bidding overpowered my physical limitations and I just couldn't stop until every stray dog hair was removed from this room. And then, THEN? I washed the vacuum. I did. I took it apart, washed the filter, scrubbed the canister with soap and wiped down the base with 409.

I might not be able to get out of bed in the morning, but for now, it feels good.

Joy!

2010-03-09T09:36:00.000-08:00

Doctor BadAss (I love her) recommended that I start some physical therapy and/or chiropractic care to help with my pain situation. I got a great suggestion from bff Mindy regarding a chiropractor who specializes in pregnant and postpartum women and I got to have my first appointment today.

Turns out, I'm a little wonky, indeed. And I am going to keep meeting with her weekly to get my body (and pelvic bones) back into alignment. She said it will probably help with easing the delivery process as well - something that sounds REALLLLLLLY nice to a veteran of the Birthing Room Massacre, like me.

I am sorry I waited this long to commit to a program like chiropractic care. I tried about a year ago, but had a very uncomfortable experience with a man who was kind of a creepy pervert. So I never went back. Luckily, today was peaceful, and normal and comfortable and I left feeling positive about the rest of my pregnancy.

Neither Doctor BadAss nor this lovely chiropractor think that dancing like I do is a particularly GOOD thing for my pain level (in the words of my o.b. "it just doesn't even seem POSSIBLE!") so I am taking their cue and ducking out 3 weeks early from the teaching thing. I am going to do more symmetrical exercising and stretching from now on, and the kind that don't pull my legs apart very much. I am not even sad about it. I know my students are in good hands, and to be a good leader, you have to know when to hand over the reins sometimes. Taking care of myself is what is going to ultimately be best for everyone around me. Even if I am ripping off the band-aid a bit early.

It's time to rock this baby, people! I couldn't be happier today.

Feathering the nest. A.K.A. Bats*&t Crazy.

2010-03-04T10:58:00.000-08:00

Well, if the baby decides to do anything unreasonable, like come WAY too early, I say Bring. It. On.

Yesterday I was driven out of the house by an obsession with the fact that I need to get all my hospital gear ready for a trip to the hospital should that need arise. Oh. I mean WHEN that need arises. It's inevitable. And what if it happens early? I can't ask Mindy to go to my house and pack me a bag. And a bag for Joe. I would be mortified!! "Um, yeah, and can you make sure to grab my Hanes Her Way underwear I bought for housing the giant maxi pads I will have to wear home? And while you're at it, can you go ahead pack those giant maxi pads, too? They should be in the cupboard somewhere behind the Preparation H tubes."

No thanks! That image flickered through my mind, and I immediately got dressed and packed Oliver in the car. As I drove up in front of the studio I called Joe. It went like this:

"Hi."
"Hi there!"
shakily, "I'm out front. I need the bank card. Can you run it out?"
"Okay..."
(he comes outside)
"I have to go to Target."
"Okay..."
"I need to buy things."
"Okay..."
"Lots of things. Nursing bras, pajamas, underwear. I have no hospital gear."
"Okay..."
"Okay."
"Have fun, I wish I could go and help you out."
(I start driving away)
"Don't worry about it, call you later."

I am pretty sure I left tire tracks in my wake as I sped off.

Turns out, Target made sure that I was reminded about a LOT of things that I do not have. Oh god, what if she was HERE? How will I dry her off after a bath? All the baby towels I have are BLUE! HOW WILL WE SURVIVE THIS?

Oliver also thought it was extremely important that she have her own special blanket like he has a special blanket. KID! You're a genius! We better push the cart as fast as we can to that baby blanket aisle.

And so on and so forth. And now, I am armed with the basic supplies of new, exhausted motherhood. A cute nightgown for delivery, comfortable pj's to wear afterward, nursing bras, nipple cream, baby blanket, soothie pacifier, more diapers, wipes, and let's not forget the cotton Hanes underwear. They might even be Fruit of the Loom. Oh, and baby blankets, girl towels with hoods, and matching baby washcloths.

And now that I have made that pre-emptive strike, I can rest a little easier. There is something that happens to your body and your will when you are getting ready to have a baby. You can nest in the craziest ways. One woman I know decided that all her bath towels should be white when the baby came. She was obsessed with that idea until she finally threw out all her towels and bought a boatload of fluffy new white ones. So nesting isn't necessarily just serenely setting up the nursery. No, it manifests itself if very obsessive compulsive ways. I, for instance, nearly ran over Joe's feet with the car because I couldn't get to Target fast enough. I DID need those things, but yesterday, I felt like I had to have them RIGHT NOW. And you can't stop until it's done.

One other example of irrational nesting is that I need all new drinking glasses in my cupboard. I do. They need to be plastic, and cute, and match. Because when I have a grabby baby 6 months from now, she could knock something out of my hands and glass would break and then we would all die. I felt like this with Oliver, too. But now that drink ware is 4 years old and half of it is missing, thrown away, or in the yard. What is left is a hodge podge of perfectly drink-worthy cups and glasses, but again - and I can't stress this enough: They are not new, and they don't match, and some are made of real live dangerous and poisonous GLASS that could shatter in your hand any minute now.

Looks like I am headed back to Target.
(screeching tires...)

Google it.

2010-03-02T14:49:00.000-08:00

I can't believe I have not Googled my pain condition until now. I just googled "pubic bone pain during pregnancy" and found a quillion articles, all saying the same thing, that explain it. THIS! THIS! THIS is what it is, and what it feels like!

"When you enlist in the pregnancy corps, your tour of duty is sure to include at least some activity on the pelvic front. But it sounds like you're experiencing more than you signed up for.

Symphysis pubic dysfunction, or SPD, is a relatively common (but uncommonly painful) pregnancy condition. It's caused by a relaxation of the ligaments that normally keep the two sides of the pelvic bone tightly bound together at the symphysis pubis, the joint in the pubic area. (The culprit here is the hormone relaxin, which softens those joints to give baby an easier path out into the world.) Sometimes, the ligaments loosen too much and quite early in pregnancy (symptoms may start around the middle of pregnancy) causing instability in the pelvic joint. One side might shift more than the other when you are walking or just moving your legs — especially if you separate them, as you would to get out of your car — causing a world of hurt. (In rarer cases, the joint may gape apart noticeably — a condition called diastasis symphysis pubis). Bearing any weight, in fact — or even trying to roll over in bed — will cause tremendous pain in the pelvis (the pubic bone will be sore to the touch), groin, hips, and sometimes the buttocks. The pain can travel down the inner thighs, and you may feel a clicking or grinding when you move. And standing on one leg? Torture.

Pelvic support belts, which corset the bones back into place, can offer relief. Pelvic exercises like Kegels and pelvic tilts can also strengthen the muscles of the pelvis to stabilize those floppy bones. Sitting down to get dressed, taking steps one at a time, and avoiding heavy lifting and pushing may help. If the pain is severe enough, ask your practitioner about pain relievers (though don't take any medications unless specifically prescribed by your practitioner). Rest assured, once your baby is born, relaxin production will cease and the joint will firm up again, easing your discomfort."

Did you read the part about standing on one leg? No EFFING joke, man. And stairs? Don't get me started. But, at least I know I am not crazy. And that other people clearly get this same sensation. And you know? It makes me feel better. I deal with pain so much easier when I know what it IS, and WHY. Phew.

However, the thought of dancing makes me cringe now that I have seen this image in conjunction with the condition:

I titled this picture, "Eek!"

Also, I did not have this pain at all when I was pregnant with Oliver, and this time around, I have had it since halfway through this pregnancy. And since it means that it's separating so that baby can come out easier, I think my vibes about her coming early are now only intensified. And THAT, while frightening, is still very exciting! I can't wait to hold her. And I can't wait for Oliver to kiss her sweet little face.

Whoa, Nellie.

2010-03-01T10:47:00.000-08:00

I just registered for a childbirth prep refresher course. It's April 24th. I hope she stays in there long enough for me to go to that. I forgot how to swaddle. And is it 5-1-1 for contractions (five minutes apart, lasting for at least minute, happening consistently for an hour)? 4-1-1? More like 9-1-1! Shit!

Joe got all cocky on me the other night, and said not to worry, he remembered most of everything. And then he grabbed a teddy bear and swaddled it in like four seconds. Boom. Baby burrito. He was all SEE? Everything is under control. I can swaddle this stuffed animal.

Yes, Joe, everything is under control. I will remember that when I forget how to breathe in the delivery room. * * I feel like someone sledgehammered me in the back, but AT LEAST MY HUSBAND KNOWS HOW TO WRAP THIS BABY UP IN A BLANKET. * *

Actually, I have already started my own prep and reading about all of this stuff on the off-chance she makes a surprise early arrival. It will be fine, but it's just nice to have the hospital folks boss you around for a few hours.

Speaking of the hospital, I also sent in my delivery room registration forms. They get everything all entered into the system so no matter when you go into labor, they will be ready for you quicker than if you were a stranger off the street.

As early as it sounds, I was actually assigned by my doctor to do it last month. And I got too caught up in single parenting, my job, and being sick to sit down and fill out all the forms.

It's done now, though, and I am one step closer to being prepared. The more I get done, and the sooner I do it, the more time I have to sit back and relax, and truly enjoy this experience. Plus, I will have more time to practice swaddling that bear.

Really, Life?

2010-02-26T17:28:00.000-08:00

That's what I said when I stepped in something wet and looked down to see that it was vomit. On the cute little kitchen rug that I just washed and put back on the floor.

It was just a wee little bit of watery vomit. Just enough to be annoying, but not enough to say it was a grody mess or to worry me about the dogs. It is a perfect metaphor for my past three weeks. I'm TRYING to be normal and nonchalant, but the universe is propelling me down down down into my leopard print thinking chair, or in in into my bed for reasons beyond my control. I can't override them because the body has just plain refused to allow it.

Me sick, then Oliver sick, then me again. And we're talking SIIIIIIICK. Fevers and violent coughing and no energy whatsoever. Which is fine, whatever, but the amount of schedule juggling involved with that was incredible - taken care of quickly and efficiently, but it was still one more thing to add to the plate since Husband wasn't home. And this little mama has maternal guilt that weighs heavily on all her decisions: if I'm away from sick little Oliver, I feel guilty. If I'm away from my Vega family of students, I feel guilty. If I get subs for my classes, I feel guilty for putting a valued person on the spot by asking them at the last minute.

So what happened was I would push the envelope and try teaching, and then come home and get slammed all over again with whatever has attacked my immune system. Yesterday, I had to teach my burlesque class, and really felt the need and obligation to be there. I spent the entire day in bed, coughing madly and drifting in and out of fitful sleep and then peeled myself off my fitted sheet to get ready for class. So I went in, worked at my desk, taught class. And then, halfway through, I tried showing them the next move, and it felt like someone - no, not someone. Bigfoot. It felt like Bigfoot gave me a nice swift kick in the nads, and this kick happened in the frozen tundra, where my muscles weren't warmed up and I was forced by gymnastic Eskimos to drop instantly into the splits.

Painful? Absolutely. But I can jam through pain pretty well. However, in addition to the pain, everything just locked up. I COULDN'T move. I stood there, blank faced, trying not to give anything away, and mumbled "um, um, let's seee..." Like I was trying to remember what the next part of the dance was.

I managed to will the body to do it, and then marked the dance mostly after that, with a few stupid full out performances. According to friend from class, no one noticed. Phew!

I could barely walk to the car afterward, and it took me five minutes just walk up my front porch stairs. Limping. Actual limping.

What in THE HELL??? I have no idea why that pain exists or what it means (I asked my doctor about it, but I'm not sure she understood my description. Swollen vulva was her only suggestion but that seems an unlikely reason. It does, however, sound like an angsty girl band whose members all ride scooters.)

Don't get me wrong - there is no cramping, bleeding, or any other sign of baby danger in ANY way. The baby is doing great. The pain is not remotely close to my wonderful little baby belly at all. But I do believe that I need to chill out. And it's just in time. Monday starts off as March, and that's my last month teaching class, and I have already long-ago arranged for assistants in my class for that month (I teach, they demonstrate). And then I am officially done teaching as of April 1.

I can't believe the winding-down time has already arrived. I'm glad I gave myself plenty of time to prepare (all of April and half of May), especially in case she comes early. I have had three people in the same week tell me that their babies were 5 to 6 weeks early. Holy balls. It might explain my sudden need to move my couch today and sweep the floor there, and then spray Lysol all over the house. Limping all the way. But I HAD to do it. Couldn't sit here any longer until it was done.

And now my first born child wants a hot dog. Duty calls.

Belly Pictures Postponed

2010-02-24T17:06:00.001-08:00

My sister, Donna, left me a voicemail last night that mentioned how she hasn't seen my baby belly (she doesn't live here). She also mentioned that she kept hoping she would see a picture on my Facebook page or here on this blog. I can't believe I have not been documenting this!

So I was planning on taking a picture of myself today and posting it here but the following things happened:

1) I woke up feeling like garbage, causing my face to appear askew.

2) I had a coughing fit AFTER I got dressed all cute, and ended up peeing my pants. Oh yes, people. It's true. Ever since Oliver was born I have had to BEWARE of sudden sneezes, coughing fits that attack me before I can cross my legs, and doing high kicks. This, despite my attempts at fitness down there. Kegels be damned!

3) Husband procured Smoked Cheddar and Ham Mac from Montage for me today, and also sported me a little side salad with balsamic vinegar drizzled on it. Said balsamic vinegar ended up on my cute and belly-rific hoodie right next to the screen print of a chick's face.

So, no photo today! But trust me, it's getting to be quite fun, as the regular world couldn't possibly mistake this for anything but pregnancy. Thus, I no longer feel like I just look fat. It actually makes me feel a wee bit little again, as I appear to be all belly. I will enjoy THAT while it lasts, though, because soon I will look like this:

Hopeless Popeless

2010-02-24T08:42:00.000-08:00

While curled up in our sickly state this morning, Oliver and I are watching Mickey Mouse on tv and they are talking about magic and math. Goofy is trying to do magic tricks and using magic words.

Oliver says a couple words (I wasn't listening) and points at his milk cup, looks at me and says, "Hey that's not a magic word. My milk is still here."

Me: Try 'Hocus Pocus'.

Oliver: "Focus! Focus!"

Me, enunciating: "Hhhhocus Puh-ocus!"

Oliver: "Pocus Focus!"

Dear Oliver...

2010-02-22T17:52:00.000-08:00

I love you. You often tell me that I am your best friend. And kid, you are mine. You don't feel well right now and my heart breaks for you. However, your illness combined with Daddy being away has created a lot of time for just you and me - and my favorite parts are when we lay in my big new giant bed together and tell jokes and stories and I get to hear your little laugh.

You kiss my belly and ask when the baby is getting here and you tell her goodnight at bedtime. It's so genuine and sweet - I know you will hover over her when she arrives and love her immeasurably.

In your feverish, painful-throated, chapped and bloody-lipped state, you want to only be comforted by your mom. Who doesn't want their mom when they're sick? So I have had to readjust my schedule and cancel activities to take care of you this week. What might seem like an inconvenience to some, is really my basic instinct anyway. I am drawn to you and there is no place else I would rather be.

Plus, you got me sick again and now I have to stay home. For shame! You're grounded.

Here. Here I am.

2010-02-20T11:47:00.000-08:00

So, I have several drafts that I never posted over the last couple of weeks. Mostly because they started off as updates, and then as I carried on I realized I was ranting. No one needs to see my rants. No one. They are lame. So I would start over a couple days later, and then end up doing the ranting once more. I guess I had some venting to do, people. So let me just vent first and get it over with:

Basically, it boils down to Husband being gone for two weeks with a short visit home in between weeks. I got really sick and had to miss work. I decided that Oliver really needed a break, so I took him up North to see my mom for a few days, and since that's also where Joe was working, he got to see Joe a teensy bit, too. Like, for two meals. That's it.

I got home yesterday, got called by my doctor office and told I was anemic - which totally explains my getting sick, feeling overly tired, and being freaking cold all the time. (And the dark skin around my eyes, and the pale lips.) I was just finishing up my jillion hour-long drive home from Arlington when I got the call, and decided not to mess around. Went straight to the store for my prescribed iron supplement. Later in the evening, Oliver developed a mild fever and a cough. Now he is feeling crummy, but being a good sport.

In summary of my rant, we have this: Husband leaves town. Wife gets sick and has to scramble for subs at work. Husband comes home for two days. Husband leaves again. Wife feels way too tired to dance and decides to arrange subs again for a couple of classes. Wife gets told at work that she is missed when she is gone and feels guilty. Wife leaves anyway and has a so-so trip. Wife gets home and is looking forward to relaxing. Boy gets sick. Not relaxing.

And here we are. I decided that I am really looking forward to getting back to work next week, as tiring as it is, because that will be more of a break than I have had in two whole weeks. I get to be around smiling, appreciative people and share good energy with them. I think people might imagine me sitting around eating bon bons (where the HELL can I get some bon bons?!) when I am not at work. But man, I'm working. Trust me. So it's not a good sign that dancing this much when I am giantly pregnant is a RELIEF.

And Portland? I just love you. Your people, your lay of the land, your food. I love your food. I was only gone for three days and I couldn't wait to get back. I am proud of my decision to live here and have a family here.

So, while my break was not what I intended it to be, it did what I intended it to DO. It helped get my brain back on track to go back to the studio and work until it's time to be done for baby reasons.

And... scene.

The cure for what ails...

2010-02-05T11:33:00.000-08:00

is this:

I am operating on few hours of sleep, and I have so much to do today (and tomorrow and next week) that I am beginning to feel overwhelmed with it all. I will be rewarding myself at the end of the day with one or seven of these cupcakes before tumbling into bed for some much needed cupcake-induced rest.

But first, I have to make them. Oh dear.

In his own words...

2010-02-03T17:50:00.001-08:00

I am not teaching my class this evening, so as to give my body a break and Joe some extra time to do his Joe Work. I went in, brought Joe some lunch, worked on office-y things like my Vega Newsletter and emails, and then headed home with the boy.

I decided to drop by the store for some dinner items and ice cream cone fixin's. Since I was going to be home with Oliver during dinner time, which is rare, I wanted to make it special. So I was consulting my friend Allison on what to have for dinner, and she suggested breakfast for dinner, like eggs and waffles. Brilliant!

"Oliver, do you want eggs for dinner?"

"Nooooo."

So then Allison suggested French toast. Another brilliant idea. I love French toast. But then I said, "Oh wait. He hasn't pooped in a couple days, he can't have bread for dinner."

To which Oliver piped up. "Mom, I better talk to Allison for a minute."

So I put Allison on speaker phone, and Oliver told her, "Allison? Hi. I can't have any bread because I have to poop..."

I mean, just in case she didn't understand it the first time. It's always good to make sure people know exactly what's going on.

Top Heavy

2010-01-27T10:47:00.000-08:00

So I have been blatantly operating on the assumption that this baby is going to be small because she is a girl. Girls are small. I'm a girl, and I'm small. This also means that I have been living in the peaceful ignorant bliss of assuming that she is going to just magically appear after a few unpleasant contractions and an epidural cocktail.

Considering my first run at childbirth, this is a FANTASTIC theory.

But over the past few days, I have had the sinking realization that perhaps I am wrong. Now that her movements are much more than mere flutters, it is apparent that she is already filling up my entire torso. When I feel her move right under my ribs, I also feel something kick me alllll the way down toward my pubic bone. At the same time. Great. Another long baby.

Right about now in the pregnancy, all that is left is the growing. As in, starting now is when the belly will begin to get larger and larger until I am that lady walking (barely) from the car to the front door of the grocery store who people get puppy dog eyes (if you have ever been pregnant before) and say to their friend or husband, "That poor poor girl. She looks like she could go any minute..."

Only, I am already sporting the Great Pumpkin belly. I wear loose clothes a lot, since I only go from home to the studio where I teach dance, and so I am in sweats and a sweatshirt most of the time. So people don't really pay attention and notice unless I point it out. But naked? Thar she blows, people!

And it's only going to get bigger and bigger and more ungainly. And I am fine with that. What is ungainly for me to carry around on my five-foot frame is entertaining for friends who think pregnancy is cute to look at. And it is. I totally get it. There's a baby in there and babies are cute.

However, mentally and emotionally, there is a wee feeling of dread. I know that if she is already filling up my torso now, and starting this week is when she is supposed to just grow and grow and grow until she's ready to come out, I am in for a big baby. And big babies don't seem to like coming out of me very easily. And that, folks, freaks me out. Fuh-reeks. Me out.

Is it too late to find a strapping young Nordic surrogate? I can pay her in homemade soup.

EauMyGod

2010-01-21T17:06:00.000-08:00

But I get to dress her in things like this:

And this:

Please and Thank You Goes a Long Way.

2010-01-17T14:44:00.000-08:00

This is by far one of my favorite conversations I have ever had with Oliver:

As I was driving in the rain (I keep mentioning the rain, but it's just so extra soggy outside, that it contributes to making mundane things seem a wee bit miserable) in the Fred Meyer parking lot, I was about to pull into a parking spot when someone else came whipping in from the opposite direction and took the spot...

Me, muttering under my breath: Well, thank you A-Hole.
Oliver: Mom, did you just say "thank you, A-Hole?"
Me: Yes, Oliver, I did.
Oliver, after a pause: Mommy, you were really NICE to that A-Hole!

Today's Food Adventure, or otherwise known as boring stuff about my eating habits.

2010-01-17T14:13:00.000-08:00

Well, I overcame my paralysis of earlier, gathered my chi, and hit the grocery in the rain on a Sunday.

Oliver was the best helper, as was my iPhone grocery list. I just made a note in my phone, and as I put an item in the cart, I delete it off my list. Nothing fancy, but it was cool to see the list get smaller and smaller until there was nothing on it.

I have decided that tonight's fun dinner will be mini-tostada cups filled with langostino tails (you can buy them at Trader Joe's and they taste like lobster), freshly chopped onion, lettuce, tomato, avocado. On top will be a flavored sour cream I make by combining some avocado, sour cream, minced cilantro and lime juice. Other options are grated cheddar cheese, dice jalepeno and a bit of black beans on the bottom of the cup, which I hope I have, because I forgot to buy some black beans at the store today...

This is a meal I made over the summer with some helpful hints from my pal Annie in regards to tortillas. And because she gave me the brilliant idea, I had to have her and her cute husband who looks like my cute husband over to enjoy it. It was a success.

I bought corn tortillas and Annie's cool suggestion was to warm up the tortillas in some heated oil in a frying pan to get them soft and pliable, and then press them into cupcake tins and bake them in the oven to make actual mini cups. UM, okay!

Anyway, it's delicious and fresh and an all-around feel good meal to enjoy with a cold beer. I have to be sans the beer for now, but you don't. Chef some up for yourself*.

Tomorrow I plan to be more weather appropriate with my eating, as I purchased all the ingredients for homemade clam chowder. I made this for Christmas Eve dinner and it was delicious then as well as reheated a few days later. You will need to do some working out before this meal to compensate for the wee bit of half and half involved, though.

*If you do, bake the tortilla cups on low heat, like 200-250 for about an hour-ish.

23 Weeks.

2010-01-17T10:33:00.000-08:00

And counting.

This week, Baby G-let is coming out of her shell and making a permanent appearance. There is really no more hiding the belly these days, so I have stopped trying. And for those of you who are new to Pregnant Evie, I am NOT shy about rocking my pregnant body to the world. But until it actually LOOKS like a baby belly, it mostly just looks like you have developed a penchant for Doritos and cake and not working out.

Due to my three months straight of morning sickness, I did not develop that habit. No, I actually ate less. But your body goes into motherhood mode and slows down metabolism and stores almost everything you give it. I am only five feet tall, so there is no room to spread it around, and it does not seem to be relative to size. I still have a normal sized baby, and therefore, I will retain the same amount of fat as a woman who is 5'7". How neat for me!!!

Anyway, now that the belly sticks out, I don't look as plump anymore. Which is nice, because my clothing options have expanded from baggy everything to more fitted clothing.

I am starting to feel tired again, as I approach my third trimester. Today, I have the day off from work, but that means I have time to go to the grocery store, cook dinner, and do the massive quantities of laundry that is starting to take over my house. However, after folding one load and starting another, I had to sit down. So I made my grocery list. I am pretty sure that sent me over the edge because now I am just curled up in my chair with my pregnancy body pillow and I can't seem to move much more than these typing fingers.

I decided that amongst all this busy work we have had in our lives, and all the anxiety, that I would take my "I Need a Bigger Bra Money" reserved for Victoria's Secret and spend only $4.99 of it on a bigger bra at Ross (it's totally cute, too!) and use the rest for some adorable baby clothes for my lil nugget. Clue: Ross and Marshall's have super cute baby clothes.

The Little Lady has a nautical themed outfit, which I will accessorize with a headband and an anchor with flowers. Also procured is a pair of teeny footie pajamas that are blue, with red cherries all over it. Sigh...

Live in a drawer for all I care, just hurry up and get here so I can see you in that cherries onesie and squeeze your cheeks.

Nuggets

2010-01-13T13:01:00.000-08:00

Well, I was just about to post something, but Oliver is popping up from behind the computer screen, from around the back side of the chair, from the kitchen entryway, saying "Chicken Nuggets!" every chance he gets. Now he is huddled next to me in my leopard print thinking chair and putting his feet in front of the screen.

So I think I better prepare the kid some lunch. Too bad, because today's entry was going to be spectacular.

21 and a half weeks!

2010-01-07T16:03:00.000-08:00

I had my monthly baby checkup today. Thankfully. It almost didn't happen because I never put the appointment in my iPhone calendar. I decided at around 11am today to call in and see when my appointment was, because I knew it would be coming up soon. I have been consumed with work and doing our taxes, and I am surprised I have not forgotten about more things.

Sure enough, the appointment was for today at 11:45. I laughed, hung up the phone, looked at Oliver, looked down at myself, snuggled in a blanket on my chair and ottoman, looked at the clock... took a big breath, and then got my shit together.

I made it with time to spare, and if you are childless, just know that this was a miracle.

Anyway, she (the baby) is progressing nicely, I weigh about a ton (for me), Dr. Murray (a.k.a. Dr. Awesome Badass) let Oliver put the "goo" on the sonogram wand and we listened to her heart beat away.

The main thing I took away from the appointment was panic and anxiety, however, as Dr. Murray told me it was time to schedule the rest of my appointments from now until Baby G-let is born. Nothing will make time whiz past me like being able to scratch off appointments from my calendar as they occur. I have one monthly left, then 2 3-weekers, then a couple 2-weekers, and the rest is once a week until she gets here.

Once again, I wonder if we can get the studio done, and even START on our basement before she gets here. I know we can, Joe says so. But it's hard to bank on it because I want it now, for my own peace of mind. I want to set up the crib in her room and find a cute picture of a deer and some other woodland creatures for her wall. I don't want to feel like a band of gypsies, living in one room with a Murphy bed and nothing but canned food on the shelves with all the labels peeled off so you never know what you will be eating for dinner until it slides out of the can.

Okay, so our current living situation is nothing like that at all, and our house is quite cozy and cute. The only thing missing is a room for the tiny one. And for the first month or so she will be sleeping in my room anyway, nursery or no nursery. But the above scenario is easy to conjure up when you are panic-stricken and feel like time is hurtling you through space, toward the inevitable. There are no push backs. There are no re-schedules.

But you know? Through all the anxiety, I am aware that it's all temporary. And soon I will have another baby, and Oliver will have a sister, and Joe will have a daughter, and we will be a happy family who loves each other very much. And these funky times of not having enough room in our house will be a memory that makes us smile. Because the more squished together we are, the more we are forced to snuggle. And years from now, I can look at G-let's face and say with fondness, "Remember when you slept in a drawer?"

A flicker of being a parent of siblings...

2010-01-04T11:03:00.000-08:00

Oliver and I were watching Dora the Explorer this morning. I kind of hate Dora. She has dumb hair and the animation is just not cute.
The message is perfectly fine, but, it's just 'meh' for me. Sometimes, though, we watch it. And it's very interactive, as are many cartoons these days. The characters will ask the viewers a question, and wait for an answer for a beat or two and then carry on. Today, Dora was telling the viewers to help her pull a rope. "C'mon! Help me pull this rope and save Boots! (long pause) Pull HARDER! (pause) Help me pull the rope! (pause) etc..."

To this Oliver declared, "Dora! I don't WANT to pull that rope!"

And when she persisted, he yelled, "I said I DON'T WANT TO!"

Looking at me, he tattled on Dora, "She didn't listen to me, mom."

"I know. Dora can be pretty bossy sometimes."

Reality Check.

2009-12-30T11:39:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, I get so busy and my life is so cluttered with this and that, that I rarely let it sink in that SHE IS COMING. FOR REAL. And in only a few short months away. During the holidays, we usually have to cling for dear life, as very few people buy dance classes for themselves at Christmastime. This year, we didn't have that problem, as I got smart and had a sale. Plus, Vega Dance+Lab is more so the apple of people's eyes this year than ever, as we are just older and people know about us. So thankfully, THAT wasn't a problem this year, but staffing was a wee bit challenging.

I have spent this holiday season working away, and spending less time at home and with Oliver, less time relaxing and relishing this growing baby in my belly.

Then, this morning I got news from Shannon that one our students had her baby one month early. ONE MONTH.

Dear god, in my land of tight schedules, I was figuring we wouldn't even start on our Operation Build a Baby Room until we were a month away. What if she comes early and I have to put her to bed in a dresser drawer?

Not only does OBBR involve an extensive build-out of our basement (digging out the window wells so we can install larger windows, dry walling, electrical, build a bathroom, three bedrooms and a laundry room) but we still have to finish our build-out of the studio lobby!

And need I mention the giganticly proportioned project that Husband has been working on? I have no idea when I will even have time to sit and start a list of the things I will need to have to be ready for baby.

If it weren't for that pesky problem of needing money to do it, I would be all over these action items. Hire this dude, buy that thing, order this. But alas, we are going to be doing it all ourselves and as funding permits. I know that we will get it done, because that is how the Grahams roll. And once it's done, we are going to have a house that is two times bigger than it is now, which is going to be amazing. But I needed to have a public freakout about it first.

Holiday Recap.

2009-12-28T21:55:00.000-08:00

Hello, there. I am just dropping a line to say we're all fine. Just fine. Christmas was very lovely. My mom step person, Dan, came down from Arlington to spend the night eating snacks and watching Oliver open his Santa gifts on Christmas morning.

The Christmas Eve menu was an array of appetizers, alongside homemade clam chowder. Here is a list of my snacks:

Artichoke and goat cheese bruschetta
Asparagus rollups (yes, there was cream cheese in there. And bacon.)
Blue cheese stuffed mushrooms
Crispy tortellini dipped in roasted garlic parmesan sauce
Hot Mamas - whoa, these were just delicious. Cheese, more cheese, egg, jalepenos. Baked and cut into squares. Sweet Jesus.

Dinner was clam chowder made from a hundred-year-old recipe from a restaurant in Maine. I have never been to the restaurant, nor have I ever been to Maine. I found the recipe on the internet and decided to go for it. It was delicious.

We were all stuffed to the rafters with food, but it was so fun to chop and cook and crumble and stir and chat with Rita the whole time.

Oliver got a very nice selection of gifts from everyone. Joe and I gave each other gifts with a ten dollar maximum spending limit. He chose an iPhone cover for me, and I made him an iTunes mix and burned it onto two discs. It was really fun to do it this way, and made us really think about what the other person would want but never buy themselves. Although, ahem... I probably wouldn't buy myself a pretty Tiffany initial pendant, either. Just sayin'. For next year... or hey. I have a birthday coming up AND a day or two (hopfully not two again) where I will pushing a new little awesome family into the world.

Surrounding the holiday, we have just been working a ton at the studio, teaching, and seeing a few friends here and there. Namely, Jessica and Cyrus, who are visiting from New York and who I love dearly.

I got to have a couple of sleepovers with Jess, a lovely dinner with all the girlfriends (I still don't know about escargot), and Joe and Cyrus boozed it up and down Mississippi Avenue last night. Very glad Joe got to have some bro time since he is mostly accompanied by this pregnant chick who feels and smells everything very intensely.

Today was back to work as usual, subbing the afternoon class for Amory, who is in Germany this Christmas, choreographing tonight's new hip hop combo, and teaching class/working the desk. Funny though, with all this extra dancing, I don't seem to be losing any weight. In fact, I keep getting bigger...

One awesome thing about working so much during the holidays is a) so many people have continued to show up despite the holiday craziness and join us for dancing, and b) I get to see Shannon at work and have our daily chit chats, which is so refreshing since mostly I just talk to Oliver and Joe.

Oliver got to go to his best friend's birthday party on Sunday(Happy 2nd Birthday, Milo!) and he had a marvelous time supervising the opening of gifts, being shy, and commandeering Mindy's lap. He is almost as tall as she is, so I give her props for hanging in there for so long!

If I don't write again before the First, please have a very fun and safe New Year's Eve celebration. And may your New Year's Day be filled with food, sweats, slippers and good tv.

X-Rated

2009-12-16T15:47:00.000-08:00

I mean, in terms of chromosomes. It's a girl. We are completely pumped.

Visions of genitals dancing in her head...

2009-12-15T08:55:00.001-08:00

Tomorrow I have my Level Two ultrasound. This one is a biggie for really being able to see if there are any abnormalities with the baby, and a by-product is that we will hopefully be able to see some "bits & pieces", as Joe calls them.

Almost everyone I know is getting girl vibes, one friend swears it's a boy, and I have absolutely no idea. Okay, I do. I kind of think it's a boy. Or maybe a girl. No, boy. Um, girl. Poop. I don't know.

Froze'd

2009-12-10T16:38:00.000-08:00

My pipes froze. Joe is not home, and I couldn't pee, brush my teeth, shower, or brew coffee. The water bureau dudes came out and said there was nothing they could do. That we would just have to wait until the temperature rose and thawed the ground. I imagined us all shriveling up like a withered apple and never being clean again. And then I cried.

And then Mindy called.

Thank you to the following people today:
Mindy, for taking Oliver and me into your home as I tried desperately to cling to my sanity. The shower was exactly what I needed to clear my mind, and your "Backcomb in a Bottle" is my new favorite product.

Jill, for eating lunch with Oliver and me even though you weren't hungry, and then even further keeping me company by eating again anyway.

Husband Joe, for making every attempt to come home from your biz trip early to rescue your family from the House of Frozen Pipes. You needn't have rushed, but the fact you did makes me glad all over again that I married YOU.

The pipes have thawed, and we now have running water again. Mostly because I willed it to be so. Take that, universe. I want more from you.

The Poop Journals... continued.

2009-12-09T13:01:00.000-08:00

This REALLY happened.

Oliver was playing some games on my computer, so I made a snack and settled in to watch some more routines from last night's So You Think You Can Dance. I didn't make it very far, however, because he slid from his perch on the chair to walk over and pat my arm. "Mom, I need to go poop."

Inside, I was throttled by this announcement. But I figured I would just play it cool like it's not the gigantic declaration that it is, coming from a kid who fears going Number Two. So I said, "Okay, let's go and I'll help you unzip your pj's."

We walked calmly into the bathroom, and I knelt down to unzip his robot sleeper (so cute, but too small, yet he refuses to let it go) and said, "I am not going to freak out about it..."

"Nah..." I said. "Nothing to freak out about. It's just a little poop."

And then he sat on the toilet, told me the Knock Knock Joke about the banana/orange scenario and I told him to go ahead and poop and I would be right back to help with the results. He said okay, I walked out, he called after me right away and said he pooped.

The end.

Outwardly, I maintained my composure, but inside I was dancing and flailing about like Steve Martin when he's excited. It's too bad I can't really drink right now because I think I would have headed straight for the store for some champagne.

I keep ducking and flinching, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But hey - maybe THIS is the other shoe. Maybe the shoe with gum all over the bottom of it was the whole not pooping nightmare, and the good shoe is THIS. I like that shoe.

Special Purpose.

2009-12-04T12:12:00.000-08:00

For almost two years now, I have been trying to determine Bentley's place in our home. What his purpose is. Until today, I have not had anything conclusive to report.

I mean, I know why we adopted him. He's friggin' adorable. But so are many many other puppies. With Bentley, I saw him at the Humane Society one day and was completely mesmerized. My heart was broken after our dog, Simon, passed away from a painful illness, so I was wandering the dog quads at the Humane Society aimlessly, looking for some sort of band-aid. Not really the healthiest way to go about things, but one that took my mind off of the incredible loss I was feeling. (oh boy. Simon, buddy, you are still missed to this day.)

I saw this teensy little puppy who was just sitting there staring at me amidst the romps and rolls of his litter mates and I stopped in my tracks. Not only was he just about the cutest puppy I have ever seen, but I couldn't help thinking that Simon must have looked like that as a baby. We never got to see Simon's puppyness, as he was six months old and gangly by the time he adopted us.

We did an official pet meet, and all this little guy wanted to do was crawl in my lap and fall limply onto my legs. At the time, I thought it was the most precious thing in the world. I mean, he practically melted into my skin. I had to have him.

So we brought him home, and he continued to drape his body over everything and anything, no matter his size, or the size of his makeshift mattress. Mostly, it's Joe. And now that Bentley is around 70 pounds or so, it pretty much drives us all crazy. He knows no boundaries.

So what is his DEAL? I have wondered. Mona is just my girl. She follows me around, does what I say, and she is awesome. Otto is the family dog. The best dog and the nicest dog. Don't even get me started on Otto. He walks on water in my eyes, and I will leave it at that for now.

But Bentley just... is. I know that it's because we got when we were all so busy in life and have not devoted our 100% attention to his development as a good strapping dog. Usually our dogs sink into their roles in the family after a short time and have their "thing" they do. Bentley's thing seems to have been just laying all over us and smothering Joe until we cry tears of blood.

Lately though, I have noticed something really cool. That laying all over people thing? It goes both ways. Oliver can RIDE ON HIS BACK LIKE A HORSE, and he doesn't mind one iota. Today, Bentley was curled up on the sofa and Oliver decided to use him as a bench to sit on while he ate his breakfast. And he just laid there. Mona growls at Oliver and runs away when he tries to hug her (which I admit, must be a frightening image coming at you when you are only 15 pounds), and Otto just slowly gets up lopes off. Bentley, though, he loves it. It's attention! From the boy! I'll take it! Oooh! He's stomping on my back now! A little higher, that's it, THERE. Yawn, I think I will doze off while the boy plays the drums on my head.

Having a dog who is patient with a toddler is HEAVEN. Bentley's special purpose is:

The Kid Dog.

Welcome to the family, dog. Finally.

Woof!

2009-11-24T16:40:00.000-08:00

I just saw New Moon with Joe, and I had to say I had a nice time of it. I jokingly said to my friend, Strippy Longstocking (who I just realized had no idea about my vampire thing. Sorry Shan. It's true. However it's also a witch, werewolf, ghost thing.), that I got to see cute boys with no shirts on in the movie. However, I have to say that I was a bit nervous that Bella was going to piss me off. She spends an awful lot of time being depressed, feeling a "hole punched through her chest" in the book. Like, a reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeally long time. So long that I almost put the book away because I bored of that. As though the author couldn't quite convey that Bella's love for Edward was stronger than any love any of us have ever felt so she had to say it over and over for 200 pages because she was afraid we just wouldn't get it. Maybe more pages - yawn - I don't remember. But then the werewolves showed up and I was all, "cool! dogs! Imma get me some snacks and keep readin'!" And then the rest of the book flew by in minutes.

So, when the movie came out, I just had to see how they made the wolves... and they were pretty good. And Bella only talked about the hole in her chest once. I have to admit I liked it. Oh, and Edward is gross and has skeevy weird body hair. And a strange, blurred nipple.

I do love me some vampire, I do. I have since I read Bunnicula in elementary school. And later, Interview With the Vampire stole my heart. I have read all the tales of Lestat, Louis, Marius, et al and am now devouring the Dead Until Dark/True Blood books. They get to have SEX in those! Hooray! But here, in this teenfest Edward vs. Jacob debate, I vote for the dog.

He's just so darn cute. And I love dogs. He reminds me of Otto. And who doesn't love Otto? He's the best.

The Artist formerly known as Fetus

2009-11-16T16:43:00.000-08:00

When discussing name options for the new tater tot in my belly with Jessica over Google Chat and coffee (I curled in my leopard print chair still in my pajamas, and she most likely wearing something fashionable in her fancy important job in New York as a writer who writes things like this commercial), we came up with these gems. Mostly, she did. Here's the copy and paste from the chat. Enjoy.

Jessica: Oliver
me: hahahah!
Oliver and Oliver
Jessica: What about for a boy: Boss Awesome
8:38 AM me: Oh. My. You just nailed it.
It's official.
Jessica: Or......2TheMax Graham
I think numbers is the new fad.
Like Prince.
8:39 AM me: 2TheMax Michael Jackson Graham
Jessica: HA
Billie Jean Graham
me: I have to blog these.
Jessica: for a boy or girl
me: Billie Jean! I just did a wheeze!
My eyes are watering.
Jessica: Lil Wheezie Graham

Dinner Table Etiquette

2009-11-16T09:30:00.000-08:00

After months of the "Knock Knock.. who's there? Banana, Orange you glad I didn't say banana" joke, it has devolved into this:

Me: Knock, Knock...
Oliver: Poop.

Peals of laughter (mostly mine) and the repetition of that joke continued for about ten minutes, as Joe quietly stirred his food with his fork and ate slow, deliberate bites of his meal while looking straight at his reflection in the window. Probably assessing the advanced aging in his face caused by living with a crass wife and now? A corrupted and crass child.

On being an identical twin.

2009-11-11T23:13:00.000-08:00

Today Joe and I spent a few hours at the Maternal Fetal Medicine Clinic at Emmanual Hospital getting some screening tests done for 2.0.

When we got there, I had to fill out allllll sorts of paperwork that included a questionnaire about my family and Joe's family in regards to genetics.

Question: Were you born with a defect of any kind?
Answer: No.

Question: Was the father born with a defect of any kind?

I tilted my head toward Joe, who was sitting right next to me, and asked that question aloud. He answered that yes, he was. Puzzled, I asked, "WHAT? What was it?"

To which he replied, "Jeff".

Dancing For Two.

2009-11-10T09:26:00.000-08:00

Well, it's Day Five of feeling like a normal human again. Yesterday, I had to choreograph for class, then teach class, which is always taxing, because Monday is Hip Hop day, and those people expect 100% awesomeness at all times, and they should expect that. It's a full class, and the energy level is high and positive.

During this first trimester, no matter how crappy I would feel all day long, once I started teaching, it would disappear and I would be able to give it all I had. You have to. People are paying money to learn from you, so you have to drop everything else in your life and leave it at the door. Teaching takes so much more energy than just taking a class, and for the past three months Tuesday mornings would grab me by the shoulders, shake me repeatedly and ask, "What have you DONE to yourself, woman?" And I would reply, "Get out of my way, Tuesday Morning, I have to pee and pray to god I don't puke in the tub."

I have had to limit my extracurricular dancing (taking class from others), though, just because the fatigue was so incredible. But last night, after I taught class, I stayed for Allison's hip hop class after mine was over. It was glorious to be in class again, and to be inspired by someone else and to try and do their choreography justice. I did have to sit out one round of running the routine at the end of class because, although this baby is supposedly only the size of a lime at this stage, the little bugger started to feel more like a sack of potatoes after all that bouncing around and trying to have swagger.

I thought for sure that I would be crushed this morning, and I am totally NOT. I still feel the buzz through all my leg muscles from yesterday's dance fest and it is a much welcome feeling. I truly thought that these days would never return and even if I have a few days here and there when my body tell me to just STOP ALREADY, that's okay. I will listen. And probably eat pizza and watch Ghost Whisperer with my feet up.

BG2.0, Week 12/13

2009-11-07T21:52:00.001-08:00

Dear Baby G 2.0,

You blessed me yesterday with several things.

First, I woke up nausea-free! Hooray! Not even one little tiny wave of wanting to vom!

Second, I had energy! ALL DAY! I got up, had some coffee, did laundry, moved some furniture around, cleaned the house, and even had the strength to lift the phone to my ear when your Auntie Mindy called. Success!

It has been a slightly challenging three months. The crushing fatigue has really kept me from being the go-gettum person I usually am. And you know? It's okay. Being pregnant is a really big deal, and if my body just couldn't, wouldn't, shouldn't do something, then I had to listen to that. A lot of the time, it wasn't even a choice. I was so tired that my body would render itself useless and boneless despite any attempt to function normally.

Night time has been another beast all together. I was starting to dread the advent of bed time. I still do. The insomnia portion of this roller coaster has not faded with the first trimester. I go to bed pooped and fall right to sleep. Which is great but inevitably something will wake me up. Anything. Perhaps Otto does a sweet little dog sigh in his sleep on his dog bed, or I will have to pee, or someone, somewhere, smiles, and *pop* go my eyelids. And I will be wide awake and on full alert until five am. Sometimes I am awake all night because the closer it gets to dawn, the more anxiety I get about not sleeping and I worry about how I will possibly be able to get up at 7am with Oliver and stay awake long enough to choreograph a hip hop routine, keep staying awake until it's time to teach it, and then oh god, what if I get home that night and have insomnia AGAIN? This is the point where I reach over and clutch Joe's body and say "You have to help me. God A'mighty, you have to promise me to get up with Oliver and let me stay in this bed. That knowledge is the ONLY thing that will relax me enough to go back to sleep."

And he will say something man-ish in his half-slumber like, "Sweetie, you need to get your rest, why are you up?" As if it was by choice that I was I was awake from midnight until 5:30 AM. That I was laying there with "I FOUND YOU! Miss New Bootie!" stuck in my head over and over and over. And over. For three hours. However, he ALWAYS does it. He pats my arm and tells me he's got it handled and I can go to sleep. And it's not very often I ask for this. Most of the time I just try to suck it up. Even though coffee has made me want to hurl every morning so I have no caffeine assistance to get me through the day. Sometimes, when I am trying to suck it up, my fatigue is so visibly dripping out of my pores, that I am ushered back to bed and left with fresh water and a plate of saltines on the night stand while Joe takes Oliver to work with him for a few hours. Wow. When I am not wanting to throw things at his head, I really thank my lucky stars that I married that man. He is definitely not just any man.

Third, my boobs look amazing. Joe calls them my Rockstar Boobs. (there is your first official cringe moment.)

And finally, we went to our second Baby Doctor appointment yesterday. And we got to hear your heartbeat. YOUR HEART! It beats! In attendance was Daddy, Brother and me. Brother got to put the jelly on the the Doppler wand that then got rubbed over my belly until a heartbeat sound was picked up. A nice and strong and fast 164 bpm! I have a sneaking suspicion that means you are a girl, although that's just an old wives tale.

So whoa. Reality is sinking in, and you are actually a person with a beating heart who gets to BE HERE IN REAL LIFE and come and live with us. Life with Oliver has been the most transforming experience and now it gets to happen times two. I see Forced Family Fun in our future! Monopoly! Movie Night! Barbecues! You and Oliver rolling your eyes at your geeky parents as we make you listen to "our music"! Can you say Hootnanny?

Thank you, teeny little baby in my belly. Take your time, grow, get strong, and maybe grow some cute curly hair on your head while you're at it.

You're loved,
Moms

Stuff he says.

2009-11-05T21:21:00.001-08:00

Oliver: Mommy, I have a secret.
Me: What is it?
Oliver: You can't tell me.

----------

Me: What should we name the baby, Oliver?
Oliver: Cousin Emma.

I miss food.

2009-11-02T10:18:00.001-08:00

Since becoming pregnant this time around, I have been afflicted with stupid morning sickness and fatigue so, well, fatiguing, that at times I thought I was going to drop down in the middle of the grocery store and start sawing logs right then and there.

It is generally expected to start waning by about the 13th week, which is the end of the first trimester. I begin my 12th week as of today, and for the past two days have noticed a dramatic drop in the amount of those icky symptoms. Until today. It's still here. It was just kindly hiding behind my childlike delight for the holiday so I could eat Kit Kats and Doritos and English muffin pizzas on Halloween.

My favorite thing to do on Halloween is to stay home in snuggly clothes and eat delicious snacks all night instead of having a real dinner, and I am grateful I got to do that. For the past two and a half months I have barely had an appetite at all and I genuinely MISS the desire to eat. So, I guess instead of complaining, I will just thank the universe for the junk food it doth bestoweth upon me, if only for a day.

Hopefully, I won't end up one of those lonely and pitiful souls who has morning sickness for the entire duration of pregnancy because I am excited to get back in the swing of things like working out, and chewing food that isn't a saltine cracker. Wish me luck, good friends! And then let's go to dinner!

I think it's time to get medicated...

2009-10-30T11:34:00.000-07:00

Okay. My head just spun off, flew across the room and landed with a dull thud on the floor. I should have known that writing about the Great Poop Success of Autumn would cause a giant jinx. The same thing happened when I thought it was safe to say that he had been sleeping through the night for four whole months in a row when he was a baby. Since I wrote that blog, I have slept a grand total of 17 minutes.

Rewind to 20 minutes ago...

Oliver was doing his poop dance. I took him to the toilet. Bam. The crying starts. Why the crying? He is not constipated, so it doesn't hurt. I am beginning to think he is just conditioned like a Skinner Rat to turn the water works on as soon as his butt hits the seat. And the seat, by the way, is a cushy, soft insert for the regular toilet that is small enough for an Oliver-sized bum to rest on without falling through. And there are handles on the sides. Handles! I wish I had one of those! If I did, I just might start reading in there! (okay, sometimes I read in there now. It's my only time to myself. But the book has to be REALLY good.)

Anyway, today, I was really trying to keep him from creating the usual nightmare poop scene. It's so hard when EVERY time, the situations begins like this:

And inevitably ends up like this:

So he's crying, and I talk him off the ledge. I use my calming voice. He relaxes. I ask him if he wants to get a toy for going poop. He says, "No, thank you. Not today."

Sigh.

I decide to clean him up, make sure there are no hidden gems anywhere on his body, and then I take him to my favorite chair in the living room so we can really chat about this poop stuff. I leave him pantsless so we can have our talk and then maturely head back to the bathroom after he sees the light with my brilliant parenting skills. He first stands up with his back against the chair back. He's listening, he nodding his head. Then he sits. I am trying to be supportive and ask him questions about poop when I spot a moist dot on the back of my chair. I touch it. Um, it stinks. I pick Oliver up and there is a smudge of poop on my chair. Poop. Chair. MY. Favorite. Chair.

I sweep him up, tell him that I don't understand how a kid who pees in the toilet and never has accidents, a three year old who counts to FORTY, can just decide not to poop, and plop him back on the toilet. It WILL catch up with you. It WILL find a way out. And apparently, the escape route includes my chair.

He knows I am livid, and he sits there quietly. And then I crouch down in front of him and try to talk some more. And that's when I stepped in it. Another refugee from Oliver's bowels. I did not have shoes or socks on.

Which brings us to the present. Can someone help me locate my head?

WARNING: the word "poop" appears frequently.

2009-10-27T09:02:00.000-07:00

I went back to work yesterday for the first time in a week-ish, due to a flu situation at my house. If there was an I Hate Throwing Up fan page on Facebook, I would be a charter member. I was nervous to head in after so much time on the couch and in bed, but it turned out great and I ended up staying after class and chatting with Amory and Jill, who work at Vega, about the bizarre displays of etiquette displayed by some of our students. They aren't downright evil or anything, but just nutty enough to make you scratch your head and wonder what they are like away from the studio, in real life. Examples: scrunching up your face and telling the front desk person how much you hate one of our classes (except that the front desk person was the teacher of that very same class), or insisting that last week, Breakdance was on Monday when really it was on Tuesday and it's always on Tuesdays and has been since May(no kidding - INSISTING), or changing the instructor's choreography to make it "better", or interrupting two teachers discussing class by wedging yourself in the middle of them, directly in front of one teacher's face and cutting off the other with your back. There are a few more, but I think you get the drift.

It's easy to go on and on about the audacity of such people, simply because 98% of our students are so wonderful and are downright good humans. They compliment us, they have good manners, they try hard to do new things, they cheer for each other and they bring their friends to a place that makes them proud. We all have so much fun working there because of all of those people. And we DO sit around and talk about all that goodness, we do. But that's why the other behavior is so SHOCKING in comparison. We're spoiled. So we have to have a therapy session and hash it out sometimes. I usually never ever mention things like that on this blog, just in case someone from Vega reads it and thinks I demonstrate open season on anyone and everyone on the internet. Not the case at all. I keep Vega separate and sacred, even when someone threatens to sue me for discrimination because an instructor did not pick them at the end of class to perform the routine for the rest of the group in order to demonstrate what he was looking for out of the choreography (true story). Chances are, though, if you read this and you go to Vega, you are in the 98% and know full well what those two percenters are like. They shock you, too.

Anyway, I was intending to teach and head straight home after class to avoid a relapse of sickness, but got waylaid by this fascinating conversation instead. After a while, I thought to myself that I hadn't heard from Joe since my class was over. I tried his phone - dead. Hmmm. I wonder if he needs me, I thought. Oliver was so dreadfully sick this past week, there was an episode at 4AM of barely being able to breathe, blue lips and fingernail beds and a rush to the ER... So I checked my email from my phone. The first one I saw said HOME ASAP, Oliver -

And that's all I saw. I grabbed my keys and told the girls I had to go and I would call them later. Heart racing, I ran to the car and threw myself into it and then pulled my email back up so I could write Joe back and tell him I was on my way. Then I saw two more emails, something about STAT, Target, and Oliver. Wait. What?

So then I actually READ the emails. This is what they said, in order:

1)HOME ASAP
"Hey Phone is dead we have to go to Target ASAP and Oliver has something he wants to tell you!!!!"

2)Stat
"Home STAT Oliver has something to tell you!!!!

3)OK we are waiting, hurry hurry
no text, just the subject.

So after reading all of these, I suddenly knew what it was all about and I felt a little silly about panicking and running out the door.

If you know Oliver's history with poop, you know that he has battled constipation since he was 18 months old. It has been heartbreaking at times, to watch him cry in pain during a necessary bodily function. He had one horrendous episode in particular that left him scarred for life, and now he won't even poop when it's NORMAL consistency. Like, ever. He holds it. And dances around. And cries. And wants to be held. And races to find a hard surface to sit upon so nothing will escape. Because to him, the sensation of needing to poop equals terrorizing agony. He doesn't know that it isn't going to hurt.

Try potty training THAT. He wears only underwear these days, as he refuses to pee anywhere but in the toilet, even if he did have a diaper on, so we're good in that department. If he wasn't scared of poop being painful, this would have been a no-brainer long ago. But I have a small child. You don't get freebies. So in order to get him to want to poop on the toilet we told him he would get a toy at the store if he did it. Nope. Weeks went by.

Finally, during one of his poop dance episodes, I am struggling to sit him on the toilet and encourage him and he is bawling and screaming and I am trying not to cry/yell/rip my hair out, and then...silence. He can't help himself, he just goes. In the toilet. And of course, it's pain free.

The hoots and hollers that erupted from my face probably alerted the neighbors that trouble was afoot in the gray house on the corner, but I didn't care. And off to Target we went, where he picked out a Bosch chainsaw. For kids. It's not a real chainsaw.

That was about a month ago. And he didn't poop in the toilet ever again. Apparently, the ease and convenience and cleanliness of doing his business in the toilet was not going to change his mind. That must have just been a fluke. A freak accident. Nope, I think I'll just not poop. I do not care for it. And the cycle began all over again. Begging, pleading, bribing. Tears. Nothing would convince my son that having to go poop was going to apply to him. I have even shed all dignity and let him watch me go. I have. He gets it. He knows we poop. He knows his cousin who is the same age poops in the toilet, and he has seen her do it. It doesn't bother him or make him afraid for our well being. He just doesn't choose to participate in this particular rite of passage. Ahem. So to speak.

And so, last night when I read Joe's emails, even though I knew in my heart that whatever poop was pooped was done so under duress and resistance, I didn't care. No one can walk around that long without GOING. It's just not right. So last night, when I careened around the corner and screeched to a halt in front of my house, I honked the car horn a few times. I jumped out of the car, ran into the house, but. Balls.

I was too late. They were in bed. Screw it, I thought. I burst into the bedroom, all smiles and hellos, and Oliver sat bolt upright in bed and threw his arms open wide and said, "I POOPED! In the TOILET! I get to go to Target!"

Hell, I wouldn't have cared if he had pooped in the tub or on my bed, as long as he pooped. So I scooped that kid up in his fleecey, rocket ship footie pajamas and said, "Well, then we'd better GO! Come on!"

And the three of us piled into the car and drove to Target, where we let him walk around in his pajamas, ride the escalator and pick out a tool kit that matches his chainsaw. He picked it up, and said we had to go pay for it, and he proudly held its handle and marched with his back straight and chin up, to the checkout line. The angel-me on my right shoulder prayed that he wouldn't announce the Target employee that he "POOPED ON THE TOILET!" The devil-me on my left shoulder slyly hoped that he would. Devil-Me lost.

And that's when I lost my mind and forgot I had an iPhone. I didn't even take a picture. But the mental picture I have in my mind will last forever. The entire time we conducted this quasi-illicit trip to Target past bedtime, I was grinning from ear to ear, and I am pretty sure that I hiccuped and, in a flash, my heart came up through my chest, out my mouth and flew to kiss the top of Oliver's head and then back in again, to resume it's job of happily beating and keeping me alive.

This morning, he made a beeline for his tool kit and tinkered with all the pieces for quite some time. After a while he hopped off the couch and came to let me know that he was all done. With what, I asked. I made you a house, he said.

You guys, he made me a house.

Letting the cat out of the bag.

2009-10-26T09:50:00.000-07:00

The only part of the cat still IN the bag is maybe the tail, and a clump of furball, anyway. But, here.

Baby G 2.0, due May 14, 2010.

The Candy Corn of Life...

2009-10-14T10:36:00.000-07:00

Hello, friends and fam.

Where have I been? The answer is everywhere and nowhere. So much is going on the lives of the Grahams these days that I can barely keep my head on straight. I believe that you have to create your own pathways and then actually have the guts to travel down them, but wow. Sometimes there is a lot of mud and piles of who-knows-what to wade through until the path is dry and clear. The possibilities are so exciting and wonderful, but man, you HAVE to put in the time and the hard work. And the knowledge that it's worth it keeps us from poking our own eyes out.

We're in the muddy phase of creating some new adventures for ourselves in regards to work as well as our personal lives. Some of it is the kind stuff you have drop everything and jump on, no matter how busy or tired you are, for fear of passing up an opportunity that could change your life.

So there's that. On top of "that" we are still working furiously toward our remodel of the studio and it has created some strict schedules and zero social life. In summary, there just aren't enough hours in the day if you actually ever want to sleep.

And somehow, life has a way of reminding us that no matter how busy we are working on what we think is important, everything pales in comparison with family situations. Namely, an illness in the family. It's the type of thing that stops the earth from turning and real life from moving forward. I have too much experience on the subject, as far as I am concerned, but that's a story for a later time. Or maybe never.

But most recently, my mom's partner, Dan, had knee replacement surgery. No big whoop in grander scheme of things. Unless you are of the older persuasion and not the pinnacle of health to begin with. He is currently back in the hospital because he was having a hard time breathing and my mom urged him to let her take him in to see a doctor. Turns, out he's got two blood clots on his lungs, and today there will be an ultrasound to see if there was something going on in his leg and if it was traveling up his thigh(BAD).

We just returned home from seeing them last night, and this happened right after we left their house. We will know more today, but basically, if it's just his lungs, they will train Mom to inject him with blood thinner shots and he can go home. If there are more, then he will remain at the hospital for further care and observation.

[UPDATE: Since the above was written, we learned that his leg was clear, and they trained my mom on the injections and released Dan from the hospital. He's doing well thus far...]

I feel so bad for my mom, who has barely slept in the past week since he returned home from his knee surgery and she's doing all the care taking and has basically been lying awake at night making sure he remembers to breathe. And yet... her entire house is decked out in Halloween decor.

And if you knew first hand what that means, you'd know what an amazing feat it must have been even under regular circumstances, let alone coupled with being someone's nurse.

I used to make fun of her fervor for decorating, or over-decorating - there is not one single room or surface NOT containing holiday fanfare. Not one. I have an entire photo album dedicated to documenting this phenomenon. However, on the way to her house the other day, I started getting really excited for Oliver to see all her cool stuff. Like the mini Halloween town that's all set up on top of her roll top desk, and it lights up and makes sounds. And then I remembered that although it was never really as excessive as it is now (save for Christmas), she has always decorated for every holiday since I can remember. Easter, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas. It was magical to me as a child, and I will never ever forget how it felt to come home from school each day to get the holiday tingles all over again as soon as I saw the goofy ceramic pumpkins and clay witch on the kitchen table. And I decided that from now on I am going to copy her.

Oliver was fascinated by the Halloween wonderland at her house, and I am excited to continue the tradition long after he starts making fun of me for it.

So, life, here's to you. You are exciting, infuriating, surprising, and glorious. You are what we make you to be. Thank you for inventing holiday decorations.

*footnote

2009-09-28T09:56:00.000-07:00

I was way off. Oliver woke up at 8pm, watched Parks and Recreation with us while he pretended not to be tired, and I finally got him back to sleep by ten or so.

And do you know what? I was in bed until nine am this morning. I wasn't asleep, but I was in there. I woke up at five (shoot me), peed, fell back to sleep. Woke up at six (shoot Bentley), fell back to sleep after like an hour, and woke up at 8 and laid there listening to everyone stir and shuffle as their bodies woke up. So, fitful, yes, but at least my body didn't have to face the morning before it was good and ready.

Run Ragged.

2009-09-27T19:15:00.000-07:00

Joe is home from his bachelor party weekend at the coast, where he had a fabulous time bonding with his buddies. Oliver is home from near two-day bender at Grandma's. Balance is restored. Almost.

After an epic battle involving poop, holding it, and the toilet (Oliver won, still no poop, despite bribes aplenty), the three of us retired to the sofa for some late afternoon tv watching.

Oliver was using Bentley as a mattress pad and Bentley must have proved to be comfortable because Oliver started slipping off to sleep. But not before he lifted his head and told us to turn the tv off because he was trying to sleep. (I quote: "Turn the tv off please. I'm trying to sleep,") It was only 5:15pm.

I tried to get him up and running for at least another two hours, but he was not having it. He actually requested that we take him to bed. So we cuddled him up in his shark pj's and read some books and sleep swallowed him up before 6 o'clock.

I just hope he really had some catching up to do, and that he sleeps until his regular wake up time. Because if this is just a nap, then he will most likely be up again at ten pm wanting to hang out. Which, I guess, is fine by me. He's my favorite person to hang out with besides Joe, so I wouldn't mind that so much.

It's the possibility of him sleeping through the night and waking up at 5am that chills me to the bone. That is still the middle of the night for this blog poster-dance teacher-winner of the Most Likely To Be Asleep Award in college. It will never. NEVER. Be morning time.

I will be laying my head down on my pillow tonight and crossing my fingers. And some toes, probably, too. Sweet dreams, Boy.

Forsaken

2009-09-26T16:42:00.001-07:00

Joe is out of town this weekend, and I was looking forward to a big weekend of MomandOliver fun. On Friday, before Joe left town, he went to his mom's to change the oil in the car. Oliver tagged along. And there he stayed. He decided that Aunt Chris, Joe's sister visiting from Sisters, was way more interesting and cool. She was going shopping. At the STORE. Where they have STUFF.

So he was commandeered by Aunt Chris and Grandma and taken to WinCo, where he was allowed to walk on the ground and not trapped in the cart. Apparently, he doesn't dart away at the speed of light while at the grocery store with them. When I let him walk with me at the grocery store, he typically dissolves into thin air the instant his feet hit the tile and my heart lurches into my throat and I instantly become constipated with the fear. And then one nano-second later I find him (probably only three feet away) and into the cart he goes. I bribe him with a giant bag of Cheetos that we open WITHOUT PAYING FOR THEM FIRST and let him munch on those during the trip.

Anyway, I went over to Grandma's to pick him up around 4pm, and three hours later I was leaving again, alone. He refused to leave, and Aunt Chris said he could stay and sleep with her. Sigh... Off I go toward home and the certain doom of a fitful sleep.

I know he's only three, but knowing he is there provides me with comfort if Joe isn't home. Maybe it's because nothing scares me if I know I have to protect a child. Plus, he is snuggly beyond reason. But with no one home at all, it's electricity city.

All lights are on. All of them. And the tv. I even sleep with a reading lamp on. I'm a chicken with a capital C.

It turned out okay, though. I mean, I woke up alive and well and not missing any body parts. And there was only one spooky instance where I was watching Ghost Whisperer and an eerie sound occurred. I thought it was the show, but the sound got louder and louder even when I turned down the volume on the set. My skin mo' fo'-in CRAWLED. What the hell is that?

It was Otto. He was asleep and decided in his dream to do some howling. Only it was this weird, dying, guttural moo sound instead of a traditional howl. Very lamenting. Very goddamn scary. I had to go over and gently nudge him so he would snap out of it.

On to today, I called to check on Oliver and apparently driving to Scappoose with Aunt Chris delivers way more street cred than coming to the studio with MOM and watching the hip hoppers. God, I am so lame. Next I will be asked to walk two steps ahead of him at the mall.

Mom of the Year Award Winner (revisited)

2009-09-18T15:13:00.000-07:00

So I usually write about my foibles and Eff-ups as a mom just because I need to get it out there. And because I figure it would provide a nice good dose of "Thank God I am not the only one who has barely kept their kid alive" type feelings in my friends who have children. A prime example would be here.

This morning, Mister Oliver woke up coughing a few times. It was that short, strange barking cough that gives any mom the damn willies. It's just not natural. And it usually means that a cloud of sleep deprivation for everyone in the house is about to descend on us and take residence for about a week.

Once he was up and around, however, there were no more coughs and he seemed fine. I had a tiny sliver of good sense that said, "Evie, you need to keep that boy at home today and make sure he takes it easy". But then the giant log of stupidity reminded me that Joe was to be gone all day and all night at the studio (still working on the Rusty Nail Project) and I didn't want us to be cooped up in the house from morning until bedtime without any sort of fresh air or distractions. Today, I wanted to be Fun Mom. Plus, the three weird coughs stayed merely a memory...

So I called up Miss Jill and invited her on a "hike" around Mt. Tabor. I thought the fresh air would be great for Oliver and give us something fun to do together besides play with Thomas the Tank Engine.

We scooped up Jill, decided we needed to have energy for our "hike" and stopped for lunch first. Then, we meandered up to the section of Mt. Tabor by the amphitheater, parked in the parking lot, and "hiked" over to the playground so Oliver could climb stuff and Jill and I could sit on a park bench. He started to get curious about what else was around us, so continued our trek to check out the amphitheater and followed that with a leisurely stroll down a park path, leading us back to the playground. This time, we sat at a picnic table and Jill and I mused that "doing stuff is tiring".

When Oliver had his fill, we loaded him back in the car and that's when it hit us like a ton of bricks. Poor little buddy was clutching at his belly and whimpering, and asking for his daddy. Obligingly, we drove to the studio where Oliver ran up to Joe and got swept up in Joe's arms, where he basically went limp and laid his head down on Joe's shoulder. We took turns holding him this way because he couldn't decide who was more comforting. It turns out neither of us could magically make him feel better.

Also, he was on fire. Burning up. Oh great. I'm an idiot. Why didn't I keep him home? In an effort to get him home and on the couch, Joe took Jill home and I headed straight for home with Oliver. His face was pale, and he started to doze off.

Basically, in my effort to make Oliver's day really fun-filled and healthy, I over did it and caused him to take a header into Sicksville.

Once home, I got him all snuggled into the couch with his favorite blanket (he also requested to be pantless) and encouraged him to drink his "Super Juice" bubble gum flavored Motrin. It went like this: PLEASE DRINK IT! YOU'RE SICK. IT WILL MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER. PLEASE!, while Oliver shrunk himself into a tiny armadillo-like ball and covered his mouth with his hands while screaming muffled words like "I'm NOT sick!" and "You're damaging me mentally and emotionally and I will probably need therapy when I'm thirty because you chased me with this plunger of pink goo when I was three!" After some sort of bribe, he downed it and I left him to rest and let the medicine do it's thing.

It's been about 20 minutes. He's now jumping on the couch and into my lap, and back on the floor and flitting around his train table, and now I am apparently in charge of making cookies for him.

I guess it's all about extremes with children. So I'm just going to go with that philosophy and punish and reward myself at the same with a batch of fresh-from-the-oven chocolate chip cookies.

The Great Remodel of Oh Nine. (or, The Dear God, I Hope No One Steps On A Rusty Nail Project)

2009-09-12T12:20:00.000-07:00

As with every child, we must at times step back and allow them to grow up. I am doing this with my firstborn, Vega Dance+Lab. When we first moved in, there was no graffiti mural, there was no mirrored wall, there were no awesome JBL speakers, and I didn't even have an iPod.

So accomplishing the above things has been a source of pride and happiness as each new item or change occurred to make the studio better. Husband has had his sights set on fancying up the downstairs lobby, however, since the day we laid eyes on it. But since there were bigger fish to fry in this warehouse space-turned-dance studio, like the mirrors and stereo equipment, etc., we basically achieved the equivalent of putting lipstick on a pig as far as the lobby was concerned.

Upon moving in, all of the lobby walls were faced with white pegboard, and there was a bare concrete floor. The ceiling was sheeted with black plastic. People often asked if it was comprised of lawn and leaf bags. (No.) So, we painted the floor an aqua color, and the pegboard walls a cocoa brown. Well, it was supposed to be a cocoa brown. It ended up looking more mauve and I have hated it ever since. Mauve. Brown-mauve.

There was this little storage area under the stairs that lead up to the studio, and once upon a time, Husband used it as his office. He tried painting it bright yellow to combat the effects of not having windows. In the end, it just served to contribute to his Always On A Computer pallor and he moved out. The natural evolution of that room, of course, would be to become a catchall room for my crap. Costumes, files, craft supplies, books, old phones (???) and a family of raccoons. Seriously, this room was dangerous. I used to go in there to change my clothes, but slowly over time, the piles of Very Important Things With No Official Home grew exponentially until it looked like Monica Geller's secret shame closet.

We are now in the process gutting the entire space, and if you have seen it in person, it looks SO different now, even amidst the dirt and debris and random stray nails. There are boards everywhere where walls have come down, doors taken out, and the Room of Doom is wide open. It's not even a room anymore. There has been zero beautifying done yet, but already, the space is more grown up.

This is all in prep for adding tanning bed rooms (we bought some commercial tanning beds - crazy!) and to form a more mature and welcoming retail space. Whoa. I'm becoming official. And it's all because of Joe. That man has been working his tail off. (And that's too bad, because I rather liked his tail.) There was one morning that he woke up at 3:30am and decided to go in and work on the space. And another night where he stayed there until 5:45am working on it. He just barrels through and doesn't complain. I, on the other hand, do not function with weird sleeping hours like that. I'm likely to start acting like Dan Aykroyd as Louis Winthorpe III in Trading Places, when he was betrayed and destitute and walking around in a Santa suit, grunting at people and stealing hunks of meat from the holiday buffet and hiding them in his beard. It finally got to him that Billy Ray Valentine stole his life and his butler and brought prostitutes into his home for a party, and his only was friend was also a prostitute (because she would never lower herself to STEAL) and he just cracked, man. That right there, that's me when I don't get enough sleep.

Today is the worst day in terms of debris, so I actually had to make of those annoying door signs saying "pardon our dust". It's not clever OR cute, and I tried to think of a better way to say it than that, and truth is, you can't. Because what the sign really means is "Please do not trip over a two-by-four and start gushing blood from your shin because most likely it will get infected and we don't care to pay for the treatment you will need to clear it up". But that might deter folks from actually entering the building. So with great reluctance, I typed WATCH YOUR STEP (and pardon the mess.) See? See how I changed the word "dust" to "mess"? That took about 45 minutes to come up with that one.

Here are some photos!
From the front door:

The far back corner (northeast corner):

The North wall:

The Ex Room of Doom:

There must be bats in my belfry.

2009-09-09T14:29:00.000-07:00

Another conversation with Oliver...

Oliver: Mama, I want to tell a story for you.
Me: Okay! I'm listening! Go!
Oliver: Well... you say "Pick one".
Me: Got it. Pick one!
Oliver (shrugging his shoulders up and holding out his empty hands): Um, I don't HAVE any stories!

He looked at me like I was insane. As if I had asked him if he still had the sweater for my pet iguana in his pocket instead of asking him to "pick" a story that HE wanted to tell me in the first place. What iguana?

Exactly.

Check up Year Three

2009-09-04T13:21:00.001-07:00

Today we took Oliver to the doctor for his Three Year Checkup.

Stats: 34 pounds, 37.5 inches tall.

Do you HEAR me? My kid is gaining on me. He will be as tall as me by the time he's five years old. Doc says he's gonna be a tall kid, at least as tall as his dad, but that was his safe guess. He said probably taller.

Next came the hospital gown. I do not care to see my beloved child in a hospital gown. Yes, it had Taz and Tweety and Bugs Bunny on it, and it was to give our doctor easier access to scope Oliver out for whether or not we were beating him, but it gave me the creeps. We pretended it was a cape, though, and all was well.

Then he got a flu shot, which was a nasal spray. One up each nostril. And just when his eyes were watering and he was recovering from that surprise, *stick!*, he gets a shot in the arm.

Joe had no idea Oliver was getting shots today, so he instantly decides to take Oliver to St. Cupcake for a Bravery Reward. (I was pretty brave, too, so I got myself a cupcake. Okay, two cupcakes.)

But then, THEN, I decide we need to go to the grocery store today. And do you know what my husband did? He did this:
"Hey - I am making a list for the grocery store. Is there anything I should put on there?"

"I am eliminating all junk food. I am tired of Oliver eating like POO.If you need anything special, we can hide it in the attic."

This from the dude who got his kid a fatty, sugary treat for a lousy shot in the arm. A shot he doesn't even remember he got. And the statement was made to a woman who already had the following on her list:

cottage cheese
apples
bananas
activia yogurt
milk
bread
eggs

But according to Joe, my list probably had things like frozen pizza, hot pockets, ding dongs and Mountain Dew on it. You might be able to imagine how I wished I had a cast iron skillet and how I also wished that you could G Skillet instead of G Chat over the internet.

Maybe I will check the attic. Apparently, I will be keeping all of my pork rinds up there from now on.

I clearly know what I am doing...

2009-08-21T09:16:00.000-07:00

Parenting is a snap.

Modesty

2009-08-13T12:55:00.000-07:00

Oliver: Rock a bye, Bay-bee. In the tree top... when the wind blows the cragle will fawwwl. Down come Bay-bee, cragle and awwwwwl.

Daddy: You're a great singer!

Oliver: Nahhh, I'm just a kid.

The Herd Reunion 2009

2009-08-11T13:48:00.000-07:00

When I was in college (albeit Central Washington University), I made friend with these people. We went everywhere together, ate together, slept in the same rooms. Some jackass referred to us as "The Herd" once, and we hated it. But of course, the name stuck and my adult self thinks it's a great name.

We can not see each other for years, as we have all moved around at some point in our lives, but when we get together it's always lots of hugging and catching up, and then the teasing starts and doesn't stop until we pass out. It's good natured teasing, and everyone is being laughed with and not at. Leslie (the blonde one) inevitably breaks the seal on the "I Love You, Man", and it's just about the nicest thing in the world (that we also make fun of).

This year, this particular grouping of The Herd has not been together in the same room for like 14 years. 14! Yikes! Long enough for Mikael (the one behind the sofa who isn't me) to develop a Southern accent. It's Britney, Bitch. It's an adorable and likeable accent, though, and it played in my mind for days after our gathering.

The stories with all of these friends are countless, and hilarious. The kind you can tell to a new friend and make them feel like they were there, too. Stolen bicycles for joyriding, barfcicles, wwi (walking while intoxicated), bad boyfriends who wore braided belts, selling plasma for drinking money, throwing a couch off the balcony because we didn't want it anymore... the list goes on.

I love you guys.
(back row: Evie and Mikael. front row: Leslie, Amy, Kathryn)

Hey guys, I'm just hangin' out here on the couch. You know, casual-like.

2009-08-04T17:45:00.001-07:00

For real.

2009-07-31T09:04:00.000-07:00

I'm on vacation. I took this week off and I am highly considering not teaching my classes next week either, but still going to back to work in the mornings. I have not taken time off for relaxation purposes in years. And I mean years. And I have discovered that vacation exists for a reason. A good reason. Like, if I didn't just throw my hands up and say "I'm on vacation starting right NOW", something bad would have happened. Like, maybe my purple bangs would have all fallen out, or instead of smiling and saying, "Sure, I will extend your class package for you, even though you have not been here in a year", I would have pulled out my plastic archery kit with the suction cup darts and shot one right between their eyes.

So, while I continue to work on Oliver's Third Birthday Love and Laugh Fest Post, I thought I would pop in to say hello to my internet friends all the way from Sunny Portland.

Cripes, it's hot! Day Two of Grahamily Vacation consisted of getting the hell out of Dodge for a few days of camping. We planned on going lakeside somewhere up near Government Camp, but I checked the weather the night before we left and the forecast up there was also hot. So we shifted gears and headed to the beach. It was so lovely!

Our campsite was for ATV riders, so there were tons of fifth wheel trailers, with fun-loving people who ride around the sand on their four wheelers. Basically, no one was ever around during the day because they were all at the dunes. And they came home around ten pm and went in those trailers and fell asleep. No partiers, no screaming kids (except mine) running all over the place, and our camp site was still pretty private, even if those things would have been going on. Plus, it was close to the bathrooms.

Bathrooms. That is how I camp. I still get dirty, and I still cook my food over the fire and I still eat that food, even when dirt gets on it, or eat the chips out of the bag that the squirrels raided while we were asleep. And I don't really even mind peeing in the woods. But sooner or later one or two things will happen:

1) It will get dark. I do not pee in the Murder Woods, which is what the trees and shrubs become the instant the sun goes down.

2) I will have to poop. You know what? I'm already dirty and skipping my tv shows and peeing in Murder Woods. Don't make me poop there, too.

So when we found our site, I was impressed by the proximity of the bathrooms. There were no showers in there or anything, so people didn't hover about hogging it and making noise.

We brought the bravest camping dog out of all three of our dog brood: Mona.

I never would have guessed it, but we have taken our dogs camping before and I thought for sure she would bolt, or get eyed for a rabbit and swooped up by a hawk. Except our other dogs turned out to be pansies about camping and she was awesome. She is very quiet, doesn't bark or whine and follows us around everywhere. At night, we made her a bed by the fire and she curled up in there and slept until it was time to head into the tent.

We took her to Barview Jetty on Wednesday and let her off the leash and she transformed into a mini Greyhound, chasing the seagulls and Oliver and me all over the sand. One time she chased a seagull a little close to the waves, though, and I had a sudden vision of her getting carried away by them. She's only 15 pounds of Boston Terrier, so I decided that was the end of the running-toward-the-ocean game.

She got hurt at some point and never complained. I noticed she walked funky on the sand, so I checked out her paw and it was all abraded and bloody and sandy and scabby. What a tough broad. (secretly though, Mona, I will be getting you those dog shoes next time. Even though Joe would drop dead of embarrassment. But you're my girl, and I got your back.)

We had a photo shoot one night (me holding the camera as far back with my arm as possible and taking self portraits) and I turned out looking psychotic every time, while Joe and Oliver remained polished looking and beautiful. Picture diary of this:
Cute Boys:

Enter Crazy:

I have no idea why I had the whites of my eyes showing, like I was about to have my soul taken over by Jason's mom and wipe out the entire camp. In my mind, I was making a smiley, happy, glad-to-be-here face. Feeling they had an unfair advantage of being naturally photogenic at all times, I forced Joe to make an ugly face:

And finally, I tried closing my eyes more to the point they felt closed, and that did the trick:

Perhaps I had a hard time because I was drinking this:

As for the Camping Boy, he was wonderful. He loved gathering firewood with Joe, and throwing golf balls into the trees for Mona to fetch (only he usually fetched his own balls and screamed at Mona that the ball was "Mine! No Mona! It's my balllll!"). He ate lots of snacks and PB & J's, and he snuggled into one of our laps at fire time and hunkered down until bed time.

We took him to Tillamook Cheese Factory and he was so excited that I was beginning to think "Man, this kid doesn't even eat cheese. What's the fuss?" But when we entered, I kept hearing him mutter to himself, "where's the mouse?" or "I want to find the toys"... uh oh. I slowly came to sinking realization that he got this confused with the commercials on television for Chuck E, Cheese*. He made it through the place without incident or complaint, though, which to me is a big deal. Can you imagine thinking you are arriving at Nordstrom for a shopping spree, only to find that you are instead at The Dollar Store? Your plans for buying a new pair of shoes, a matching bag and some MAC makeup have been diminished to some fake flowers, a fly swatter and a pink neon ballpoint pen? I would not handle that as well as Oliver did.

The fresh air did us all some good, for sure. And it only took two days of it. I can't imagine what a few extra days would do...

* We did take Oliver to the real Chuck E. Cheese on Friday just because we felt so bad that the whole time we were pumping him up for the Tillamook Cheese Factory, he thought we were going to the other place. It wasn't as germy as we thought, and he loved it there. Mommy rocked the skeeball.

Dear Oliver...

2009-07-22T19:47:00.000-07:00

It seems so cliche to say "I can't believe you are already three years old", but really, I just can't. Or rather, I don't want to. I love all of the new things you learn and do every day and I would not trade that for anything in the world.
August 2008:

More recent:

But... the faster you grow, the faster you grow up, and then one day you'll be all "Maaaawwwm, DON'T drop me off in the front of the schoooooool. I toooooold you no one's mom does that." And I'll be all "yeah, but no one else's mom drives a convertible PT Cruiser and decided to bring neon scrunchies back in style. Now lean over and give your mom a kiss. On the lips." And then I will ruffle your hair and you'll forget on purpose to grab your lunch sack, so I will have to roll the window down and call for you in front of your friends, while I extend my arm out of the car shaking the bag. "Oliver! Yoohoo! Hey Mister Silly Forgets-a-lot! I have your lunch! I cut crusts off like you like, and also put your acne medicine in here so you won't forget to take it! Oh! And I wrote you a note, but DON'T OPEN IT until lunchtime!" And then you will fall over dead because the embarrassment killed you.

This whole year has amazing in terms of you going from talking a little bit to reciting full poems. Okay, not poems, but you say things like "do you know where my train is?" and "can you open this box for me while I reflect on the misgivings I had about turning three?" It's bizarre to me.

Some things that occurred over the year...You suffered an asthma attack back in the winter time that had us totally freaking out. Your breaths per minute were outrageously high and we had to take you to the doctor to put you on a breathing apparatus with medicine in it to get your lungs to chill the eff out.

Your auntie Jessica moved away in November and we both miss her terribly. She didn't even live here right before her move, but we saw her in Seattle like, all the time. So now you and I get on the computer and have video chats with her as much as we can. We also get to see Cyrus and Walter this way, too.

Of course, your BFF is Milo. We visit Mindy and Milo at their house quite often and Mindy I drink our coffee and chat about... oh, I don't know... groceries and diapers and what we make our husbands for dinner. Wait. We don't do that. I mean, sometimes we do, but mostly we talk about more important things, like shoes and So You Think You Can Dance.

It's so funny that you adore Mindy and Milo so much and you love going to their house, but when you find out that they are on their way, you make me hide your favorite stuff because you don't want Milo to "take it". I try to explain that he won't take it, but you don't care. You're three, and you're still struggling with these ideas of sharing. So I tell you that whatever you don't hide is game on for sharing with Milo and it seems to work out okay. Once your precious whatevers are tucked away, then you ask me over and over when Mindy and Milo are going to get here.

We celebrated your birthday with a bang this year, since last year's birthday was such a sad bummer for us. We lost Grandpa on your exact birthday, and we ended up watching you open your birthday presents after he was gone, us in a daze, and you oblivious. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, it being your birthday, because you certainly lightened the mood.

But this year, we went up to Grandma Rita's house and I can't believe the mountain of gifts that piled the table. It was unreal. It was like everyone else wanted to shower you with the big celebration you missed last year, plus this one.

Uncle Michael took you and your cousin Farrah on bike rides and you loved it when he went really fast!

You love singing and dancing and we sing together all the time. Once, when I was rehearsing for a show, I got one of the songs stuck in my head and would sing one line from it over and over. Then one day, out of the blue, you woke me from a dead sleep by singing that line right in my ear: "I FOUND you, Miss New BOO-tie!" I even laughed right away, without any coffee.

You are almost there with the potty training, too. When we are at home, you rock your big boy Thomas the Train underpants, and they are hilarious. You just started going to the bathroom on your own. We tried the mini-potty training toilet, but you mostly just played with it and were only interested in the big person toilet. We decided not to rush you and just let you decide when you were ready. The M&M reward thing was not a motivator for you. You do NOT like to be bribed into doing ANYTHING at all. (And when you look back at your 3rd year photos, you will see an example of this by way of your hair. You hate haircuts and think they hurt, so I am reduced to stealing snippets of hair off your forehead when you least expect it. And now your look like Dwight Schrute from The Office.) So far, you have only peed your pants once, and that was the first day I decided to take your diaper off at home. You hated peeing through your underwear and begged for a diaper, which I gave you so you would trust me to help you. But the next day I tried underwear again and you have gone to the bathroom every single time on your own. This does not include Number Two. THAT, darling, is a post in itself.

This doesn't really even sum up what an incredible year it has been with you. I think all in all, you are still a very sweet and kind person. Yesterday, in the pool, you were having so much fun that you threw your arms around my neck and said and said I was your best friend. THAT sums you up pretty accurately. You're awesome.

Love, Love, Love,
Miss New Bootie

The Magic Number

2009-07-16T15:51:00.001-07:00

Oliver turns three tomorrow. Whoa. WHOA. I just went back and re-read some old posts from when he was born. What an awesome three years this has been. With the awesomest person I know. I plan to write him a Happy Birthday Letter, which I will post here, but for now, I just wanted to post an acknowledgment in case I don't get to the letter on time.

Tomorrow we leave for Grandma Rita's (formerly known as T-Rita, or, Tyrannosaurus Rita) house up in Arlington, WA. Saturday we have the party, complete with astronaut and outer space decor, and cupcakes. Oh, party hats. And presents.

Because we have had countless conversations with Oliver that go like this:

Anyone: Oliver! What do you want for your birthday?
Oliver: Party hats!

and

Anyone: Oliver! What do you want for your birthday?
Oliver: Presents!

Got it covered, kid.

Thank you, Makers of Weirdo Things That I Love Because They are Weirdo.

2009-06-03T10:42:00.001-07:00

First, let me say that I am probably late in the game to discover Plasticland, but I love this website.

Next, after gracing my eyeballs with one glorious cute thing after another, I also found this shower curtain amongst such items as the little bunny foo foo necklace (which I want hard)
and these adorable shoes.

I feel like this company was created for crazy coots like me. I can't believe anyone even thought of this:

Dear Life:

2009-06-02T12:08:00.000-07:00

Please restore the balance. Soon. OR maybe you have and I just didn't notice? I will go check under the bed and behind the curtains...

Love,
Lost in Limbo
aka In Between Big Events

Dear Internet,

2009-05-25T00:02:00.000-07:00

Okay, well not the entire internet, but anyone who actually checks into the Ferocious G Headquarters (my leopard print chair tucked in the corner of my teensy living room):

Today, I cheated on my 12-hunnert-calorie-a-day diet (including no beef, pork, or alcohol) and ate from a hot dog platter - HOT. DOG. PLATTER*.- and drank my weight in vodka, tonic and Crystal Light Lemonade. Topped off with two Coors Lights.

It was glorious.

Typing this was difficult, due to my inebriation.

~f.g.

*Husband heard my desperate wails of what I would eat this Memorial Day weekend if only we weren't calorie restricted (self imposed), and cheffed up a gorgeous platter of sliced baguette (the buns), grilled slices of Johnsonville bratwurst, teeny condiment bowls of sauerkraut, ketchup, and brown pub mustard. Points for presentation! After ten years of being with this man, he completely summed up our relationship by this particular token of his affection, listening skills, pretend obliviousness to my diet-cheating, and downright shared love of junk food. He's good people.

Spider! Run! Wait, kill it! Wait, run! No, kill it, no get out now! Okay! No, kill it!...

2009-05-22T13:03:00.000-07:00

After doing a giant army of dishes and preparing our food for the day and night, I rewarded myself with sitting on the patio to talk to Friend Amory for a few minutes.

Someone decided to walk their dog down the street, which caused my own dogs to completely lose their marbles and create a barking chaos. I got up, calmed them down, and walked back to my chair.

Resting right by where my shoulder had previously been, was this thing:

(Not actual spider from my patio, but this is the same kind)

I briefly froze in terror before realizing that I needed to act. I hate spiders, and I have seen what a poisonous spider can do when it bites a dog (in the face, it was gross, and thank god it wasn't my dog. She lived, but still...) so I made Oliver get back in the house, and called all the dogs in as well.

I was going to stay in the house and hide under the bed with my brood, but then realized that I could never go back outside again unless I removed that spider from my life. And from the world.

I even thought of taking a picture of this particular spider, but it looked like it was going to jump on me. So I aborted that documentary mission. I like my skin without poison in it more than I like showing the internets that I was not even kidding about how beastly this spider was.

So I did what any normal, arachnophobe would do: I grabbed a rolling pin. I scanned my space for a shoe, but then quickly discarded the idea in favor of not having to know that one of my shoes once had evil guts on it. I mean, what if this thing is messy when I smash the hell out of it? Plus, I have two rolling pins. I barely roll things out with a rolling pin, let alone two rolling pins. I could throw one away after I get it gnarled with legs and teeth and bad intentions.

I approached the spider. It looked at me. And then it moved around the post so that it was out of sight. I went at it from the other direction. It moved back the other way. Oh great. It's smart. We did this dance several times, punctuated with me needing to retreat back into the house and shake for a few seconds.

Finally, I banged the chair and the spider jumped from it's post and took it's time gliding to the ground on it's stupid ugly devilish string. Once it landed, it didn't scurry like spiders do. It just crawled. Toward me. I gave it a good thwack with the rolling pin. MISS! Thwack. Contact. THWACK THWACK! The end.

You're welcome. I just saved us all from this thing. What if it was on its way to your house? I mean, I looked up the spider on the internet right after our epic battle, and found out it's not hazardous to humans, but still. That thing almost gave me a heart attack, and how is that not hazardous? Who would take care of Joe and Oliver? Hmm?

Why am I even surprised?

2009-05-22T10:23:00.000-07:00

I just finished watching So You Think You Can Dance. I cried (hard) several times throughout the two hours it was on, and even though it was a long show, I was caught off guard when it was over. I was shocked, thinking NO! I'm not ready! Come back! I could have watched it all day.

There were very few "funny" auditions, which I appreciated. They gave us what we wanted, which was some good dancing. Yes, there were some crazies, but they were still trying do an honest day's work up there, even though they weren't the best. The judges are so respectful of every person who bravely takes that stage, and they give credit where credit is due, every time.

My eyes are tearing up just thinking about how that show makes me feel. I wish to God I could dance like some of those people, but since I can't, I feel the utmost gratitude toward the universe for providing us with these beautiful dancers to dance for us. My eyeballs will never be the same.

Most memorable tear-jerkers:

1)Umbrella Guy. (although, he should have kept his explanation of the umbrella short and sweet. He saw that they liked where he was going with it, and decided to try and be profound. But it didn't ruin it completely. It just stopped my bawling.)
2)Grandparents Girl
3)Katee's Roomate

UPDATE: I can't stop thinking about the hair do on Sonya Tayeh. I think I want that.

Potty Training Setback #17Lame-illion

2009-05-21T12:05:00.000-07:00

It's been established that after several bouts of doctor-visit-worthy constipation, The Boy became afraid of going poop. Who can blame him? If you've ever been constipated, you know the pain. And the fear. If you have ever given birth, and endured the subsequent "first b.m. after a bowling ball sized MOVING human came out of you" you also know that pain and fear. Sweating, burning, hair-raising, Friday the 13th/first 15 minutes of Scream/the end of the Ring where the girl comes out of the well (and the tv - ahhhh!)/Don King's hair type of fear. And we're all rational adults. He's not even three.

So I really feel for Oliver, and I have read and learned from the doctor that this will set him back even from peeing in the toilet, let alone, figuring how to poop in there.

About a year ago, he was super excited to pee in the toilet and did it all the time (insert blowing air on my nails and buffing them on my shoulder here). But then came sicknesses, and resulting constipation suffering, and the treatment - not.cool. - that had to remedy that situation. This caused a retreat from the toilet fascination (insert falling facial expression of "awwww, retract mental pat on the back" here).

Over the last weekend, we accidentally discovered that if he was just naked, he would be more inclined to whiz in the toilet. 86% of the time, anyway.

Therefore, this morning, I removed his PJ bottoms and diaper and let him roam around in the buff from the waist down. I told him to use the toilet if he had to pee. He nodded his head.

Later, I was drying my hair, when I heard "Mommy, I peed out here." Oh no. Again, "Mommy, I peed in the living room."

I came out to find that he had peed on the coffee table and part of the rug. Sighing, I began the cleanup process and found the remote control under the table. It had taken the brunt of the pee-fest. I carried it, full of pee, to a towel where it could dry in the sun. Results?

a) it stinks.
b) it no longer works.
c) I just read Strippy Longstocking, and realized that I need to set my dvr to record my favorite show, So You Think You Can Dance, and now I can't. Because it only works through the remote.
d) the remote that got peed on.

Or rather, pee me a river.

Twelve hunnert.

2009-05-21T09:23:00.000-07:00

Sounds like a big number, unless you are referring to calories consumed in an entire day. And I am referring to that. I don't know why I got the bug up my bu - eew! - I mean, bee in my bonnet - that's nicer- to do this, but I'm doing it.

I make comments a lot about missing cheese and booze, and pasta, but really it's not that bad. I'm making it work. Although, I really miss cheese and booze and pasta.

I have no idea how old this picture is, but ohmygod.

2009-05-20T17:52:00.001-07:00

Hip Hop? That sounds like something a rabbit would listen to!

2009-05-19T08:31:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I choreographed a new hip hop combo for my class at Vega, and it turned out to be something I am pretty proud of. It's fun to do, it keeps people moving and I like looking at it. Then, I helped people at the desk as fast as I could and zoomed back upstairs to take Allison's hip hop class that follows mine on Mondays.

Holy boom boom pow, it was so cool! I haven't been able to take her class in months, and that well was running dry. It's important to me to take other classes when I can (which is hardly ever) to keep myself on my toes. Or else, where is the inspiration? I think I was using all of mine up. RESTORED!

After Allison's class, I met with our hip hop crew, Push Jones, and filled them in on some upcoming plans for performances (to be posted here as soon as I have deets), and then we started learning a new piece together. People on dance companies come and go during the first year, whether the company is large or small, and then it settles into what the team is supposed to be. Last night, I got a taste of what this team is supposed to be, after some recent shuffling around of members. And I realized we're very unique and not your average crew... and THAT, is very exciting. It reminded me that the audience will never know what we are going to throw at them.

We ate cupcakes, someone said the word "chode", which I forgot was even a word, we laughed, we danced, we went home.

Here's the music behind all the dancing, if you are looking for some really cool songs:

Evie's class - "High Price" by Ciara ft. Ludacris
Allison's class - "Ice Cream Paint Job" by Dorrough
New Push Jones number - "Pennies" by The Cool Kids

More of a tweet than a blog...

2009-05-11T12:08:00.000-07:00

Upon retreating to bed early last night due to a pinched nerve in my neck (Why, God, why?), Husband peeked in the bedroom and proudly told me how he had cleaned the kitchen and prepared my coffee for the morning. The timer was set to brew me the pot at 8am.

When I woke this morning, I padded to the kitchen, yawned, and grabbed a mug. I stopped short at the sight of the coffee pot, which was filled with clear hot water. He forgot to put the coffee in the filter.

It's a lot of effort for me to laugh in the morning, pre-caffeination, so I slightly smiled, thought about laughing, and started over.

Dear Every Boy I Know,

2009-05-01T08:21:00.000-07:00

Just thought you would want to know about The Cheesus Burger.
Instead of buns, there are grilled cheese sandwiches.
Click here. This is real and it's right here in Portland.

Big Boy Bed

2009-04-29T19:49:00.000-07:00

I just kind of remembered about how my mom got a new bed. And I'm not sure of the details, but somehow she ended up with two brand new king-sized mattresses. Apparently, she's not worried about the brand new, 8-pound, 6-ounce baby Jesus giving her the stink eye for keeping the accidental second mattress. Or, rather, offering it to me.

It has gotten to the point in our family where Joe just ends up on the couch at about 4 o'clock in the morning every night. Oliver inevitably pads into our bedroom and climbs in with us, and then eventually positions himself as the crossbar of the Letter H in the middle. Mostly I am lucky enough to get the head end of his little body, because man, his feet just knead into my ribs perpetually through the night. Like giant kitten feet.

Add to that, Bentley feels the need to paste himself to Joe at all times and bed time is his shining opportunity. Mona curls up on Joe's pillow and buries herself into his neck.

So Joe sleeps this way as long as he can until it's time to vacate the bed. Bentley and Mona usually foil his plans, though, and end up sprawled with Joe on the couch...

And this brings us to deciding to make our tiny bedroom like that Surface of the Moon ride in Revenge of the Nerds and get a king-size bed to go with that free king-size mattress. Our room will pretty much be all bed, with a door on it.

After doing some measurements the below bed is what will fit and also it's really cool. We are going to put a stencil on it of something rad:

It's good timing, too, because I am going to need a bigger bed to accommodate the ice cream I am about to eat. With Magic Shell on it.

Oh, hi. I didn't recognize you with your beard.

2009-04-28T12:21:00.000-07:00

I know. It's been a long time since I have posted an update. Frankly, I just didn't have anything that great to say, unless I wanted to commemorate my back-to-back illnesses that made me feel like whatever it is a cat pukes up after eating out of a back-alley Chinese food joint's Dumpster.

Well, now I've gone and done commemorated that.

In other news, Oliver is still my favorite person EVER, which is saying a lot since I have so many favorite people.

After returning from a Sugar Q road trip Sunday night, I went to the bathroom, took out my signature purple flower, and washed my face.

Oliver, handing me my flower: Mom, you put pink flower in your hair?

Me: That's a purple flower!

Oliver: Mom, you put purple flower in your hair?

Me: [I accept the flower from his outstretched hand and put it back in my hair]

Oliver: NOW you're better!

Apparently, he appreciates me more when I accessorize.

Watching paint dry.

2009-04-10T09:25:00.000-07:00

I am currently awaiting the arrival of The Cable Guy. He has 25 minutes left to remain in the "on-time window".

I got up at 7am this morning to prepare the house for a stranger to come over, and I even put on a bra.

*YAWWWWWN*

He's still not here. What would I be doing if I had a day job?

"Excuse me, boss? I am going to out of the office for a bit because I have to be at home when the cable company sends their technician over to install cable television."

"I guess that's fine. How long do you think you will be out?"

"About 3 to four weeks, if they do indeed come on time."

"You're fired."

A solution I can live with...

2009-04-03T10:47:00.000-07:00

And now, we rest.

2009-03-31T09:55:00.000-07:00

Once again, I get to have Thursdays dedicated to Husband and The Boy. Well, after I get home from the dance class, but still, it's early compared to coming home at midnight. It's going to feel like that Three-Day-Weekend-Feeling. You know that feeling? Like that.

But the reprieve (I mean sad sad awful absence!) is only for a short time, as Sugar Q's current production, Spanktasia, will resume again in May. Our opening night is on my birthday, in fact, so if you haven't seen the show yet (or even if you have) it would be just de-lovely to have you in our audience that night. As long as you promise not to throw tomatoes at me. Okay, as long as they are only grape tomatoes...

Sugar Q Burlesque Club
every Thursday in May 2009 @
Hawthorne Theatre Lounge
Portland, OR
8:30, $10