Day 7: Cracker Barrel

 

During vacation week we had a get together at Cracker Barrel with all the kids who used to hang out at playgroups, but are now in different schools.  Here's my kids and Beckie's kids out front as we were leaving. This was the day that I painstakingly gathered up all the barely-used crayons, putting one red, one blue, one yellow back in each box so that they wouldn't get thrown out when the table was cleared.  Jacob carried the crayons to the hostess desk for me and handed to the lady so she could put them back with the other crayons.  But instead she turned around and tossed them right in the garbage.  

I almost had a heart attack.

Does it matter to you if the crayons your kids use are sterile and have never been used before?  I can't figure out a reason why the hostess would have thrown the crayons out instead of just putting them back in the basket.  I've found a place where I can send my used crayons, so I'm going begin a project to collect as many crayons, that would have otherwise gone to a landfill, and send them in for re-use as well.

Day 6: Do you think it was his 100th day or something?

Ok, so I missed a few days, or a week.  I sort of forgot to take in account that we were going out of town for a while during vacation week.  So I'll just pick back up where I left off, there's no use trying to catch up on a whole week's worth of posts.  Now it's Wednesday again, so I can just pretend that the days in between didn't happen.

Here's a photo of Jacob with all the things he came home with on his 100th day of school!  Yippee.  Must they do this to us?  What do we need with all these stupid papers that come home everyday?  But seriously, this is not the kind of academic work I expect Jacob to be doing in school.  Putting 100 stickers on a sheet of paper?  A bookmark, a certificate, special 100 day glasses...I do like the school Jacob is in right now, but I don't think I'll be sad to have him move on at the end of the year.

Day 47: My Little Barbie Centaur

You like? It's a new toy I'm going to be pitching to Mattel. I think they're going to sell like hotcakes!

Not really. Last weekend after Marisa's birthday party my sister and I sat down to go through her (Marisa's) closet to make room for new stuff. First off, simply opening the closet is risky enough; it's waist-high piles of clothes and toys. But we made it through, with minimal refereeing from my mother. See, my sister has a paycheck with which she buys things. I do not. I make things.

I've been thrust into many situations with my sister this summer and I'm trying to understand how we ever came from the same family, let alone the same planet. I don't think I will ever have an answer to that, but I have come to a very basic definition of how we differ:

Nicole: works all day = paycheck = money = buys things
Stacey: work all day making things = no paycheck

I've simply cut out the middle man, that doesn't mean that I'm above having money. I would love to have money, but right now my main commodity is my time. For instance, we brought in a nice harvest from the backyard today so we don't have to go to the store and buy that food. That's because I'm home during the day to maintain the garden. My sister has to spend money to buy those things.

It's a simple equation, but neither of us understands the others' lifestyle. At all. And that's where things fall apart.

Anyway, the whole point to this crazy looking animal is that when we were going through Marisa's closet my sister pulled out things and announced they were for the garbage pile, and I either screamed, "Nooo, RECYCLING!" or "Noooo, I can make something out of that!" or "Nooo, I can FIX that!" Seriously, she wanted to throw out everything, including perfectly useful stuff and I was freaking out because I don't understand why it's so difficult to recycle something instead of dump it. She'd rather have been done with the whole project because she had to go to work in the morning.

So to be funny I took this Barbie head (actually from a Bratz doll) and the body of a My Little Pony out of her garbage pile and said I could make something with them. Then it came to me that they would go perfectly well together. I got out the hot glue gun and viola. And now that I've written about my sister and me and our differences, I see this hybrid doll as a metaphor for our relationship. We are two completely different people, and when we are together we make about as much sense as this freaky doll.

And now that I have gone and assigned the centaur a metaphorical meaning I must call it art and keep it forever. Great.

Halloween

Here's another in a long line of belated blog reports: Halloween 2009 - Dorothy, Pooh and Tigger.

Though Pooh was being quite uncooperative when it
came time for the photos.

Pooh also insisted on constantly removing her socks
and shoes in the carseat.

And here's some of the family on one of
our many, many stops that night.

Overall it was a miserable, cold, sopping wet, rainy Halloween and I was so glad when it was over!

A New Man In My Life

For a couple weeks now I've been cheating. His name is Reggie. He is sweet, gorgeous (but that's not why I love him), and I can tell by the way he responds to my petting, that he is needy. When we first saw each other, it was love at first sight. Well, I can't speak for him, I guess, and he's sort of a quiet guy, so there's really no telling what exactly is going on in his mind. I feel very guilty that I'm going behind Zach's back, but I can't stop loving Reggie. Zach has no idea yet, but Reggie is coming to live with us. It's just a question of when and how it's going to go down.

You see, I met Reggie at the pet store when I was in there looking for litter box pellets. I didn't even have in mind that I might meet someone, but all of a sudden there he was across the room. Even though I was a good ten feet away and didn't have my glasses on, I knew it. I approached him with my children in hand, squatted down to his level and looked around to make sure no one else could see us and I cracked open his cage to give some much-needed attention.

You have guessed by now that Reggie is of the non-human variety. He's a rabbit. I have a sweet spot for rabbits - always have. We used to have four, now we're down to three. They are 7, 7 and 6 years old, and they can live to 11 or 12 years. I think Zach is sort of waiting for the rabbit thing to run it's course, but even so, over the years we've seen other rabbits that have caught our attention and we've wanted to give them a home. We've always come to our senses, but this time is different. Of the rabbits who live with us now, none of them were planned. We brought them home one-by-one as we found them in the shelter or living in someone's basement under a milk crate with potato peels for food.

Reggie is at the pet store because his owner, who was an employee at the pet store, passed away. When I was there that first day, a girl who works there saw me so I started asking her questions about Reggie. That's when I learned his name, age (6) and circumstances. When I was checking out at the counter I casually mentioned to the girl checking me out that Reggie was really sweet, and that the first employee had told me he was going to live at the pet store as sort of a 'house bunny', but to please take my name down incase he ever needed a home.

I have rendezvoused with Reggie three times since then, always going back to the pet store with some lame excuse. On the third time I was there, an employee who knows me well (Em) came over while I was visiting with Reggie. She had heard I was in love with him and I explained how I'd sort of given them my name, but that I was in no position to actually take Reggie home, and that Zach would kill me if he knew I was even considering it. But then next time I came back, the Em came over and told me how she was 'working on it' to have the pet store peeps let me take him home. I got all, "No, noooo, I can't do that!" But then felt the call to duty. Em said she could tell Reggie was depressed and that he needed a new home. She didn't agree with the majority, and added that I'm the only person she would consider sending him home with.

So before I knew it, and without me even planning it, I am in the works to become Reggie's new number 1 human. Uh-oh. I don't care. It's fate. How else can you explain the way I was drawn to him from across the room? Or felt his presence in my heart before I even saw him with my eyes? Some people feel this way about having a baby, or meeting their soulmate. Well Reggie is one of my soulmates. I don't believe in one actual soulmate for a person, but rather that there are many soulmates for each of us, human or non-human, who we are destined to meet and have our paths cross for a while.

While Zach still has no idea about any of this, I'm already busy making plans in my head, and preparing the other rabbits for an expanded family. I've been making another attempt to get them all to get along. In our rabbit family it's the first two against the last one, and they tear each other apart if they ever are out of their cages together. But this time I am determined to get them to get along so we can have one big, happy rabbit family.

The cheaper, more natural, better-for-you way to clean

A friend e-mailed me last month with link to this blog post about using oil to clean your face. I also read the one about cleaning your hair without shampoo. I'm not going to get uber-detailed here because it's all there on the Simple Mom website, but I will say that I have been doing both and I think both methods are fantastic. I highly recommend them!

Right away I tried the shampoo-free method by mixing a little bit of baking soda with water (I just eye ball it as I do everything, but they suggest 1 tablespoon to 1 cup of water). It supposedly takes a transition time for your hair to get used to not having to overcompensate by producing more oil, but I had no trouble with that.

From the first time I used it, my hair was really soft and awesome. I've always had so much trouble with my curly, fine hair and getting into these awful cycles of using more product to combat the product that I used for problem X, Y, Z. Since the baking soda the only product I've used is a tiny bit of hairspray to add a little texture to my post-baby wings (moms know what I'm talking about) from where the hair is growing back in after losing it in chunks. They recommend using apple cider vinegar as a rinse, but I haven't done that yet simply because I keep forgetting to buy it. What I'm doing is just using a little bit of conditioner - a fraction of what I used before - after the baking soda mixture (or is it a solution?). Each time I wash my hair I actually use less and less conditioner.

My hair's better than it's ever been. Way less frizzy, the curl holds all day long without product, way less snarly. I think everyone should try it! Oh, and the best part about it is that I spend way less time on my hair than before!

I'm also doing the washing-your-face-with-oil one too. I'm wicked excited about that too, but am thinking this one will be a little more gross to some people. I mixed equal parts extra virgin olive oil and castor oil (the only thing I didn't already have on hand), a few drops of lavender oil, and some baobab oil for kicks just because I had it. I've been using oils therapeutically and to replace other moisturizers for years anyway, so this was right up my alley. I love it. That's all I can really say until you try it yourself.


wash my hair with baking soda and water, and wash my face with the oil mixture.

My Sigg

Danielle called me up a couple weeks ago to ask me if I'd heard the news about the My Sigg water bottles. "What?!?!" I yelled when she told me that the company had just admitted to their water bottle containing BPA. We have five of those water bottles and I bought them over two years ago because they were widely believed to be BPA-free.

First I was in denial, then I was just really, really angry.

I've been less careful with them than I would have been with a bottle that I knew contained BPA. That's one reason I'm really angry. Another reason I'm really angry is because my children drink out of those water bottles! My BABY drank out of My Sigg from the time she was six months old. In my mind, a female BABY is the most susceptible to the damage BPA can cause one's body.

BPA is an endocrine disruptor that mimics estrogen. It affects brain development and reproduction in animals, has been linked to cancer and obesity, and it takes a very small amount to cause the changes.

Anyway, suffice it to say, I'm really upset. I don't expect most people to care about this topic, but it's brought me to tears a couple times because people who know me, know that I am a freak about health issues, and what lengths I go to avoid certain toxins.

Here's a link to the article I read.

Here's a link to the exchange program My Sigg is running where they'll take your old (pre August 2008 - which are the bottles 'infected' with the BPA) water bottles back.

And here's a link to my post two years ago when I originally purchased the Siggs.

They are serious

I saw an ad in a parenting magazine yesterday. At first I thought it was a joke, but no, they are serious. I tore it out so I could show Zach. He also thinks it's insane. So it's not just me. In fact he laughed and said, "Maybe that's what I should do, invent some stupid thing and make a million dollars off of it. Tell me right now what's the dumbest thing you can think of for parents to have for their kids, that's what I'll invent."

Now normally I would hesitate posting about something like this for fear of insulting someone I know, or someone who might read this post, but seriously, if you are a friend of mine and you have one of these, just keep it hidden from me when I'm at your house because I will definitely laugh at you.

I mean even the name of the website alone is laughable: Baby's First Head Gear. C'mon people! This is going overboard.

Lastly, let me also add a disclaimer that maybe, perhaps I can see a special needs child needing one of these, and if that's the case I promise I won't laugh at your child, maybe just the ears that they've put on top of the darn thing.

Susan Boyle

I just now got around to watching this video (and I'm posting a link as opposed to the actual video because I'm a moron and can't figure out how to embed a you tube video) of the 'Britain's Got Talent' contestant that everyone is talking about. I didn't think it was that big of a deal so I hadn't taken the time, but I'd say it was worth it. She's really good. It was kind of hard to hear her over the applause and the music, so I can't say it was the best performance I've ever heard, but what struck me (and what was so emotional) is the audience's reaction to her. It was moving to see everyone so touched by this woman. And also, the main reason I'm posting this is because I want to slap that girl at 1:25 and knock her around a bit when she makes that face. How rude of people to be like that. It's not necessary to be a bitch to someone just because they're ugly, or on the older side, or because they wear black stockings with white, open-toes shoes...

What it's like being me

You know that get-to-know-you game that you played at birthday parties and summer camp as a kid? The one where you go around the circle as each person says their name and an adjective beginning with the same letter as their name that also happens to describe them? Mine is easy, Sensitive Stacey. That is, hands down, the one word that describes me best. It encompasses the fact that I am attuned to other peoples' needs (external sensitivity), as well as my own internal sensitivity - most of my neuroses can be explained by attributing them to one or another of my sensitivities.

For the last year or so I've had a little bit of a break from myself in this 'sensitive' regard. I was taking Zoloft for depression and anxiety. I had thought I could make it through my pregnancy without it, but by the time February rolled around I was a mess. I can recall the moment on the kitchen floor - when I was having trouble getting up because the emotional energy that required was more than I could muster - that I decided what I really just needed was to be medicated. So I just stayed and cried in the little patch of sun that was shining on my resting place up against the cupboards and reconciled myself to the idea that the risks of taking antidepressants during pregnancy was nothing compared to the stress my little fetus probably felt living inside a cocoon of depression.

I've been on and off anti-depressants since I was 18. The off and on-ness of it is because there've been tougher times and not-as-tough times. And in my mind not being on drugs is a more natural, organic state of being, which is the way I aim to live my life. I sort of always felt like it was a contradiction to my being to live in a medicated state of mind. But this time around I think I finally found a way to rationalize it to myself: In a perfect world no one would need anti-depressants because us humans would be living the way our biological systems intended us to be living. We'd be eating wild game, living off of the land, and we wouldn't be in constant contact with pollutants and all the electrical devices (which I think have effected us on an energetic level).

We're not living in a perfect world, therefore, our brains and bodies are failing us. We have to make adjustments (that, unfortunately, are unnatural) to our lifestyles so we can live optimally. And as long as I understand this, and understand the why's and how's of my biological failings, then I think I can accept being medicated without feeling like a hypocrite. Thanks to on-and-off therapy since I was nine years old, and many friends who like to play therapy with me, I do understand myself.

With that said, I stopped taking Zoloft ten days ago. And the forthcoming reason will be completely random to some of you: I have this crazy desire to donate breastmilk. It was something I wanted to do when Jacob was younger and I was nursing him. There wasn't a place around here that it could be done, so I think I never looked further for information. A few months ago I read about a national milk bank in California that can accept milk from anywhere in the country. I do not know why I want so badly to donate breastmilk, but I very much so want to, and it's enough of a desire that I've been taking six weeks to carefully wean myself off of Zoloft (also going slowly for Sabine's safety, so that she doesn't experience withdrawal).

My plan is to continue to donate breastmilk for as long as I can tolerate not being on Zoloft. I definitely plan to go back on Zoloft (which is safe for breastfeeding mothers, but not safe enough for the milk bank because the human formula that is made from donated milk is very concentrated and is given to tube-fed preemies). And when I am done nursing Sabine I will consider switching back to Paxil - which is what I was taking just before I got pregnant with her.

Anyway, now that it has been almost two weeks without Zoloft, I finally remember the reasons why I was on it to begin with. In my most natural state I am a very scared person. I have a very thin skin. Actually, quite literally - I have sensitive skin; just got a sun burn last week (in March!), my knuckles and finger tips have been all chapped and bloody from the cold winter air, I have eczema, light-sensitive eyes, etc, etc, etc. I cry a lot. I obsess about things.

Basically the difference between un-medicated and medicated me is like this: More vs. Less. When I am not on an anti-depressant I am more emotional, scared, clingy, fearful, more sleepless, compulsive. I had a better analogy that I thought of earlier, which I can't recall at the moment. When I am medicated I just feel so much more comfortable in my own skin.

Coming off of medication is a whole different way of being, but I hope it's temporary. For the first week I was incredibly dizzy, vertigo levels of dizzy, as well as nausea with headaches. Now I'm just incredibly irritable and flustered. My brain is foggy and I don't feel like myself. Up until a couple weeks ago, I can say that I had never left anything on the roof of the car and driven off. Well, since I've stopped the Zoloft, I've done that three times. Three times I've set something on the top of the car (three different places) and told myself not to forget it, knew that would be so cliche to actually forget it, yet all three times I drove away only to watch the dish/glass bottle/cup of coffee slide off the car and shatter in the road. My short-term memory is shot, but of course that could just be from the kids.

I'm not the kind of depressed that requires medication to ensure your own safety or the safety of those under your care, I'm the kind that gets so scared driving over a bridge for fear of it collapsing under me that I might possibly drive over the edge because I'm clutching the steering wheel so tightly, thus creating a self-fulfilling prophecy. And this is what I saw, in my mind, happening coming home from gymnastics two weeks ago.

It started when I saw one of those big trucks, like a delivery truck, with all white panels and a beautiful picture on the side as that company's logo. It was a picture of the Earth from space, with a beautiful pink, orange and yellow sunrise coming up over the side of the Earth. My eyes shifted to the front of the truck to read the company's name. I can't remember what the name was (so I'll guess), it was what was underneath that which made me shudder. Haskell Brothers: Casket Division. I passed the truck as I was turning onto the entrance ramp for the highway.

Not more than half a mile down the road I had to swerve to avoid an object laying in the middle of my lane. Just as I was about to pass the object the words on it came into focus. Funeral. It was one of those little signs that goes on the lead car in a funeral procession. It had fallen off and was laying directly in my path. I'm the kind of person who believes in signs, as in signs from the universe, so what the hell did that mean?! I wanted to get on the phone and at least tell someone, speak the words aloud so it didn't feel so much like I'd just drawn the death card. I thought better of it because I decided that would be just my luck to get on the phone for moral support, only to cause a car crash by being on the phone. Which would that be, a self-fulfilling or self-defeating prophecy? (Kevin, you will tell me, right?)

But there's more to the story: This past week, coming home from gymnastics, on that very same stretch of road, I came up to a car going slowly with its flashers on. I passed it. And don't you know there was a car in front of that one doing the very same thing (flashers on, driving slowly), and then another, and another, until there were 25 of them stretched in a row with a big black car in front, two little purple flags atop it. Um...

Maybe the hearse was back on that same road looking for the funeral sign it dropped last week? Either that or someone is trying to tell me something. What is going on? I don't know, but I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since. I'm kind of nervous to go back to gymnastics next week. Frankly, I'm kind of nervous all the time now. And this is the thing I can't let go of.

I dropped Jacob off with Jamie this morning so that I could finish packing for the weekend (we are going to visit Danielle and Co. - woohoo!). I was in a hurry so I quickly said goodbye and I ushered him inside then I jetted back out to the car where Sabine was waiting. As I was backing out, Jacob was back at the door to say goodbye again. I rolled down my window, blew him a kiss, said I love you. I rolled Sabine's window down so he could yell goodbye to her. And all the while I'm looking at him, taking it all in as if it might be the last time I see him. I'm giving him the perfect goodbye, incase that's the last one he ever gets from me. I want a smile to be on my face in that last image of me he carries around with him for the rest of his life. Because where he is standing is the very spot where I last saw my father alive; I watched him from the house, saw him going down the steps though blurred shades and that was it.

Life changes that quickly and I walk through my days anticipating, almost expecting, something bad to happen. I'm sure of it. The part I'm not sure about it when or how it's going to happen. And so what does an overactive imagination have to do with that knowledge but constantly make up death scenarios?

I continued to drive home with our perfect goodbye in my mind and tears in my eyes - but then thought, wouldn't it be ironic if the thing I'm fearing is the exact opposite. Like the book we just read for book club, My Sister's Keeper (spoiler alert). The whole book is a battle to save one sister from dying because she needs a kidney. Everyone is afraid of that certainty, but don't you know, in the very end, it's the other sister, the healthy one, who's killed in a car accident. So should I really be worrying about Jacob losing me, or me losing Jacob? How cryptic it is to have those thoughts at the forefront of your mind all day long.

And that's what the drugs do - they push back the fear so it's a more normal, rational kind of fear. The fear is still there protecting me from feeling immortal. I'm still me with all the same thoughts as before. The thoughts just don't take over. I have the same feelings, they just aren't as crippling. And my skin gets the benefit of one more layer of protection. I'm me, but a little less.

The Bug

One week and a day ago Beckie was over with the boys. We were making English Muffin pizzas for their lunch and I was chopping up some garlic. I told her I was trying to get used to eating raw garlic, that I'd read about people eating whole cloves of it to prevent sickness and thought I was going to make it my new sickness prevention. She questioned whether or not eating garlic raw could really keep you from getting sick. I told her that I figured it couldn't hurt and that for a person like me who rarely gets sick, it could make the difference between getting a cold and not getting a cold. Then I went and did it, I bragged - "Besides Jacob's strep throat, none of us has been really sick this year."

That exact moment is probably when the stomach bug germs started attacking my system. It took them only about three hours...and then I puked. I puked so bad there was no holding it back like I normally would. I hate puking, I hate it with a vengeance. I spent the next six hours dry-heaving air, and I'm pretty sure at least one lung. I am such a chicken about throwing up, and since I've never really had the stomach bug like that before, I really thought it might never end. I actually called my mom at 12:30am in an absolute delirium and begged her to take me to the emergency room.

Because it was so bad and there was no one around to help me (I'll get to that) I had nothing to do but stare at the clock and pray that no more puking happened. Because of this I remember the exact time of the last puking. It was 1:20am. I laid on the bathroom floor for a few minutes gathering the strength to (literally) craw back to bed, and then got back into bed just in time to hear Jacob hurl downstairs. That was 1:28am. I didn't throw up after that.

I took me a few days to recover enough from the puking to even get out of bed. So in the aftermath I learned Zach's side of the story. He was basically no where to be found when I was puking, chicken that he was going to get sick from me if he got too close. Basically what he did for me was keep the kids out of the way. The first three times I threw up was when I started to nurse Sabine. Isn't that funny, other people have said that too, that nursing would trigger the puking...must be something hormonal.

Anyway, I digress. So I'm upstairs puking and Zach was on the couch with the Sabine, who'd finally fallen asleep and Jacob, who stayed awake well past Zach, and helped himself to all kinds of things in the fridge, which he later puked up. When I was upstairs throwing up, Zach was down there hearing me but not really caring. Later, when it got really bad, I actually tried calling him a few times because I needed things I couldn't get, on account of the fact that I couldn't walk and couldn't move my head around lest if launched itself right off of my neck. The problem with calling him was that if I tried to yell downstairs it made my throat muscles move too much and that led to more puking. So he couldn't hear me calling him. The one time he did hear me, both kids were asleep on top of him and his response was, "I can't get up, both kids are asleep on me." Big f-ing deal, welcome to my friggin life. So that's how I got to calling my mom past midnight, because no one in this house even cared to check on me.

So it turns out that before Jacob had fallen asleep he (Jacob, not Zach) came upstairs to check on me and found me laying on the bathroom floor. He came downstairs and told Zach where I was and that he couldn't wake me. Zach said, "Yeah Jacob, Mommy probably wants to stay close to the toilet right now." And that's it. Now I don't remember Jacob coming upstairs like that so chances are I probably was passed out, which I think was highly likely in the minutes following a good puking. I made it through and I'm fine now, but here's the thing: You five year old tells you that his mother is laying on the floor, unresponsive, and you say 'that's ok', you don't GO CHECK ON HER?

Husbands.

Anyway, I'm just a little bitter. I've been spending the rest of the week in this pit of resentment because I'm the mother and EVERYTHING is my job. And if I get help from the father of my children it's because he's doing me a FAVOR. I've just been wanting a little time to myself so I could sit down and type out some of my thoughts and apparently that's too much to ask. Just now, in fact, I had to get up and go take care of Jacob because Zach is holding the baby. It's not like I ever do anything else while I'm holding the baby. Even though it's now past midnight, I'm still not off duty. We actually already went to bed, and I got up so that I could have some alone time, but that doesn't even work. There's no alone time in this house anymore. The baby does not sleep. She's always awake and if she's awake that means I have to be in her direct line of vision. That's if she's in a good mood. If she's in a bad mood then I have to be holding her. And it has to be me, there are no substitutes. I'm tired and cranky and I need a break.

Beckie's Cat

Last week at Beckie's I was looking at her cat and I noticed something about him I hadn't noticed before. Sugar, or 'Shoogy', was hit by a car five years ago; he survived, but with permanent damage. I knew all this about Shoogy, yet I never noticed exactly what the damage was. So there I was on the floor, sweet-talking him and I guess I looked at him just right - and then I saw it. Or a lack thereof.

It was an empty eye socket.

Excuse me while my stomach turns inside out.

"Is that what I think it is?!" I screeched at Beckie.

"Oh yeah, don't look too close, it's really bad."

I'll say. It's not just an empty eye socket, it's like a two inch deep hole in his head that evokes memories of Pet Cemetery. I went running out of the room all freaked out and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since.

I was watching the boys today at their house while Beckie went to an appointment and every time I turned a corner the Cat was there, staring at me with his one eye. It's so bad I can't believe I didn't see it before. I guess I just saw the dark spot and assumed he had two different colored eyes. Now that I have seen it though, I can't not see it.

At one point today I went to toss something on Beckie's bed and there was the cat on the dresser. I ran away down the hall then thought to myself that if he was in the bedroom all I had to do was shut the door and that would solve the problem. When I ran back to shut it, he was on the bed going, Yeah lady, I dare you. Close me in and then see what happens. I silently clicked the door closed and half expected to see him in the kitchen on my way back to where the kids were.

This may seem trivial, but I see it as a real problem. I don't know how much more freaky one-eyed cat I can take. Jacob and I might have to find ourselves some new friends...

What's your story?

You know how they interview each contestant on Jeopardy? Just a little tid-bit that tells a little about who they are...what's up with the things people say? They come up with the stupidest facts to tell the world about their lives. Some guy's biggest thing in life was that he once got invited to a party for Barack Obama (boy I hope I spelled that right). This was like 15 years ago, and he didn't even go. Swell. Oh, how about the lady last night who once voted in an election and had her picture taken and put in the paper because she was one of only 100+ people who actually voted. Fantastic.

Now that I'm actually writing about this I can't even remember any of the other stupid things I've heard. They're that trivial. Why can't anyone talk about what they do for a living, or how many kids they have? Those would be things that people can relate to. If they want 'different' stories to tell can't they come up anything vaguely interesting?

Anyway, speaking of the president, a couple weeks ago we were riding in the car when Zach heard something on the radio that prompted him to tell me, "Did you know that 75% of Americans don't know the president's name?" Are you serious? What a ridiculously inflated statistic. How could anyone believe that? Why would they even try to say such a thing? My response to Zach, "Did you know that 95% of statistics are completely fabricated?"

All in a day's work

Today I got so much done I felt like superwoman. I got up and worked out before the kids woke up because I'm a morning person now (she said with disdain). Got everyone bathed, dressed, and partially fed and arrived only 30 minutes late to Playschool!

After Playschool I had to rush to my dentist appointment. It was my first big appointment like this with two kids in tow. Sabine was asleep so I brought the carseat inside. She stayed asleep until the just before the hygienist came in. Then when the chair tilled back and my head disappeared from her view (which to a baby means you're completely gone) she freaked out. I spent the rest of the exam with her on my lap.

I've nursed my kids in a lotta places, and I figure the most notable place I nursed Jacob was at my own wedding reception. As of today, the most notable nursing experience I've had with Sabine is breastfeeding her through half my dental exam.

Next we came home and in I was so jazzed up from a successful appointment with both kids that I cleaned and straightened up like mad. I got more done in thirty minutes than I sometimes do in a whole day. Then my mom called and encouraged me go get my hair cut because she knew it'd been on my list for a good, long while.

The baby came with me for the haircut because of the thing where I can't leave her sight nowadays. She arrived fully awake so there was no chance of her staying in the carseat but I brought it in anyway because if she got to be a problem while I was getting my hair cut at least no one would think to themselves why didn't she bring something to put that baby in. And don't you know when I tilted my head back in the sink, effectively vanishing from her sight, she let out one long screech that lasted until I pulled her out mid-shampoo. Then she spent the rest of the haircut happy as a clam perched up on my lap looking around at all the shiny things.

So the hairdresser (Emily) and I, we got to talking. She looked about my age. Then I found out that she went to the same high school as me. Suddenly Emily starts looking familiar to me and I'm thinking haha, isn't that funny how I'm always running into people I went to high school with...I ask Emily what year she graduated. '06. Swell. Turns out she's not my age. Not a huge age difference, but enough of a difference to make a 28 year old who still thinks of herself as a 'young mom', feel Old.

For a while she's cutting my hair and we're taking turns naming people we know that the other of us might have gone to school with. Funny how people are always trying to make connections like that. It's not like you're going to go call up your friend from high school with exciting news that the girl who cut your hair went to school with their cousin. I guess it just makes us feel a little less distant from one another in a world that's becoming increasingly disconnected.

Anyway, none of the name-dropping is ringing a bell with either of us and it's starting to get a little awkward until I name a kid I used to change the diapers of. Her face lights up. Oh yeah, she remembers him from school. Double swell.

Then Emily names her gym teacher, calling her Miss instead of the name I know her by, and wrinkles her nose. I graduated with the gym teacher and to picture her like that, as a teacher who provokes a nose wrinkle, makes me think of a mean, old teacher. Not young and nice, but old and mean. Then I realize quite a few of the people I graduated with are now teachers at my old school. I start rattling off names and the ball is really rolling now.

Back at home I couldn't stop looking at my hair in the mirror. Emily used a super-ultra-mega flat iron that got so hot it could give you third degree burns. It's never been straighter and longer in my life. Now I'm usually the type who obsesses over her weight, but never have I really considered that my body might be aging. All the looking in the mirror finally brought my attention to my face. I don't look so young anymore; I discovered these little wrinkles.

No longer do people question me when they find out I have kids. I used to always be mistaken for a younger age. I never minded because I'd say, "When I get old I'll be glad to have people misjudge my age." But I was always mature for my age, responsible and wise, acted older than I was, I looked young though.

I'm used to the hairdressers and dental hygienists being older than me, having children my age. Maybe it's the fact that I'm the baby of the family and used to always being the youngest, or maybe it's just that I'm a young-at-heart kind of person, but for some reason I can't wrap my head around the idea that I'm actually acting my age.

Disclaimer: If you are a grandparent of Jacob and Sabine, don't read this!

Last year we got our Christmas calendars from Staples, like we had done every year. I swore it was the last year they were coming from Staples. For just a couple dollars more per calendar I ordered them from Snapfish this year. The day before the power went out we got them in the mail. I was going to write about it right away and rave about them like crazy. But since I haven't had the internet for a week and a half, much of the excitement has worn off. I'll just say that we were so freaking excited to get the calendars. They were awesome! I had so much fun picking out the page layouts, the backgrounds, adding captions. The picture quality is awesome. They arrived within a few days of ordering them and I never had to go to a store four times to try to pick them up!

You call that Talent??

I don't watch a lot of TV, especially reality TV or talent/game shows, but I did watch America's Got Talent the other day. My mom and Jamie had it on at Camp a couple weeks ago so I saw one episode when they were going from 40 to 20 contestants. I saw the kid who impersonates Elvis that night. He sucked. No chance was he coming back. So you can imagine my surprise when I turned on the TV the other night because I am currently sicker than a dog and I felt like vegging out for once - and I saw the Elvis kid on again.

The show was just starting when I turned on the TV. I probably would have just skipped over the channel but since I'd seen the show once before I stopped there. There were a few acts and I'm getting the idea that this is an almost identical show to American Idol. There's the mean judge with the British accent that they apparently have to have on every talent show now. What's his name, Pierce or something? Well he doesn't like anyone, even the people who are good. But then Elvis gets up there, sucks some shit on stage, and I'm ready for the Brit to rip into him. He likes him! He thinks he's great. WHAT??! Guess what, Sharon and David Hasslehoff think he's great too.

All I have to say is You Have Got To Be Kidding Me! I think the show must be rigged.

Olympics Anonymous

This is a little late now, but I did start the post while the Olympics were still on. And actually, the fact that I haven't posted much lately is due in part to the Olympics being televised into the wee hours of the morning (also due in part to the one-handed nature of my typing these days, as the only computer time I get is when I'm nursing the baby).

Anyway, didn't you sort of feel like you were addicted to the Olympics? Or that you spent all day looking forward to settling down on the couch at night to watch them? And did you fall asleep on the couch at midnight only to wake up every 30 minutes or so and try to stay awake to watch until it went off at 3am? No? Well that's what it was like at our house. It also stayed really messy in our house, to-do lists were thrown out the window and our kid didn't go to sleep until midnight because we really wanted him to experience then Olympics, after all someday he'll be an Olympic gymnast...hehe.

I did talk to a lot of other people who seemed to be as addicted as us, and then some who were not. It seemed like for two and a half weeks the country could be divided into two kinds of people: Those who watched the Olympics round the clock and those who couldn't care less.

Now that it's over I'm a little sad but I've just discovered the video clips on nbc.com and that's helping me with my withdrawal...

Who Knew?

While I was still pregnant I was always rounding up when people asked just how pregnant I was. I was really big and so it made me feel better to fib about the number or be vague about my due date. Now that the baby is here and all I find myself rounding down her age. I took her to a few different public places today and over a dozen women oohed and ahhed over her throughout the day. Then they asked how old she is. And I told them "just two weeks" when in reality she's almost three.

I don't know, there's something magical to people about a teensy newborn. It's like when they get old enough there's nothing special about them anymore. And I was really enjoying the attention from people today. Plus people are like, "Oh my gosh you just had a baby?!" And that makes me feel good because I always wanted to be one of those women who bounced back from having a baby in a day or two. For God's sake it took me longer to recover from having my wisdom teeth out than giving birth au natural.

So if I wanted to be as pregnant as possible while I was still carrying the baby, and now I want her to be as young as possible I guess being right smack in the middle of giving birth is the magic number.

Meet Sabine

Here's my little girl. I've finally gotten around to posting pictures! Isn't she freaking cute? I know I have to say that, but c'mon, seriously...

I think back to over a year ago when I was baby-craving, and I wrote this. It almost brings tears to my eyes because Sabine is everything I imagined. It's like the story was written before it even started. I pictured the outline a long time ago and now the details are just beginning to be filled in. I feel complete.

I also know how that will probably make some people want to barf, but I have to say that I am just one of those people who is completely fulfilled (at least in this moment) by motherhood. And in the interest of appreciating what I have, living life to the fullest and all those other cliche sayings, I am so lucky that I have a life where I am doing the thing I most want to do.

Third time's a charm

I've previously set two dates for the arrival of this baby, but it has failed to abide by my wishes. I have decided that this Saturday will be the day. My midwife is not on call this weekend, but she will be at another local hospital and she said if she's not delivering any babies there that she'll have them call her and come deliver my baby. Yay!

So this weekend is good. Saturday is the solstice, that is definitely significant. I would love to have a baby on that day. Also, I am hosting the book club at my house tomorrow. I love having everyone over and it seems appropriate to host my favorite activity on my due date (which is tomorrow), and it's one of my favorite books that we're reading, To Kill a Mockingbird. There will be 10 moms and I figure 18 children here tomorrow. If that's not enough excitement to get this baby outta me, then I don't know what is.

Here's to a speedy delivery...I really hope the next time I write won't be for a while because I'm too busy being in the hospital and all...