Monday, November 21, 2005
Yeah, I know

I have been remiss. I feel like if I am writing at all this month, it should be for NaNoWriMo.

But it's not. Not this time. No way.

Instead, I am trying desperately to catch up on sleep after a teething week that ended with my friends from Dubai coming in for a landing at our house the past three days, the last night of which had me drinking Three. Whole. Beers. Three. I stood in awe of the gaggle of lesbians I was carousing with in the Castro, for they indeed knew how to pound the liquid barley and hops with aplomb. I am still recovering. Seriously. I am such a wuss. I have felt dehydrated for the past three days, the worst symptoms manifesting last night, when I had a recurring dream (meaning, I kept having it for two hours - not kidding - I kept looking up at the clock whenever I woke up in fits and starts) in which I was desperately searching in and around a vague geographical setting of twin, parallel rivers for my missing children. Yeah, fun stuff. Needless to say, I am not doing well today, in terms of functioning. The kids are taking it in stride, however, and they are beautiful as ever.

Ah, what my collegiate doppelganger would say to my general lack of alocholic tolerance. The term "bah hah" comes to mind. Or maybe my 20-year-old self would pretend not to know my 35-year-old wretched self. I am pretending not to know me, right now.

I will write more when I get the chance, but it won't likely be until tomorrow night, at the earliest. I want to talk about my visitors, my writings of late, and the fact that I now have to go get genetic testing done in San Francisco in December, to find out if I am one of the one in five hundred with a mutation that may kill me. And with that, I say, good night, and pass the water glass.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 10:51 PM

Wednesday, November 02, 2005
The Things We Put Our Kids Through For Free Candy

Check out more at this place.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 3:12 PM
Saturday, October 22, 2005
Duuuuuuuhhhhhhh

I thought They were full of crap when They said (and I'm sure those bastardly They people snickered when they said it) that new parents lose IQ points.

I mean, come on; yes, I spend inordinate amounts of time wiping tiny but lethal derrieres while cooing nonsensical, though pleasing, babble to my little bundles of joy. I also admit freely that I repeat the words "Thomas," "Percy," "smoke," "choo-choo!," "brontasaurus," "truck," and "lizard" so many times during the day that I feel like a Berlitz for PBS Kids instructor. I choose nap over reading if I can get a half hour in the afternoon. I forget to eat. Hm, maybe that should've been my first clue...

But losing IQ points? How does one's brain simply forget that if Allison is taller than Nate, but shorter than Eric, and if Eric is shorter than Jill, but taller than Tony ... oh, Jesus, forget it; I forgot the question, slready, and I just took the damn test.

Yes, I was browsing the web and happened to see the same IQ test I took soon after I got married (no correlation to getting married and losing IQ points, though you would think --). So, two-and-a-half years after I took this SAME test, I scored 11 points lower. I am chagrined. I am chastened. And I wish those 50-cent words were on the IQ test. But no, no such definitions beckoned to be linked to synonyms. It didn't help, I guess, that I took the stupid test at the end of a looong day filled with cleaning out and refilling the turtle tank, making breakfast, taking train rides up at Tilden Park, remembering feeding schedules, cleaning up, finding the neighborhood store with the best buy on Huggies, Sizes Four and Five, finding the formula Carly prefers, remembering to pick up dry cleaning for Phil, forgetting and then turning back around to pick it up after I had already pulled into the driveway, catching up on news for the day in the twenty minutes I had between kid naps, cooking dinner, giving baths, reading bedtime stories, putting Carly down, putting Kane down, picking Kane back up again for potty, putting him down, picking him up five minutes later for more potty, reading another bedtime story, filling his milk cup, and then trying to settle him down, and then crawling to my own laptop here at 9:30 p.m., only to take a test that tells me I got dumber after giving birth twice. Granted, I'm not as dumb as They claim I could get, but, really now, that's all just a matter of time, isn't it?

Was I smarter back in the day when I was an editor for a business newspaper? I felt at the time, I was just a word monkey churning out the same junk week after week: If Company A does this for two years and makes B profit, how long will it take for Company C, working with A's old executive director -- ah, screw it; I forgot that stuff, too.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 10:00 PM

Saturday, October 22, 2005
Channeling Susan Dey

What is the deal with you shoving your fingers as far down your throat as you possibly can? It's like you're a teenage pop star or something. What's even more disturbing is how you will shove index to pinkie fingers down your gullet, gag, and then laugh, like it's freaking hilarious to make your body do this. I swear, one day you will succeed in bringing your lunch back up when you do this, and then you will scare yourself, and perhaps only then, once you re-taste your food, you will cease and desist.

You weirdo.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 2:28 PM
Friday, October 21, 2005
Unadulterated Joy

DSC02960
Originally uploaded by Rubberpants and Erpy.
*SMMMMOOOOOOCH*
I love this girl.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 3:35 PM
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Uncle!

I Give.

You win, kid. Here's your crib back. Enjoy those bars, and may they be the last ones you ever see in your lifetime.

My little Boo Boo is amazing, but he is still a little Boo Boo, and therefore should not be made to act like a big Boo until he is ready. I should've listened to the moms and the experts and everything else that said kids really aren't ready for big beds until they're about 2 1/2. But me and my ego thought this kid - who is learning things at such a rapid rate, I'm already branding him a genius - could handle putting himself to bed. No frigging way, is what he replied. And to keep me from dubbing him Little Shite due to his lack of sleep propelling him into another personality altogether - one that finds new and exciting ways to test me, such as teaching the turtle in the tank to "drive" with a Match Box car, pulling off diapers and marking his favorite spaces in the house like a puppy, and ripping pages out of his books - I decided today enough was enough. I got a used crib for Carly and dismantled and then reassembled Kane's old crib back in his room, just in time for his nap.

And may I say he needed a nap like nobody's business. This is a kid who, for one entire month, has averaged 8-10 hours of sleep per day, when he should be getting 14 (12 during the night, and a 2-hour nap). He has been walking, punch drunk, into walls. He has purple bruises under his eyes. He's getting mighty good at going potty as soon as he's put down for naps or for bedtime, but still keeps right on pooping in his pants the rest of the day. Something about forcing his body to do its thing just to buy five minutes of freedom is what this kid is all about.

I really started freaking out when he began to eschew the whole nap thing this past week, however. Whose kid is this? I thought. Not mine; mine would relish the opportunity to flop on a bed in the early afternoon and snooze away. Luxury, kid. I am so going to remind you of this when you have to get a job or be a stay-at-home dad and you would KILL for fifteen minutes of peace and quiet in a supine position.

Anyway, back to topic - he's been a different kid lately, and he was starting to drop the nap waaaay too early in his life. And I won't say this mission of mine to find Crib Two was all altruistic. I am not the best mommy in the world. I am a tired mommy. And I needed to find Crib Two because frankly, I was losing my patience with the boy a lot sooner in recent days because I was not able to sit still for ONE minute. I was turning into a different person, one who was getting mad at him for spilling juice, for crying out loud. Not very cool, both of us being a bit jerky, to be honest. Therefore, I ran out today, determined to find a cheap cheap (safe) crib for him before his nap time. I found one, but it had wheels, so I couldn't give it to him on the off-chance he'd be the one kid in the universe who could somehow push off the wall and move the damn thing, despite the carpeting.

So the boy, who celebrated his 22-month birthdaytwo nights ago by going to bed at 11:20 p.m. - and only after much gnashing of teeth and wailing, I might add - got his old crib back. And he put himself to sleep after 20 minutes during nap time. It took him 1 hour and fifteen minutes tonight, but still. 9:15 p.m. I'll take that any day over 11:20 p.m.

You win, kid. You rock. Mommy's going to get a drink, now.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 10:45 PM
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Like Father, Like Son

PICT0135_6
Originally uploaded by Rubberpants and Erpy.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 11:20 AM
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
October 11, 2005

October 11, 2005
Originally uploaded by Rubberpants and Erpy.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 11:00 PM
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Month Five

Little girl, you are so loved; you will never know how much, because I can't even measure it when I try to think about it, and I wouldn't want to. It's infinite. You can't do anything to change that, ever, future piercings and icky boyfriends be damned.

You are an amazon - 27 inches tall and 16 pounds, 12 ounces, according to your checkup yesterday. Your hands and feet are fathoms farther along than Kane's were at this stage - it's pretty funny to compare (and that's all I'll compare, I swear - just the silly physical stat stuff). You are mostly wearing old clothes from Madison (Holly's girl) and Zenaida (Lizette's girl), but I have had to ask them to send me their stuff for 12-month-olds, because that is what you're in, now.

You are a gentle person, already. It's obvious. You drink everything in, and smile so sweetly when Mommy or Daddy or Kane comes into view. When I peer over at you in the crib, you get a big, beautiful gummy grin and flap your arms and legs like you're trying to take off, so pure and powerful is your joy at seeing someone you like. It makes me want to flap back, and a few times, I pretty much have.

Have I told you how much I adore the way you like to hold on to me when I hold you or when I'm lying near you? You like to study my hands and turn them over in your little (long) ones, and when I carry you around, you grab a fistful of shirt or hair and refuse to let go, but not in a desperate, I-think-you're-going-to-drop-me kind of way. More like a you-stick-with-me, Mommy-okay? kind of thing. And always, your big gorgeous green eyes are tracking everything in. You get a look of such glee on your face when we include you in playtime when Kane's near, like you are so happy to be included. You always grab at the toy I put in your hand and smile and look over to see if Kane's watching how you can be just like him.

This morning, I had the two of you on our bed, and you were covered with your pink blanket that Kane keep confiscating. Kane knew he had to share, so he decided to instead give your hugs and just rest himself on your belly with his arms around you. I just drank that moment in, because I know I'll be playing it back in my head over and over, and particularly on times when I feel so tired I want to cry and can't get a minute to rest, I will remember that five-minute span where time kind of stopped for me and I just felt so good about everything and about the fact that your two are happy and healthy and that I made the best choices when it came to having you two. Then I got all anal and anti-Zen and decided to run for the camera and got it on digital for posterity.

You are a rolling machine, now, though it's all about your left side. You are also a big proponent of turning yourself in a full circle when lying on the floor, which makes me flash back to 1983 and breakdancing, but without the footie pajamas you're now living in.

You are gaining some serious dexterity in your fingers, now, too, and you reach out to try and grab things (and shove them in your mouth). You give the cutest little furrowed brow expression when you hold something new, or when I put one of Kane's cars on your booster chair and watch you try to move it. You try to grab the bottle and hold it sometimes (for a second, just to feel the sensation) and like to rest your hands on things to test their weight and feel.

Your hair is still curling and I am fighting daily urges to trim it, because your right side has very long curls covering your ear, and your left side has only a wisp or two, and mostly short hair. The top is growing longer and lush, and is a gorgoues shade of coppery brown.

Yes, I stare at you often and with awe. Get used to it; many people will do this to you, I predict.

You have a favorite sound you love to make - a long crescendo of a squeal - that you practice over and over with a smile on your face. If I mimic you, you do your flapping routine again, and I just start laughing. A couple of weeks ago, it was the soft raspberry sound, complete with bubbles, but you feel you have graduated now. It probably also has something to do with Kane's fondness for the squeal, I won't deny it.

You are a binkie child, just like your brother. I thought for sure you were going to bypass it and just use the thumb, but there was a time about a month ago when you started teething (yes, you minx; you are teething crazy early, and it's your fangs coming in first and coming in s-l-o-w) when nothing seemed to placate you - not the bottle, boob or fingers (though you continue to chomp on them like there's no tomorrow - the fingers, not the boob, necessarily). I stuck one random binkie in your mouth that I had left from a failed attempt at pacifying you in the first month, and you immediately sucked on it and looked at me with such relief, like: "Thank GOD." You are loath to part with it at night time or when you're tired in general. So yeah, I have a longer future ahead of me frought with finding lost binkies in the car and in the middle of the night.

I'd take a hundred thousand bullets for you, kid, just to know you're safe and happy.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 9:56 PM
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
For the Love of God

If I hear you wail "Poopie!" one more time tonight to buy two more minutes of awake with Mommy time, I am going to lose it, kid, I mean it, no matter how many times I melt when you grab me and say "huggie" or give me a kiss or say you love me "much" and hold out your arms. I made the mistake, oh yes, I will heartily admit it, of singing ridiculous and amusing verses of "The Wheels of the Bus" while you went poop (yay) on the toilet tonight, and now, it won't stop running through your head. You MUST hear the verse about lizards or dinosaurs or brothers and sisters on the bus. It didn't help I gave you a glass of grape juice before bed, no, that's true, but work against the sugar - fight it, boy. Fight it, and lay down, for crying out loud.

See your sister there? Yeah, that little girl sleeping peacefully there in her crib? Oh, crap, now I've done it; you saw the crib. You're wondering why you can't have a crib.

Sigh.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 9:22 PM
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Help

Still .... no ... sleep.

Kane ... still ... wandering ... room.

I have about seventeen projects that need doing, about four hours of sleep under my belt, and an idea that needs shaping for the upcoming National NOvel Writing Month thing. Yeah, I'm going to to so well this year, I can tell.

But what about Kane? I mean, let's face it; I'm on the decline as of about four years ago, in terms of my brain. But he is still expanding, both physically and mentally, and is still dirnking everything in. But he's not getting the sleep he needs to process and grow properly. I know it will catch up - it already is starting - and he will eventually learn to put himself to sleep, but it's excruciating. And the kid is still amazing me - do you know that even though he's walking punch drunk into walls and furniture, he's memorized 1 to 11? That's how many stairs we have in our house, and he's counting them, now. He's frigging unbelievable.

Carly girl is not suffering so much from sleep or lack thereof, but she's been off her game a bit the last couple of days with teething. Yet, she's still mastering grasping objects, rolling over on her left side, and sitting up by herself ( for a minute ).

And me? I'm lucky if I remember to brush my teeth with toothpaste. Go forward, young children; you are far better than me.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 9:09 PM
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Bleh

In a bad mood. Feeling funky. Need to get attitude readjustment. World is crumbling; what's going to happen when my kids are grown? How can I fix this?

Ick ick ick.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 12:47 PM
Friday, September 16, 2005
Not for Your Viewing Pleasure

Someone is soooooo proud of himself tonight, because he pooped in the potty for the first time all by himself.

Yeah, no; it's not Phil.

At this point in his life, he would have writhed in a state of blissed-out superbia had I just done what he wanted (Kane, that is) and taken a picture of the so-called fruits of his labor. He would have stared at the picture for hours and said "poop" over and over again, just to make sure I knew that was indeed his, and did I understand the magnitude of his accomplishment? If he knew such technology existed, he may even have figured out a way to ask me to enlarge the picture a bit, buy a nice, tasteful frame for it, and place it in the living room next to the photos of the family.

And I considered briefly doing this for him, if only for the dividends it would have paid unto me in the future, like, say, when he's 5, or 10, or 15, or 20 ...

Then I thought of an old neighbor of my cousins, who was a stereotypical frat boy in the making in high school, and who, during one party at his house during his sophomore year (no, the significance of that word is not lost on me, I assure you), had gathered a crowd of boys into ihs bathroom to gaze in wonder at the enormous beer and chips turd he had expelled from his person. They took pictures, I kid you not. Imagine being the poor clerk at the Photo Hut, circa 1988.

I thought of this, and figured that my boy would learn to be proud, yes, but would also learn to exit from the loo with a quiet grace. For, gentle readers, we may all have had the singular experience of gazing in wonder at that which we have wrought, but it takes a special person to let it go with diginty. (* cue the flushing sound*)

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 9:58 PM
Friday, September 16, 2005
Stardate: September 16, 2005

Woman, if you shove your boob in my face one more time, I am going to bite you.

Sigh. Can you not see I am in pain? I am four months old, for crying out loud (oh, and I will. I. Will.), and do you see this? Do you?! Yes, that's right; two teeth buds. Upper jaw. Look: Here, and here. It's not natural, Woman; whose side of the family may I scream at?

Get me a pen; I'm lodging a complaint. No, YOU take the notes. It is not right, nor fair that I should be getting teeth, and not just any teeth, but my canines. What the blazing diaper rash is THAT all about?! I don't even have a jaw line big enough to start getting teeth. And I am not wearing braces twelve years from now because of some defective gene one of you passed on to me, I can tell you that right now.

Get me my blankie... Thank you. How about that binkie? Oh yeah, that's better -- tsk, NO, I do NOT want the boob. Good lord, woman; you'd think I had a fistful of dollar bills in my hand, the way you whip that thing out for me at my slightest squawk. Yes, I KNOW I haven't been eating much lately; I'm TEETHING. It hurts to eat. All right, you know what? This isn't working. Do me a favor, get the Dark Haired One over here - he had a glass of something purple, and he rubbed a little on my gums a minute ago - he knows where it's at. Pffth - Mother's Touch, my bum.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 9:33 PM
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
The Usual Suspects

Okay, kid, this is the way it's gonna go down:

I need you to make a scene, create a diversion, do something, I don't care what it is. ooo, wait; I know - do that squeaking thing you do in your crib or that wail thing you do when your butt falls alseep in that swing.

What do you mean, when? When I'm in the kitchen, duh. No, I wasn't calling you Duh, I was saying "duh," like, "duh, what a dumb question." No, I wasn't calling you dumb - tsk, look; wait until I get to the kitchen doorway, then wait a couple of seconds, and start the wailing thing or whatever. If Mama looks like she's going to put you back down, keep the wails coming - squirm or something like your butt's on fire so she has to change your diaper. That oughta buy me an extra three minutes, which should give me plenty of time to open the drawers, climb up to the counter, scale the fish tank, and open the cabinet where she keeps the chocolate.

What do you mean, what's in it for you? How about the satisfaction of knowing you helped someone else in need? Okay, then, how about I promise not to dive bomb on you tonight when Mama puts us both on the bed after our baths? Yeah? Okay, deal.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 10:05 PM
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Captain's Star Date: September 14, 2005

... She's strapped me in this infernal swing, again. Damn, these plastic fish. Bah! Out of my way, you green beastie.

Woman, if you insist on placing me in this contraption, you had best give me some of that rice cereal stuff you mushed up for me this past week. Hey, boy, you; stop that squawking back there. Woman, why do you persist in seating the Loud One behind me, where you very well know I cannot see him. What am I supposed to do for entertainment, now? Watch you? You jig in the mornings for me, yes, I suppose, but I know very well this is not morning because it is too dark and there is no smell of that bitter hot drink you and the Dark Suited Man slurp when you stumble out of bed. What are you going to do now to make me smile, pull dead animals out of the hot lidded box you are always telling the Loud One to stay away from? Ha, I fart in your general direction.

Hm, this looks promising; she's pulled out the garish plastic spoon she thinks is so cute. I'd shudder from her severe lack of taste, were its presence not a signal that something gastronomically interesting is a'coming. Oh, pipe down, You Who Yells; at least she's already put food in front of you.

What the-- what the Huggies is this? She's shaking a clear vessel full of something orange and is now uncapping it. Woman, this does not look like the rice cereal I requested. Did you not hear me yelp for rice cereal? Huh?! I specifically said: "Maaaawah!"

Yeah, yeah; I see you opening your mouth. I'm not your monkey, lady. I'm only opening my mouth because I'm hungry enough to try whatever this mush is you're shoving in my face.

What - this -- this is --- this is rapturous! What IS this stuff? What did you say? Did you say "carrots?" My god, Woman; why have you kept this from me? Do you not love me? We'll talk later; just keep this coming, oh yeah, that's the stuff, oh - hey, hey hey HEY! Hey, get back here! What's the idea, leaving me with these useless arms and this ridiculous spoon lying so near me? That kid back in that high chair better be on fire or something to interrupt me and this "carrots," my "I Heart My Big Brother" bib be damned.

What? Not on fire? Hey, Loud One; get back here! Woman, someone, anyone! Get back here and get this spoon near me! Get this - oh, there you are. Hurry, please; oh, yes, thank you. Mmmmmm, carrots.

Sigh. I love you, Woman.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 9:33 PM
Sunday, September 04, 2005
Doddamit

Yep, Kane finally copied Mommy, but good.
At least I don't have the experience of my friend, Lizette, who went to a party with her husband and child and had the wine and cheese and chit chat stopped cold by her 19-month-old pointing to a frog on a lily pad outside the hostess' house and shouting: "Fock, Mommy! Fock!"

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 9:33 PM
Friday, August 26, 2005
Too Too Twoish

He doesn't scream.
He doesn't kick.
He doesn't throw things.
He doesn't yell.
He doesn't hit.

He's pretty cool, as far as 20-month-old kids go.

But god, save me from this teeth-grinding, fist-clenching MOI he's developed, in which he will wait until I am otherwise occupied with Carly (ie., nursing or bathing or diaper changing) to realize he wants - and isn't receiving - immediate attention. The self-righteous genes - passed down from both sides of the family, I can only guess - then proceed to alert the neurons in his brain that, lo, he is being short-changed dreadfully these past two minutes.

He's realized that whining gets him a whole lot of nowhere, so that's out, and he hasn't figured out or found savory the aforementioned tried-and-true toddler tantrum list, so he has made up his own routine, that being climb to the highest possible flat surface, and proceed to push everything off that plane. This can be a nighttable ("Bye-bye, books! Bye-bye remote control! Bye-bye lamps!"), a kitchen counter (Seeya, cereal canisters! So long, peaches! Hey, napkins, have a nice flight!), or the dining room table (Ciao, candlesticks! Here Carly; catch!).

This process will not stop, and in fact, will barely slow down, even if the large, irritated female authority figure (me) scolds him and physically removes him from offending surface. This process, unfortunately, will only stop once I cease and desist in attending to Carly for more than two minutes in a row and focus on him. To be fair, he has never taken any of his frustration out on Carly, and in a pleasant plot twist, still smiles to see her. But but but. Can't even finish the sentence; must get Kane off of fish tank.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 11:19 AM
Friday, August 19, 2005
Hug Your Kids

I just got back from a fundraiser my husband hosted for a childhood friend who has a two-year-old boy diagnosed with advanced liver cancer. Dillon, who has had nine rounds of chemotherapy since December 2004, used to be on a liver transplant list, but was taken off a couple of weeks ago because the doctors fear the cancer has spread. He's in the hospital now, and it doesn't look good.

And I felt badly about it at first, in the way that you feel when you yourself are a parent of small children, and are told that another small child - who you don't know and in fact, have never met - is very ill. But I started crying when the mother's best friend spoke before the microphone and told about how one of her most precious moments with Dillon was when he fell asleep by stroking the end of her shirtsleeve - one of the little things he usually only does with his mother and grandmother - and when I then turned around and saw a large slideshow picture of Dillon lying on his father's chest (Dillon's back toward the camera) in a hospital bed while tubes were sticking out of his little body.

We are so lucky, all of us who don't have to go through that. There isn't any joke in there. I'm just so grateful.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 10:18 PM
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Things You Overhear at Chez Tagami

Here is a typical morning reverie in our house, starting at 7:30 a.m. I'll let you guess who's who:

"Choo, choooo - da da dada. Ma na fas teek choo choo. Mama. Hug. Mama, choo choo! Bed. Seat. Ba ba ma fa stick. *makes kissing sound * Bye bye! Bye bye! Rowrer (Grover). Saurs (dinosaurs or rhinoceros). Ha ha. Dada. Shower. Nack? Nack? Juice? Peese. Bee. (binkie or blanket) Choo choo! Woo woo!"

"Ahh Oooo. Ahhgh. Ahhooo."

"Mmm, coffee."

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 10:22 AM