Monday, August 15, 2005
Harley and Bindi Balls

Yeah, I needed to post this, if only to remind myself of how funny anything can seem on a four-hour sleep cycle.

Carly, my little cupcake, is a noise machine, with auditory ruptures emanating from either end of her at any given hour of the day, causing small children to start from their play and compelling adults to wonder aloud if the crank heads down the street have invited their motorcyle gang friends over for another speed fest. Hence, her nickname: Harley.

Kane's nickname is a little more obscure. What happened was, I had a mole I had removed soon after giving birth to Carly because it had grown pretty large pretty quickly, and the doctor was concerened it might be cancerous (it wasn't). but for a week or so there, I was obsessing over every freckle on my skin, which took up a considerable amount of my time, I can assure you. Put on top of that the fact that we are attending a fundraiser this week for a two-year-old boy with liver cancer (Phil is hosting - the parents are old school friends of his, and he tells me heartbreaking details until I warn him to stop). With the thought of malignant multiplying cells repeating in my brain, I stumbled on a dark spot about the size of a pen dot on Kane's - ahem - guy parts. What are you implying? I was merely cleaning the kid up after another of his famous explosive diapers. Anyway, when I saw it, I flipped out and made Phil come in to check it out, which led to the conclusion that it was nothing, a mere teeny tiny mole. The nickname wasn't anything more than us - in a fit of giddy relief - trying to come up with catchy new blog titles that would surely embarrass the kids. I plan to show them this entry while they are roiling thorugh the wonders of adolescence, with bonus points to me if I can produce this in front of thier little friends...

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 4:10 PM
Monday, August 15, 2005
The Creeps

About a week ago, the bubs and I saet out on an afternoon sojourn to WIllard Park, a really cute little playground/lawn area for kids in the northern end of Berkeley. The playground area is shaded partially by trees (good for the 3 o'clocks sweats) and has a tire swing, a climbing structure, swings, and tons of plastic toys parents just drop off for the toddler community. It is, in short, one of my favorite places to take Kane and watch him go wild.

Or, it was, up until this past trip.

We had piled out of the car and into the tandem stroller (yes, I could have let Kane run straight off across the field to the park, but that would likely have taken a good half hour, had Kane had his way and stopped for every cavorting dog and paused to say "hi" a thousand times to every sunbathing hippie), and had opened the gated toddler area and had just started to get some good fun going when I made the mistake of sitting down next to a middle-aged man playing with his five-year-old son. My reasong was that it would be safe because a) it was the only place with consistent shade for Carly and myself, and b) it has heretofore been my exerience that parents aren't especially friendly in certain parks, choosing instead to sit and zone out or to bring a friend and just jabber away with them while their progeny ricochet around the sandbox. Sometimes, an adult will strike up some small talk with you, but it only lasts a minute or two before some child needs tending to, and I was fully prepared for that sort of conversation, should it arise.

Instead, I got an hour's worth of chatter from this guy, who clearly doesn't get enough adult conversation in his life. And what started as kind of harmless talk about the benefits of Omega-3 fatty oils (we're in Berkeley, remember), ended with him confessing to me (with NO prodding from me, I assure you) about his son's physical abuse at the hands of his mother (who was, nevertheless - as the man was keen to point out - very good about giving her son the Omega 3 oils in her diet while she was pregnant, and so gave him a great start in life).

So what do you say to that?! I said: That's horrible. Oh, gee, look at the time; we better get going soon so we can start dinner.

The man seemed embarrassed by his admission, or sad that he had to bear it; I didn't take the time to really read him after that. But he did say: Remember, wild salmon has a lot of Omega 3s!

Oh, I'll remember, dude.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 3:13 PM
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Lecturing Dinosaurs

Lecturing Dinosaurs
Originally uploaded by Rubberpants and Erpy.
Here is what it sounded like:
"Rrrroawr. Dadamaga ba. Bink. Haaaawwr. Mee mee ga da nawt ah pah."
Then he chewed on T-rex's head.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 3:38 PM
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Lampooning Tahoe

In an effort to get away from it all for a few days, to get my husband to relax a bit after a brutal month in which he's been pulling 80-hour work weeks, to have quality family and friend time on this, our nation's birthday, we decided to go to Tahoe this past week.

Tahoe kicked our arses, people. Two car accidents, Phil placed nearly out of commission with a pulled muscle group in his side, and a Sunday evening trip to the emergency room at Tahoe Forest Hospital for Kane, who needed three staples gunned into his head after a floor lamp mishap. We needed to get home before anything else happened to us.

Channeling the Griswolds, we decided to pack Thrusday morning for a Thursday morning departure. We ended up leaving near the pre-planned departure time, but kind of frazzled ourselves inthe process. After a stop for a late lunch in Grass Valley, and an explosive diaper from the HurriKane, we caught up with our friends, Mark and Holly, and proceeded back onto the highway for the rest of the trip. It was only about an hour more, the sun was shining, we were excited to see the place where we were going to stay - hey, look, Donner Pass, there's still snow on the ground, and ... SCREEEEECHBLAM! We got rear-ended by a truck driven by a man with a Stetson and a waxed moustache. No one was hurt, except for a slight case of whiplash from Phil. Fifteen miles later, we were lauughing, oh, ha ha, there's our little mishap of the trip, good thing it was so slight.

Hm, except we forgot the Rule, which is: Bad Things Always Come in Threes. Our, in our case, fours.

So we get up there, and the place is gorgeous and spacious and high atop a ridge so have a tremendous view - Click here to see pictures - and everything is swimmingly well the rest of that first day.

Then, Friday morning, Phil wakes up with a weird pull in his side. He doesn't say much, because he doesn't like to moan, but I can tell it's really hurting him by Friday night. Of course, he forgets it for a little while because his friend and old Lacrosse coach, Rem, comes for dinner from his home at Incline Village. I watch Madison as Mark and Holly go to dinner, and it's generally a smooth night.

Flash to Saturday morning. Phil goes golfing with Mark, and Holly and I go to the pool to splash with Kane. By the time Phil comes home, he needs painkillers and is breathing shallowly. He keeps saying: "i'm fine, I'm fine; I just have to relax and stretch it a bit." But it gets progressively worse, and despite his pain, he goes out to meet Mark's friend, Mike, while Holly and I hang out at the cabin with the kids.

Sunday morning, we are on our way out the door to meet Mike and his family out for lunch in Tahoe City, and Phil, who can't turn around properly to see out the back window of the car, runs right into a big pine tree and shatters the back glass into a million pieces. We spend the next fifteen minutes cleaning up the driveway, I cut my foot, and we laugh that, oh, yeah, this is the third bad thing that happened. Whew, good thing it's over now.

Except.

Except Sunday night we are sitting at dinner in the cabin, Phil, myself, Mark and Holly. Carly is chilling in her little bouncy seat, and Kane is running around and trying to show off to us (Pay Attention to ME!, is the sentiment). He keeps climbing into Madison's stroller and standing in it, and we keep telling him to get down, which he does, only to climb back up again in a minute or two. Just as we were finishing our Chicken Parmisan, we all, for whatever reason, turn just as Kane, standing once again in Madison's stroller, leans a little too far in it, causing the back of the stroller to fall onto the base of the floor lamp nearby, which causes the floor lamp to smack into the wall, which then causes all of the glass on its shade to come crashing down around Kane, who is now stuck in the stroller on all fours. One piece of glass doinks Boo Boo Head on the right side about two inches from his ear, and blood starts pouring out of his little head. In this matter of seconds, all I hear is HOlly's gasp as we all watch this happen, and then, it is a mad rush of activity, of me scooping him up, Phil grabbing a towel and examining his head, Kane crying (more because he's scared) and Carly beginning to wail. Mark holds Kane in the backseat as Phil and I drive to the ER, leaving Holly with a sleeping Madison and a hungry Carly.

Kane, who has gotten a Dum Dum lollipop for the car ride, is perfectly fine, but Phil is so shaken, he can't even laugh when Mark and I let off a little nervous energy by giggling over how this will sound when we talk about our relaxing little getaway. When we finally get to the hospital - about twenty minutes away, the bleeding has stopped, but the cut is deep, so Kane will need stitches. Kane, by this time (it's about 7:30 p.m.) has loads of anxious energy, so he begins showing off for the people in the ER waiting room, running from person to person, showing the green Hot Wheel he got from the admitting nurse, and exclaiming "Car" for anyone who wants to hear it. He gives everyone in the room high-fives, and climbs up and down, up and down on the chairs, and grins at everybody passing by. Phil finally makes a joke by saying he's going to run for Congress at this rate. Jerry Brown calls, and props are given to Phil, who only tolerates him for a minute before saying: "Jerry my son and I are in the emergency room, so I will have to call you back."

By the time we get to a treatment area, it is 8:30 p.m., and Kane is spent and nervous and missing his nighttime ritual. He starts crying and asks me to pick him up and cuddles into my arms, with me telling him it will be alright. Finally, he pulls back a little and looks at me with big, wet green eyes and asks: "Bink?" Which crushes me, because I then have to say: "I'm sorry honey; I don't have a binky with me." Fresh tears. Mark has gone out to get Kane some juice, which he has also been asking for, and by this time, I am in danger of missing my second feeding with Carly, so Mark drives me home and then goes to pick Phil and Kane back up. I'm so glad I missed the end, because Phil said it took four people to hold Kane down while the doctor put in three staples in his head. Hey, man, I saw Kane's circumsition, and that's about all I can stand of seeing my son in pain and fear.

Monday, we didn't move an inch from the homebase. But we did recover a small sense of relief and relaxation.

And that was our vacation. And now, I need a break.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 3:38 PM
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Does Not Share The Bed

Does Not Share The Bed
Originally uploaded by Rubberpants and Erpy.
Plays well with others.
Cries a lot at night.
Smiles at Mommy and Daddy.
Lovebug, Redux.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 3:36 PM
Friday, June 24, 2005
K and C

K and C
Originally uploaded by Rubberpants and Erpy.
Oh boy.
And girl.
How cute are they? No, that wasn't rhetorical; I could wax poetic all night. And I might, since the buggers won't let me sleep, anyway.
Carly is now six weeks old, and Kane just turned eighteen months old. They are gorgeous and perfect and I will wax on later, when they stop screaming for food...

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 2:03 PM
Thursday, June 16, 2005
What Day Is IT?

So. Sleepy. Nap. Need a nap. Will write more later. Two kids fun and hard. Ack. Coffee....

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 2:33 PM

Monday, May 02, 2005
Carly's A'Comin'

No, you're right; I have not posted very recently. Or not recently at all. And I would feel guilty, were it not for this BEACH BALL stuck underneath my ribs, grinding itself against both my pelvis and my lungs simultaneously. This girl is already testing the fragile bond between mother and daughter by waking me up during the past two weeks nearly every night, just to knock on the proverbial front door of her little home and cause me to writhe in bed, stare balefully at the wall for the next two hours as I time my irregular contractions, and then fitfully drift back off to sleep. Good times.

But she's healthy; that's what the doctor said today. And I'm believing him. Kane and I went to his office today for the last time before I give birth and listened to her heartbeat. The size of the uterus measures well, and she's active. The doctor is happy, Kane is fascinated by the sound of the heartbeat magnified through the doppler machine, and I am just relieved. Okay, and a little miffed, considering he also told me I'm not dilating at all. Which means the contractions I've been having are just for show. Which means I can only guess what type of personality this little girl is going to have.

I have to say, though, that I was more relaxed today after hearing all that information - she's fine, she's doing well, she's likely going to come on time, and not early, which means no one has to panic and scramble and make alternative arrangements to help out with my son. And, it also means one more week with my son, before I spend three days away from him, something I can't even imagine right now.

I am going to have a daughter. She's coming Monday at 8 a.m. A son and a daughter. I can't believe how lucky Phil and I are. I just hope everything goes okay. I'll let you know.

Kane, meanwhile, continues to amaze me, astound me. What a child. I would gladly take a bullet for that kid. A hundred thousand.

Let's see: Quick update - he's saying other words now, and loves pointing things out and trying the verbage. He'll even watch my lips carefully when I repeat a word for him over and over, then try to imitate me. The latest ones we've heard are: Yellow (sounds like "rerrow"), Buddha (Booba), cracker (crahck), crayon (crahn).

He's also developing into quite the sly cookie; he knows when bedtime is coming, and tries to delay it by intviting me to spend time with him at the kitchen table. We will be watching a TiVo-ed Sesame Street or something similar, and he will know when the program's about to end, and he will slide down off the bed, where's he's been cuddling with me, walk down the hall, whimper a little, come back, wait for me to follow him, then he will open the cupboard and grab godlfish crackers and walk over to the small glass kitchen table we have off to the side. He will then proceed to climb onto one of the chairs, wait for me to seat myself, and dump out a few goldfish, like we were going to divvy up the goods and shoot the shite, or something. Then he chats with me and points to the baby girl doll we bought him (which is resting on the kitchen table) and try to feed her a cracker. I find the whole thing fascinating and endearing, and, had I more energy at the end of the day (I'm hoping that giving birth will relieve me of some fo that fatigue - I remember feeling so much better after giving birth to Kane, though I relaize takinng care of two is goinng to be waaaaay different), I would put up with it a lot longer, despite my knowing he is emplying a delay tactic. As it is, it only lasts about five minutes before I see him trying to test me, as in, climbing on top of the table, or trying to, and me repeatedly telling him no, and then making good on my promise of ending the little tea party by lifting him up and carrying him to bed. He then whines a little, grabs the blankie, and then cries for about a half-minute when I put him down to bed.

Oh, the blankie, this is hilarious: Kane has a security blanket, a preternaturally soft blue chenille thing from Little Giraffe that's edged in white silk. He's had it since birth, though we only really started carting it around everywhere probably when he was nearly three months old and we took our first trip away, to Hawaii. I wanted him to have something that smelled like home, like him, and like mommy. Since then, that blanket has gone on everry trip mommy and Kane have taken which, frankly has been a lot, now that I think of it. The blanket's been to Hawaii, Oregon, Arizona, New Jersey, Minnesota, Napa, and on countless day trips.

Knowing that, it's not hard to imagine how rank it gets, nor how it's fraying by this time (just a little at the edges of silk). Nor is it hard to imagine what a feat of organization it takes to finagle that damned blankie away from him at just the right time (for washing) so that it doesn't interfere with his naps or his bedtime. Or all the times in between that he just loves carting it around from room to room. He doesn't have to hold it all the time, but he likes knowing it's there for him to plop down upon it and snuggle for a second. I envy him, actually; the look on his face when he sees the blanket and remembers it's there and then rubs himself into it can't be expressed as anything less than baby ecstasy.

So after the last botched attempt to wash and dry the blanket before he got tired and wanted to nap (or needed to nap, is more like it), I decided to go to the place where it all started, which was This Little Piggy on Fourth Street in Berkeley. Of course, I took Kane with me - sleep-deprived and all (I went Saturday after his botched nap, so he was super cranky and feeling under the weather with a cold, and therefore was in need of constant cuddling) and made it a pointed mission, meaning, I didn't spend more than five minutes in the store from start to finish. We went to the wall of Little Giraffe blankets, picked a perfect match for Number One (which he was already clutching), went up to the counter, and started to pay for Blanket Number Two. Unfortunately, Kane was no dummy, and was already clutching Two with the hand that wasn't already grasping at One. When the slaeslady took Two from him, he began crying a little, annd wouldn't stop until she gave it back to him. He grabbed both all the way home, then, when Phil came outside to greet us, he laughed, took the blankets from Kane, laid them both down on the carpet, and watched as our son went back and forth, pointing and shouting "blah!" (blanket) and rolling around on oceans of piled cotton like a dog in the dirt. He knows there's two blankets, and he wants them both in bed. We're so screwed.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 9:02 PM

Thursday, March 31, 2005
Reality blah blah blah

So so very sick of Terry Schiavo/Michael Jackson/apes who prove we want to watch celebrities/George Bush/U.N. studies no one pays attention to/MLB/the Pope/four interchangable blondes who traipsed across the television for what purpose, I'm not sure/my big-arsed belly/the price of gas here in the Bay Area/the weird rash on my son/my daughter's insistence on kicking the inside of my abdominal wall/pit bull attack stories/the CIty of Oakland and its ineptitidue and apathy/blah blah yuck.

Phil called me a few minutes ago. He is in NYC at the Four Seasons waiting for his suit to be pressed so he can go meet some business people for drinks before meeting some friends/business people for dinner. I am going to remain optimistic, here, so I will admit I know I am going to be enjoying warmer weather here for at least the next 24 hours. I will, however, still be pregnant, which negates a few hours of sunshine, in my book. I do have the pleasure of Kane's company, and I don't have to bullshit him or put on a false smile to pretend like I give a crap about whatever it is he is saying, so I have Phil's upcoming scenario beat there. Of course, I am not waiting for my clothes to be pressed and sitting in a marble tub with Bulgari bath products foaming around me while I choose from a cornucopia of mini bar tasties. Oh, okay, fine; Kane still beats that scenario. That is what I shall tell myself when he throws my back out again tonight while he struggles to be strapped into his high chair.

I would like many many drinks now. This is not a cry of indulgent self-pity. This is a nostaglic call to cocktail hour.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 4:29 PM

Friday, March 18, 2005
Fifteen Months Old

DSCF0116
Originally uploaded by Rubberpants and Erpy.
Little boy, you are growing up.
You are babbling words that are coming out as words, for crying out loud. Words like, "boooon!" for "balloon," and "jenk chew," for "thank you."
You just rock, even if you run pregnant Mommy ragged. You are curious and intelligent and joyful and, well, fast. Damn, boy, you're going to be one gorgeous, Nobel Prize-winnning artist/musician/athlete.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 10:36 AM

Wednesday, March 16, 2005
For the Love of God!

Go to sleep!

Sleep normally, wouldya? Quit waking up four or five times a night, for no really good reason, other than you're ampy from not sleeping well for the past several weeks because of various sicknesses and teething. Get back in a groove, pleasepleaseplease, because if I have to keep waking up when you do, I am going to lose it fer reals.

You just woke up from an unscheduled morning nap, so off I go...

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 11:13 AM

Monday, March 14, 2005
Super Sonic

So, if it's not the stomach flu, in all its diarretic glory, or teething, it all its ampy painful fun time, then it's - wait for it - ear infection time! Danananana, nananananana! Oh yes, people, the boy now has an ear infection, which iis keepinng him up nights, which, hence, is keeping Mommy up nights. Poor little guy, though; I never heard him cry like he has with this. It isn't constant, just heart-wrenching.

Also heart-wrenching, or, rather, stomach-wrenching, is the smell of the Trioxin I have to spoon down his throat twice a day (it's an oral amoxocillin, which means it smells like penicillin arse, even though they try to disguise the taste at least with some foreign cheery flavor). Also distressing to me are the pink streaks left on shirts (his and mine), towels, pants, bibs, blankets, what have you, anything that's cloth that comes into contact with the Boy Who Will Not Swallow Medicine. I may have to get get Mary Poppins on his butt and mix the stuff with sugar or something, I don't know. Or traumatize him by pinning him down so hard he can't squirm a millimeter. Yeah, that ought to teach him. Unruly baby toddler. Take that.

Poor boo.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 11:31 AM

Monday, March 07, 2005
Things I haven't Yet Learned

You would think that I would have learned from my first pregnancy that bikini waxing is just not smart in the seventh month of pregnancy. Yes, tis true I cannot see a thing past my belly, but damn, that woman with the wax is just mean. Or so it seems to me. Vanity is not worth it at this point; I don't care if everyone sees hair coming out of my bathing suit at the gym.
I can't see it, so screw it.

In other Tagami news (nor non-news), there is a lot of racket going on downstairs (and yet, the boy sleeps through it), because our ancient (read, original from this circa 1966 house) heater is FINALLY busting out (by force) to make way for a new one. Kane and I have been living without heat now for five days, which isn't so bad, since we've been using the space heater at night, but it's a bitch to find a good reason to get up in the morning and answer the squawk of my son in the 7 a.m. chill of the Oakland Hills. And now, my one last reason for snuggling underneath the covers is being taken away. On the flip side, our duct work is getting cleaned for perhaps the first time since 1967 (I hope - I better check with the crew downstairs), so we can rule out Legionnaire's Disease among our list of potential ickies. Yeah, "whatever" is right. What a weird little obscure disease my father has to deal with. That, and the form of cancer I can never remember associated with asbestos exposure. Which would be exposure that I had working for the man. But that's another story, and frankly, I feel fine, so it's not even a story.

Oh, and Phil is coming home today (yay) from a business trip in Hawaii, where he was trying to square away his uncle's estate (no, he's not dead; just a good preparer). I really think Kane was missing him - either that, or he's going through a weird separation phase, because he wouldn't calm down last night and sleep (he woke up after 20 minutes of being put down and was wailing in a delirious state) until he climbed on top of me and nuzzled his head against my shoulder while we watched the Simpsons and he nodded off. He ended up in bed with me last night, which I'm sure books and psychologists and whoever else will tell me is bad for the baby, but he slept better last night than he has in the past week, and frankly, that meant Mommy did, too. Which meant I put away the application I was filling out to sell him to the gypsies.

On to ask the crew if they're cleaning the duct work. I'd try to impress them with my HVAC background, but I'm embarrassed to say I've forgotten a lot of the jargon. And I never got anything about the home units - I just dealt with the big-arsed commercial beasts that needed curbs on rooftops. There - that's what I remember of being a journeyman. You impressed?

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 11:31 AM

Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Kane's ABC's

You say "Cookie!" (okay, it sounds like "cook", but you do it when you point to Cookie Monster or when you grab the box of Triscuits from the cupboard and goosestep toward me in a bid to open the box for you the fourth time in one day).

You say "baa!" when you point to a sheep (stuffed, of course, unless it's on the PBS show "Zaboomafoo," which is your new absolute favorite show, and, if you you could talk, I know you'd say it kicks Sesame Street's arse, since I see you bouncing like a lemur on speed whenever the show's theme music comes on - thank the lord for overly-earnest brothers living in Maryland who film a children's show about animals - I salute you, Kratts).

You say "clock!" while pointing to Mommy's and Daddy's ridiculously oversized clock hanging in our bedroom. You say "clock!" (sounds like "cockt") when you point to Mommy and Daddy's watches - or anyone else's watches, for that matter. You point to your own wrist and babble sometimes when you want to start a new activity. No, I don't know how you figured that one out - I never taught you, but you are a genius baby, 'tis true.

You dance every day like you are trying to sit down on an imaginary chair over and over and over again, and I can never be tired or in a bad mood whenever I see you do that with your big wide grin on your apple-cheeked face.

You want to listen to "your" CD - full of children's songs that WILL NOT LEAVE MY HEAD - first thing in the morning, right after your diaper is changed and I give you your juice sippy cup. You run right to the CD player and point and look back over your shoulder at me and grunt "Uuhn?" until I come and turn it on. And you do this at least five times a day. And, more often than not, you reach up to have me sweep you up and dance with you, and my heart just melts, because I know that won't last forever. Just like when you were sick this past week, and the only way you would fall asleep was lying on top of me with your head buried in my shoulder, me stroking your back. I didn't want you sick, but I was trying to memorize the moment, just the same, because I knew it wouldn't be this way forever. You're fourteen months old, Kane, and you are perfectly amazing, and I love you so so much.

Love,
Mom

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 9:34 PM

Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Beep Beep

I have a feeling my son's first full compound word may be "douchebag," since I insist on using it to describe almost everyone else on the road.

And I know I use the word, and yet, I can't stop myself. I have managed to whisper it (mostly), but I need to exercise more self control. Or maybe, all the douchebags on the road can kindly get off the road and not jeopardize my son's and my unborn daughter's lives with their freaking cell phone talking, no turn signaling ways.

Other than that, the Tagami family has just gotten over a household of hideous, viscous stomach flu (okay, it was only husband and son, but not in that order, but still), and we are now trying to regain some sense of scheduling.

Only, there's this: The day after Kane got over the flu - nay, half a day - his body decided it wanted to push through four molars. At once. I wouldn't have figured out why my little boy was sobbing 12 hours after breaking his fever, and why he couldn't sleep and wasn't thirsty, had I not just managed to stick a finger into his mouth on a hunch, and felt the serrated edges of those pesky little pieces of enamel just on the other side of his little pink gums.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 9:16 PM

Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Powder-Fresh Breath

The first time my son tells me I am mean or I am unreasonable, I will simply tell him he doesn't know what mean is, that I COULD HAVE taken a picture of him this morning showing him trying to eat a whole box of my long-stashed-away tampons, and taken another picture of him getting frustrated when I wouldn't open the box for him so he could get at those little suckers. I COULD HAVE kept those said pictures for posterity, to break out on only the most special of occasions, such as his first major sleepover with his little friends, the time he first brings home a girlfriend, his fiancee, whatever. They could be such versatile mementos. But I DIDN'T. BECAUSE I AM NOT THAT MEAN.

So there, kid.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 11:06 AM

Sunday, February 13, 2005
Hallelujah and Pass the Pretzel Rods

So, Kane FINALLY got back (I hope) on some sort of sleeping pattern I can live with, ie., only waking up once, maybe twice, during the night. People, you may criticize me for having no will to toughen my thirteen-month-old son up enough so he learns not to be thirsty for 12 straight hours (I can't even hold out that long, fer God's sake), but I'll take the 3 or 4 a.m. break to give my son some juice and rock him to sleep and I'll love it, because I know a time very soon will come during which my son won't want that anymore because he'll be a "big boy." And I'll rue the day I listened to books instead of my instinct, as tweaked as it can be.

And you know, the mid-evening break is a hell of a lot better than what I've experienced the past week, which is, Hey Mom, Let's Get Up Every Hour or Half Hour and Just Not Know What We Want. I know it was from teething and - I believe now, since I went through it the past two days - a slight bug that makes you miserable with a sore throat and just enough nasal congestion to be annoying.

I believe the past two nights of relative calm, coupled with my husband's return from a two-day trip to SoCal, somewhat restored my sanity; I'm not so edgy anymore, which roughly translates to me not wanting to string my son up in a ceiling harness and plug my ears with baby socks so I could take a NAP, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, KID! And I am only too aware that Kane sensed I was no picnic to be around, either, but lo, this weekend, we have once again showered one another with such affection as to make the angels weep. Or something.

I also seem to have found my cognitive skills once more, or so I think, since I was able to have a coherent conversation with Phil this morning as we walked down to Montclair Village and ate breakfast with the boy. One of the subjects we touched on was feeling relevant in the world, and what it takes to sustain that feeling, and whether you can change your life and still capture that feeling to your satisfaction. We talked at length about it from Phil's perspective, about his life and his world, and about our s together. And it was funny, because when we came to talking about my own world, I had to confess, after thinking about it out loud, that I've never felt more relevant in my life. And it's at a point in time in which I'm not Career Girl or Traveling Girl, but a mother and wife. I'm not just that, but those are my full-time jobs, now. Top it with the fact that I've set a goal for myself to edit this piece of work I wrote back in November, and it adds a new dimension to my sense of self, or a sense of pride I have in accomplishing something I had always hoped to do.

Well, but, getting back to the relevance theme: What was funny was how I was telling Phil that I never thought I'd get such an indescribably good feeling out of being a mom or wife, and how, in fact, I used to scoff at people who said they got such fulfillment out of what I thought were such banal roles in life. Phil was laughing with me, saying it was interesting how so many people chide what they're ignorant about. Anyway, bad weather, good conversation, good grown-up time and good family time today. And I get to go bowling later (I'll explain a different time), what more could you ask for?

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 1:42 PM

Tuesday, February 08, 2005
The Freaking Agony!!!!!!

Why does teething hurt kids so much? And, more to the point, why are we ALL made to suffer for the pain that is caused by enamel forcing its way through soft, tender gum tissue?

Kane is getting an incisor or a molar, I can't tell which, because he isn't letting me poke around long enough in his mouth to figure it out. But damnit, that tooth better serve him well and if I ever, EVER find out somewhere down the road it got a cavity and again caused him and his parents pain and suffering (and money), I will find some way to wreak havoc and rain fire and retribution down on its inanimate being, so help me.

I am so tired right now. So is the bug, but he won't go down, and he just walks drunkenly into walls and doors and makes little squeals and laughs while trying to say "Hi" to the telephone. His favorite sound in the world right now (to make) is the sound of an elephant - he goes around waving his arm up and down like an elephant trunk and making a sound between a squeak and a fart. Phil commented the other night it looked like he was giving us the Third Reich salute, since he sometimes also likes to experiment with his walks to figure out the most efficient (and most fun) way to travel. Yeah, I guess the goosestep could throw people off.

Other words he has said in the past week (maybe once or twice, never with consistency):
(While we walked through the park and passed the pond) "Duh(ck)" - say the last two letters very softly, so it's mostly "DUH!" - points given to him because he was pointing to the ducks floating around and flying about.
"Hi" to the telephone today.
(Always asked, never declared): "This?" (say it like "Dis?")
"Meow!"
"Juice?" - say iit like "Deuce?"

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 10:36 AM

Monday, February 07, 2005
Happy Anniversary

Phil and I have the Big Two today, but he's out with his sister, who he hasn't seen in eight months or so, and I'm about half dead anyway, since the boy is kicking my arse lately with teething at night.

More later. Must tend to one of a thousand things I started and cannot finish for lack of brain power.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 5:00 PM

Tuesday, February 01, 2005
Bye Bye

HE SAID BYE BYE TO DADDY TODAY!

I had to take an extra ten minutes to scoop Phil off the floor this morning, but how worth it is that?

Oooo, I could just eat this kid up.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 1:53 PM

Tuesday, January 25, 2005
What Is In A Name

Who knows. Phil and I are debating whether to name our girl Carly, now. We like it, but I think Phil wants something stronger for her. We'll see. I know he likes Alexandra, and I guess I could live with it if I called her Alex. I just want her to get here, already. I'm done being pregnant, but I know once she's out, I'll be so sleep deprived, I'll be wishing for her to get back in.

Also, having trouble with my name. I got my replacement checks in the mail yesterday, which showed my maiden name, spelled incorrectly. Jessica Mapterna. I figured, if they effed up that badly, I may as well go down to the bank and get my name changed to my married name (I already did it with my doctor's stuff, much to Phil's relief - he was pretty unhappy with Kane being Baby Materna the first day).

Well, Phil and I belong to a very nice bank in Chinatown that has very few tellers who can speak very good English. This is not their fault, but rather, my arrogance talking. Plus, I'm goinng to get a Chinese tutor anyway, since I want to learn the language and then teach Kane and Carly. But we're getting off track. When I got to Chinatown (Oakland), they shunted me around to three different tellers, the final one telling me I needed my Social Security card and two forms of ID with my married name on it. This wouldn't be a problem, except I never got my Social Security card changed over when I got married, because it got stolen four months before my wedding, and I figured I would wait until everything else got switched over before I made the trek to the SS office to stand in line for four hours and change my name on a card that no longer existed.

Yeah, I never did that. Now I am paying the price, so I made an (useless) appointment for tomorrow at the SS office. Wish me luck.

Kane has more solid ID than me. He's got a birth certificate and a passport, already.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 10:43 AM

Thursday, January 20, 2005
Alphabet Soup

Boo-Boo Head has been babbling up a storm, saying a lot of "Da, de, ba, bo cah da da." and the like, particularly when he's waking up in the morning and I free him from the confines of his crib. He particularly likes to run into our bedroom and hang on the edge of the bed and wake up Daddy with this stream of conscious dialogue. I like to think he's telling his father about his dreams and chiding Phil to get out of bed, man, we got playing to do, that sort of thing. He also does this hypercute thing where he tosses one of four very squishy, baby-friendly balls and yells his version of "Bonsai!", which sounds like "Atchow!" As a matter of fact, every thing he throws gets that verbal send-off. I am dying to know what it means, but that is neither here nor there. He's also 50/50 on getting the balls to go forward; usually, he throws and the balls fly behind him. I can't wait to catch him doing it on tape, just so I can break out the footage on prom night, wedding day, and any number of milestone events. I am just going to be the nightmare mamma.

Getting back on track ... lately, and I mean in the last day or two, I've been noticing some real words seeping through. Like today, when I picked him up and carried him down the hall and asked him: "Would you like to eat breakfast now?", and he responded "Eat."

Cool.

And after his bath tonight, when he went up for the hundreth time to pat the watercolor Phil and I got last weekend at an auction - it's of Sesame Street's Count Von Count on top of a castle with three little kittens who need to find their mittens - and I said: "Yeah, that's the Count and the cats," and he pointed to the Count and said: "Cat."

We'll work on semantics later.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 8:37 PM

Thursday, January 20, 2005
Carly's Bad Habits

I swear, it's her who's making me eat this entire bag of Oreos. The little vixen wants no part of bananas or berries or anything good for her, I mean it. She's all about the chocolate.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 11:44 AM

Wednesday, January 19, 2005
He's Lucky He's Cute

It finally happened: The day came when I momentarily considered throttling my son before I took a look at him and saw how frigging adorable he is despite being the reincarnation of Shiva. Then, I curled in a ball on the bed in a heap of guilt for considering that a 13-month-old was plotting against me to make me crazy. Then I ate some chocolate and got over it.

It went like this: On Tuesday, or, as I like to remember it, The Day of Reckoning, The Boy had been on Day Three of a head cold, and had begun the day at 1 a.m. by wailing and bouncing in his crib because, well, he couldn't sleep, so why the hell should anyone else? I went and comforted him, which worked for 35 minutes, after which time he wanted a bottle, because he hadn't been eating solids for the past couple of days (couldn't breathe). Mommy fed him and burped him and rocked him and put him down. Again. At 3 a.m., he called for me just to make sure he could, I guess, and to ask me in his language whether I was feeling okay and could he please have some more decongestant? Mommy obliged, then crawled back to bed until about 3:40 a.m., at which time he lost his binkie or felt cold or something, I don't know, but I tried to accommodate him, nonetheless. At 5:30 a.m., he wanted another bottle, and he woke up for good at 8 a.m.

The morning routine around here is that I try to change Kane as soon as possible because he usually has a two-ton diaper even when he's not drinking three bottles a night. This usually means I manage to wrestle him to the ground and wrangle the old diaper off before he runs off gleefully in his altogether and I chase after him and rope him like we're in the rodeo.

Tuesday was no different, except that when I ran after him and caught him in the living room, then play-ran with him back down the hall to his room, he managed to poop all over me, then had the audacity to try and wrestle with me again when I wrangled him to the floor.

Once he was diapered, I was gingerly peeling my clothes off of me when I heard a metallic-sounding thunk. Not hearing a cry afterward, and not hearing deadly silence, I didn't rush back out to the living room (I had poop on me, people, after all). When I had successfully changed, I got out there and saw he had broken the metal base off one of our table lamps by trying to pull on the metal chains that turn the lights on and off (he's very excited he's learned how to be God on the First Day). He looked up at me and I swear he was trying to say he was sorry. By that point, I just laughed and poured a cup of much-needed coffee, and pretended it was wine.

Tuesday night was a bit of arepeat, as far as him waking up at 1 a.m. for a bottle, then again at 5 a.m. I figured he couldn't possibly be hungry, since he had gotten his appetite back for solids during the day, so I tried in vain to soothe him, which prompted Phil to wake up and do his magic touch routine. Which only worked about 20 minutes, after which Kane started bawling until I gave him a second bottle, which he sucked down in less than one minute. Must be a growth spurt on top of the illness, I don't know. When Phil and I both woke up around 7:30 a.m., took a shower, then crept over to Kane's crib, we both had the fleeting thought of bending over Kane and screeching to wake him up as payback, but thought better of it.

OH, he is so lucky he is so loved.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 9:53 AM

Tuesday, January 11, 2005
The Old Man Is Snoring

Yep, it's raining. No, no mud slides. We live on bedrock, people; it just happens to sit on a precarious angle. No worries.

But we are suffering from colds. And Boo-Boo Head is sleeping, thankfully, after a series of restless nights that have picked away at his pretty personality. Unfortunately, I am up. I am consiidering going back to sleep, but it would mean he would naturally have to wake up then.

So now, I have to bite the bullet and stop reading books (some good ones - I recommend "The Book of Ruth" by Jane Hamilton or "A Map of the World" by thhe same person - but only iif you like sprawling, tragic stories with a glimmer of redemption at the end) and start editing mine. Yes, that heap of words I pushed together in November. I promised myself I would edit it and make it readable in 2005, so I need to start. Problem is, I don't know how to start, not with something this big. I figure I have to just go back, re-read it (shudder) and tweak it it, bit by bit. Wish me luck.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 7:48 AM

Monday, January 03, 2005
Dog Is His Co-Pilot

Last night, the power and cable went out at 7 p.m. after storms brought down a honkin' big tree right on a transformer box three doors down from our house. Whole street - dark. It was actually kinda cool. Kane got ampy and ran around in his little-leg way, and Phil and I sat around and had a nice, candlelit stream-of-consciousness talk about everything and nothing that you usually only get with one another when your're out camping or otherwise disconnected from all the cell phones and the televisions and the computers - you get the idea. It was also interesting because, without that extra stimuli begging us to stay up late and do more more more, we all kinda wound down early - Kane went off around 8:30 (he first went down around 7, but woke up for an hour and played in the dim light), and, after some snuggling, Phil and I drowsed off around 9 p.m. I got a shower in before the hot water cooled down in the heater (the heat went out, too, for some reason), and climbed into bed under the flickering light. Pretty cool.

Well, it was downright frigging cold around 4 a.m., when I woke up to howling, because Kane's candle sputtered out, and he was scared of the weird lights outside and the men shouting commands at one another. I soothed him, fed him, and put him back down, but he woke up frightened again at 6:30. This time, I nudged Phil (okay, elbowed him) awake to go get him, because Phil was planning to get up around then anyway to go to the gym. Well, he brought the boy back into our bedroom, but couldn't leave, because PG&E had their trucks blocking our driveway. So we hung out in bed for about fifteen minutes - which mostly comprised of us wrestling to calm Kane down, since he was cold and unhappy and squirmy. Finally, the lights kicked on at 6:50 a.m., along with the tv that had shut down 12 hours earlier. We flipped to PBS and caught the end of a kid's show with some safari animals on it, which Kane completely mellowed out for - he snuggled in right between Daddy's legs with his blanket and his binky.

Then, get this. Phil goes in to shower, comes out, and Clifford the Big Red Dog - an insipid, but relatively tolerable cartoon about dogs that can talk (John Ritter used to play Clifford's voice, and Fonzie played a guest dog in this episode) - comes on as Phil's getting ready and I'm trying to change clothes. And Kane points to the tv and goes "dog."

His first word, other than mama and dada! Holy crap! And it's - dog. Dog? But, we gave him initials for KAT, Cat, kid. Meow. Which he says, sure, meow, but, that's not the same as a bonafide word. And it's dog! Phil and I looked at each other, and I replied, "Yeah, Honey, ruff, ruff! That's a dog!" "Dog," he replied, never to speak it again (today).

Right on, Kane. Keep on talking, boo-boo.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 9:27 PM