Another example of fine parenting

Yesterday was the 21st anniversary of the day that Brenna, SuperNanny, was born. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU Brenna's parents, by the way. About a week ago she asked me if I would accompany her on her first-ever visit to the liquor store on her big day and I thought sure! Why not! It'll be a field trip!

So first thing yesterday we loaded up the kids and the double-stroller and headed off to the local ABC store. No I really didn't think about how it would look. Seriously. But once we got there and I started unfolding the stroller and strapping the kids in it struck me. It's 9:15 am and I'm standing behind my mothermobile getting ready to roll my two small children into the liquor store. Whooo hoo! You can send the parenting awards in the form of cash please.

As we entered, the old guy that runs the place yelled out a good morning and inquired as to whether we needed any help. Oh nooo thanks heh heh. Just browsing and Hey! It's her 21st birthday! THAT'S why we are here! (Insert lots of nervous laughter here.)

Once it became clear that Mr. Liquor Store Manager had seen far stranger sights than we presented, I relaxed and we started roaming the aisles. I quickly found the perfect spot between aisles so Emerson couldn't play grab-and-smash, and then discovered that the liquor industry has been, well, industrious in the past few years. To wit: two aisles of nothing but vodka: pomegranate vodka, blueberry vodka, pepper vodka, forty-eleven makes of plain vodka. The back wall was chock full of premixed cocktails once obtainable only from a bartender: B-52's, Long Island Iced Tea, Margaritas, Mudslides, Martinis, Appletinis, Chocolatinis...I was nearly drunk just looking at it all and I haven't squealed that much since my last trip to a shoe store - I was fascinated! Astonished even!

We cruised each aisle twice just in case we missed something the first time. Brenna asked me all kinds of questions that I couldn't answer and really, what IS the difference between single-malt and blended whiskey, and why is that shit so EXPENSIVE? And, if I paid $150 for a bottle of scotch would I really be able to DRINK it? Or should I place it on the mantle, price tag intact, so people can be impressed?

Brenna finally picked out a lovely bottle of Patron tequila and we made our way to the check-out counter, where the guy dutifully carded Brenna and didn't even bother PRETENDING that he wanted to see my ID. Beh.

And then I got arrested

When Hubs discovered he had no clean underwear this morning (well, no clean DRY underwear - there was plenty in the washer!) I mentioned that it might be prudent, it's just a suggestion really, but doesn't he think it's time to buy some new underwear so he has more than FIVE DAMN PAIRS because how often does he REALLY expect me to do laundry??

That's how I found myself in Target this morning trying to pick out men's underwear for my husband. I never buy clothes for him unless he is there with me. I've tried in the past and, except for some really beautiful ties that I've chosen, he's returned EVERYTHING I've ever bought him. Or kept it in his closet until I forgot about it then donated it to Goodwill. *sigh* Underwear is, obviously, a very personal decision. Hubs had given me explicit instructions on what to purchase and I strode confidently into the store certain I would be in and out in 5 minutes.

I made my way back to the men's department and stood staring at row after row of briefs, boxers, brief boxers, bikinis (shudder) and some weird bicycle shorts/underwear hybrid that looked not only uncomfortable but also just a little bit nasty. I was flummoxed. There were regular boxers, jersey knit boxers with a tiny little button over the fly, briefs with two openings - one on *ahem* either side, I guess so a guy could mix it up during the day and keep things interesting in the men's room. The most disturbing - briefs with no fly at all.

I had no idea what to buy. My instructions, it seems, were worthless against the vast selection available. I had no choice. I pulled out my phone and started taking pictures of the packages and emailing them to Hubs for his advice. God, when you are writing about underwear every single phrase suddenly becomes a double entendre. I texted a few descriptive phrases for each one and waited for his reply while I cruised up and down, hoping against hope that the right kind would present itself.

My phone beeped indicating I had a message. It was from Hubs. "Are you really standing in the men's underwear section of Target taking pictures?? Don't you think someone might find that a little creepy?"

Oh. Shit. I hadn't even thought of that. I grabbed the first package I saw (see what I mean? That totally sounds dirty!) and ran for the checkout, hiding my face from the security cameras. If you see this on YouTube it isn't me. It's some other weirdo chick taking pictures of men's briefs.

Friday Randomness

Following are a bunch of things that, by themselves, probably don't warrant a full post so I've just thrown them together here.

First, we have a (blurry) photo of the newest member of our household. I've tentatively named him Henry and, since he STILL won't eat, I'm trying not to get too attached. My stupid f&@$ing camera wouldn't focus on the fish so this is what I like to call an artist's representation:




Next up we have Emerson and Thomas, and she is CLEARLY as confused by his oral aversion as everyone else. She's all "Thomas, it's a GOLDFISH. It's GOOD. Just TRY IT." And he's all "No way let me see how small I can make my mouth so she doesn't have much of a target get that goldfish away from me I don't WANT it!" And then he yelled "MOM! She's TOUCHING ME!" Not really, but I totally know that's what he was thinking.




And finally, we have this:



They are called "DenTips", the tips are made of flavored foam and they are often used at hospitals to brush teeth. Thomas's feeding therapist uses them to desensitize his mouth and he brought some over yesterday. After the therapist left I sort of forgot that there was one laying around somewhere, until I found this...



...and realized that Emerson had bitten the tip off. I checked her mouth but didn't see any green stuff, so I resigned myself to the fact that she had, indeed, EATEN it. A few minutes later I offered Emmie some of my ice cream sammich (which I have developed a renewed luuuuurve for this summer) and as she opened wide to take a bite, the green foam fell out of her mouth onto the floor. Either she is learning to hide things in her mouth from me, or she stashed that thing somewhere so she could go back and chew on it some more. Either way, it shows WAY too much reasoning power in such a small creature.

Happy Friday everyone!

The Incident

I try to keep my morning routine fairly simple because frankly, until about 8:30am, I'm just not all there. Some would argue that I'm not all there at ANY point, but whatever.

I usually wake up to Thomas talking in his crib. I lie in bed for a while with the pillow over my head trying to get back into whatever dream I was having, then I face up to reality and haul my carcass out of bed. Once I get to his room it's a race to dress him and bring him to the kitchen before his enthusiastic yelling wakes his sister. He wakes up INSTANTLY and LOUDLY. That fact alone makes me wonder if we are actually related.

Once I have his breakfast going I indulge my need for caffeine. I have never been a huge fan of coffee, and thanks to my Nana I am a devoted tea drinker. Innernets, let me tell you I am WEIRD about my tea. Over the years I narrowed my choice to Earl Grey, which is "black tea with bergamot flavoring". Yeah, I have no idea what bergamot is either, but I luuurve it. Eventually through trial and error, I settled upon Twinings as my favorite because it's just floral-y enough and not too strong. And let's be honest here. The tea is merely a vehicle for the half-n-half I put in it. If I run out of half-n-half I won't even boil the water - it's just not worth it.

At any rate, my mornings are simple. Thomas up and dressed, TEA, then Emmie up and dressed.

Yesterday morning I was especially loopy since Hubs and I had a date Saturday night and were out sorta late. Unfortunately, my dear children didn't get the memo. Thomas woke up and started his best foghorn imitation at 6:45 am. Heaven help me what IS this kid thinking?

I staggered out of bed and got him dressed, got his breakfast going and put the water on to boil. Once the kettle was rockin' I lovingly poured the water over the teabag in my travel mug, making sure not to pour too fast and cause it to pull the stringed label into the steeping tea.

Oh yeah, I'm weird about my tea.

I replaced the lid on the mug so the water wouldn't cool off while the tea steeped, and that's when I heard Emerson call out. Hubs loves to rock Emerson in the mornings when she first wakes up, so he went in to get her while I started thinking about her breakfast. I opened the fridge, got out the container of half-n-half and pried the lid off my mug. I then then turned the mug over.

The scalding water hit me, drenched my shirt and went all over the floor.

At this point I could tell you how much it hurt - how I peeled the shirt off to get it away from my skin and how I started digging in the freezer for ice to cool the burn. But what I want to emphasize is how totally freaked out I was by the fact that the water had gone all over the floor where, on a typical day, Emmie would have been hanging out while drinking milk from her sippy cup and waiting for me to feed her.

I lost my ever-lovin' shit about that.

I stood for a moment holding my shirt away from my skin, agape at the steaming puddle on the floor, and I started to cry. When Hubs ran in to see what was going on he thought I was really hurt. Yeah, it definitely hurt and I definitely have burns on my stomach from the water, but I was far too concerned with what COULD HAVE BEEN at that point. What if Em had been right under my feet? What if she had been hit by the scalding water?

I am pretty much consumed by the what-ifs right now, and I'm half-considering putting up a baby gate to keep the kids from ever coming in the kitchen again. This really is neither a logical nor practical solution because honestly? Let's just tell the truth here. I'm trying to protect my kids from ME. From my sleep-deprived, stress-addled, uncaffeinated self.

Don't Look Now

I love my son. I LOOOOOVE him the way I love oxygen - I need it to live. And I breathe him in the way I do oxygen because I love the way he smells. My favorite thing in the world is to sit on the sofa with him and breathe in his breath. Even when he just wakes up and he has a little bit of morning breath it's the most beautiful, wonderful scent in the world.

I know. I'm just weird like that.

Each time Thomas learns something new, picks up a new skill or, like he did just a few weeks ago, learns how to throw kisses, I am completely blown away. Thomas, like many children with global developmental delays, has periods of time where he doesn't learn any new skills. These times, maddening and always way too long, are called plateaus. He'll ride a plateau for a while and I'll start to get frustrated, a little desperate, then suddenly, in a flurry of furious learning, he starts doing something that I had decided, in my faithless way, he would never do.

The poor kid had such a hard time with head control. His head was HUGE and his pink little neck was so small. The picture I took of him on his first birthday shows a little boy exhausted from his party and unable to hold his head up any longer, so he's resting it on the back of his high chair.

I was convinced he would never sit up unassisted. The first time he sat up long enough for me to take a photo was the summer of 2006. He was 15 months old. The effort of sitting up was so great that it made him sweat. Little beads of perspiration would just pour down his face and his arms would shake as he attempted to balance on them. After placing him in the frog position and letting go, I would cheer and sing silly songs until I saw him begin to lose it, then I would grab him up and kiss him all over and tell him what a big boy he was.

I remember the first time he ever pushed himself up to sitting on his own. I was in bed, Hubs had just finished brushing his teeth and we could hear Thomas in his room on the monitor happily talking and laughing. Hubs walked across the hall to say goodnight and then he yelled "Honey, come in here!" Nothin' like hearing that coming from your child's nursery to get your heartrate up.

I ran in and lunged over the side of the crib to see what was wrong with Thomas. The light was still off and as my eyes adjusted to the darkness I realized I couldn't FIND Thomas. Then I saw him. Sitting up at the end of the crib wondering what on earth everybody was doing in his room. Hubs and I did a damn jig and then called everyone we knew to tell them that THOMAS CAN PUSH TO SITTING ON HIS OWN. Then he didn't do it again for 3 weeks.

Now we are working on mobility. His physical therapists are working on both crawling and walking, and I keep shouting at them in my head "let's focus on one or the other, because asking him to do both just doesn't seem FAIR." There I go again. Thinking the worst while urging Thomas on to do his best.

Two weeks ago my mom, Thomas, Emmie and I were playing ball in the living room, rolling the ball back and forth between us. Thomas was all eh, not so interested, and put his head down on the carpet. He does this when he's tired so we played ball with Emmie a little longer and started thinking about bathtime.

Then suddenly, we realized Thomas had moved. Like 5 feet. Across the carpet. On his own.

He CRAWLED.

You'd have thought we just won the lottery. I'm pretty sure the neighbors heard us yelling. While we watched and yelled and Emmie looked at us like we were batshit crazy, we witnessed Thomas inchworm across the floor and to the couch, where he tried to pull up.

It ain't the prettiest crawl you ever saw. I'm pretty sure when he really gets going he's going to rub all the hair off his forehead, because he does what PTs call the five-point crawl. He puts his head down and reaches out with his hands then he walks his knees in. Then he slides his head forward, reaches out with his hands again and walks his knees in some more. Naturally he hasn't done it again since that night, but now I know how he is. He tries something once. Ruminates on it for a few weeks days then, just when you think the first time was a mirage, a hope-hallucination, he starts doing it again. And then he owns it.

I'm Back!

Whew! I don't know which was worse - the internet withdrawal or the exhaustion from packing up our stuff...which begs the question: if you've been living without it for 6 months do you REALLY need it?

When we moved back to the coast we rented a house that is considerably smaller than the house we were living in, so we only packed and brought the stuff we really use every day. We figured once we sold the old house we'd get the rest of our things. Left behind were things like serving platters, other dishes and glasses we didn't use much, Christmas decorations, books...you get the idea. My job this past week was to sort the items left into three categories: trash, Goodwill and things-to-put-into-storage. I was pleased with the piles for the first two categories. The last one gave me headaches.

You know how it is - you're all Ooh, I LOVE these chili bowls! These chili bowls are the BEST! But do I really want to PACK and STORE them? Wait a minute, here's a VASE I forgot about! It's beautiful! Here are THREE MORE JUST LIKE IT! Ok, one into storage, three to Goodwill.

And then I found the box of photos and got lost for about three hours.

One bright spot in this chaos was JIMMY. We hired JIMMY to help us pack and move. The reason I put JIMMY'S name in all caps is because he is AWESOME. He packs and moves people for a living and you've never seen anybody work as hard as this guy does. He's like a little tornado only he doesn't break your stuff. He puts it into boxes! He organizes the boxes! He moves them into the storage unit! He does it all in less time than it takes you to shower!

JIMMY also knows what to do when you get stung by a wasp.

I was outside doing some yardwork so our tenants wouldn't think they were moving into a jungle, when I stepped on a wasps' nest. Holy SHIT it hurt. At first I thought maybe it was just a thorn, but the then the pain got worse and worse and ohmigod it hurts and then my whole TOE was on fire and I saw the wasps buzzing around looking for new spots to sting and I RAN LIKE HELL into the house screaming.

Then I sat down on the floor and cried a little.

That's when JIMMY showed up and told me what to do. All it takes, he said, is some chewin' tobacco. Chew it up REAL GOOD and put it on the sting and it just makes the pain go away. Hmm, only one problem with that plan...but WAIT! We have CIGARS!

My hubby wouldn't let me use the contraband Cubans that he has, but the Dominican ones, well, ok, he'll sacrifice one of those for the cause. I soaked the end of the cigar in water and pulled off the wet tobacco and band-aided it to my toe. Check it out:



It totally worked. Within a few minutes the pain was gone and the swelling had subsided, which is a very good thing because we still had two days of moving and storing to finish.

I told my husband to call our landlord and let him know we will be renting this house until we die, because I am NOT moving again. Ever.