Welcome to the Family, Pilgrim

Pictures from Brady's baptism

Ready to go

"I was a very good boy," said Kyle.

The picture of innocence

The main event

Brady ties to snatch the pitcher of blessing oil

The post-baptism spread, courtesy of MomHOP and Stonefire Grill

Playing with his friend Dashiell

First handful of frosting, courtesy of Costco

He likes it!

Post-party outfit and puddle of spit-up. No party would be complete without it.

No, Look at the CAMERA!

Britney Spears Got a Boob Job

Just testing to see if anybody is paying attention. If you came here through a search for that kind of title, let me know how mad you are that there's no picture of her. If you are a regular reader, let me know how mad you are that there's no picture of my kids and their grandparents at our party for Brady's christening from yesterday.

I'll be back on a regular basis when things die down a bit. Where are my commenters? Are you all on vacation?

I Dunno, Maybe You Should Just Reboot It

I've been experiencing technical difficulties today. Maybe it's the smoke in the air which is making me lethargic and clogging my brain. I'm also surrounded by a magnetic field that is causing machinery to malfunction all around me.

I tried two Coinstar machines today. One got jammed because I had three coins stuck together with melted candy. Mmm - quarterpops! The other did not accept nickels. Neither of them was able to grant me the Amazon gift certificate I sought (for free) in lieu of cash (for an 8% charge).

I tried the automated postal machine at the post office. It would not print postage for me. I stood in line and dealt with the mean postal guy and almost got a parking ticket. On my way out, I saw someone using the machine with great success.

I spent the rest of the day in an irritable funk. The one thing that kept me from losing my temper was that I was going swimming tonight at the gym. Even if I don't make it there the rest of the week, I always have my 30-minute swim on Wednesday nights. This time the pool is the whore - I pay them $30 a month for me to use it 4 times.

Finally, the time came and I left Stewart with the boys and fought the local traffic and made it to the gym. I got to the locker room, opened up my bag, and...

...no swimsuit.

Fine, I thought, I will just do a regular workout. Oh, wait. No gym clothes, either. All I had was a towel, a swim cap, and my goggles. I know I would have gotten a lot of attention if I tried to skinny dip. And believe me - at the gym I do NOT want attention.

As I drove home I know I had a pencil-scribble cloud floating over my head like a cartoon character. It remained there until I got inside the house and Stewart made me dinner, which I ate while Brady sat on my lap, leaning forward and trying to snatch the bowl. He's grabby like that.

If all else fails, stick chocolate in it. That will make it feel much better.

Hey! Look at Me!

Kyle dressed himself for bed tonight. Look!

This Morning

Kyle: Where's my Grampa?

Mom: He's still at his house. He's coming here soon.

Kyle: He's gonna fly in the sky!

Mom: He'll be here in two days.

Kyle: It's gonna be FUN!

I Make a Tower!

Kyle exclaims at everything: "I ATE it all! I MAKE a tower! I TAKE a bath!" The tower thing is an old favorite because he said that when he was much younger and it suprised me that he could put an idea like that together in words. Now he says things like "Mommy, you're coughing. Want some medicine?"

I am busy making towers lately...in my in-box. Somehow even though I am a SAHM I have lots to do, so much to do, so busy busy busy.

People always ask "How are you?" and the knee-jerk reflex is "Oh, great...busy." But what does that mean, really? Aren't we all busy? Who's NOT busy? I have decided to stop using that as my response to the how are you question. (I've also decided to stop kissing hello the people that I don't really want to kiss hello, but I guess that's another post.)

The other night I was in the grocery store without the kids so I was taking my sweet time. As I checked out the cashier looked at me like she recognized me and asked me earnestly how I was doing. I said fine, thanks, and you? She said oh everybody's busy, you must be busy too, blah blah busy busy busy.

I told her that I wasn't that busy, and everybody is healthy and well. She blinked at me like she didn't know what to say. The line behind me got longer, and I got self-conscious, so I got busy and packed up my stuff and left.

It's a lonely game, defying convention.

California Is Burning

There are fires all around us, and the wind is whipping the smoke this way, but we are safe. We are pretty far from all of the hot spots. Thanks to everyone who has inquired about our well being. I don't personally know anyone who has had to be evacuated, but I know people who know them. Let's call it the Two Degrees of Fire Damage, no pun intended. Say a silent prayer for all those who are displaced by the fires.

I have been saying a prayer with Kyle before nap or bedtime lately. We have started small, with the "Now I lay me..." prayer. I remember saying it with my departed Gramma long ago, when I slept over her house and I stayed in my Aunt Jeannie's old bedroom. There was a ceramic bust of the Virgin Mary in her room - it wasn't scary; on the contrary, it was a periwinkle blue cloaked pretty lady. But I felt her watching me, and I never felt like I was really alone in there. Sometimes it was comforting, sometimes it was creepy.

Years ago, when shopping for a baby gift for a friend, I found the little praying stuffed animals. You squeeze the belly and a small child's voice says the "Now I lay me..." prayer, only with updated lines that say "May angels watch me through the night, until I wake in morning light." That is the version I choose to say with Kyle. At the end I pat him on the back twice, which is his cue to say "A-MEN!"

It occurred to me that Kyle is so entrenched in his bedtime rituals because I have been doing them since he could sit supported in my lap, so I started saying the prayer with Brady, too. He can't say Amen yet, but he can grab fists full of my hair, as if to say "Nothing will take me away from you, Mama."

Amen.

Sweet Relief

The problem is, once you get a taste, you want more. You start sneaking around, trying to get more. You grit your teeth to get through the craving, glancing at the clock, wondering when you are going to get more.

Last night I went to sleep at 10:30 PM. I woke at 1:44 AM for a bathroom run. Then I went back to sleep and slept until 7:00 AM. Then I pumped and went back to sleep until 9.

It was heaven.

Auntie Lisa, may the Lord bless her mighty soul, offered me this gift for my birthday for the second year in a row. She stayed with the boys overnight while Stewart and I took a holiday. This time we drove an hour south to the fair town of Laguna Beach. We stayed at an inn right on the beach. It cost a pretty penny but it was cheap for that area, and you get what you pay for, because the room was decidedly not charming. However, the bed was comfortable, the location was perfect, and the hotel provided beach chairs and towels. All I had to bring was my Harry Potter novel and sunscreen.

When parents of young children say they're going away for the night to sleep, haha, people chuckle with them and secretly think, "Yeah, they're going to get it on!" But seriously, folks, I was all about the sleeping. I feel so much better. I wouldn't say I feel like new, because the only other thing we did besides all of that nothing was eat. I felt like the girl in "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" who turns into a blueberry. Bloated, eyes bulging. She had to be rolled to the juicing department.

I was excited to return home and see my sweet squishy baby and my precocious toddler. They were both napping when we arrived, so we got the debriefing from Auntie Lisa (the report was good) and greeted each boy as he woke up.

Less than one hour later, Stewart and I were both exhausted again. It's a happy tired, but still too strong for me to pull out the camera and share the few pictures we took on our holiday (in contrast to last year's travel story - one more kid makes all the difference). In light of how good I feel when I am well rested, I wanted to resolve to go to bed earlier so I can wake more refreshed, but then I remembered that I get most of my stuff done, including my writing, after they go to bed.

There's got to be a compromise here somewhere. Maybe I can just write in my sleep.

Up My Sleeve Without a Paddle

Every now and then I read things on other bloggers' sites about how they have "something going on" that they can't talk about just yet, hinting of big successes that make me jealous even though I don't know what they are. I just KNOW every other blogger, especially the ones who didn't even know what a blog was back when I started this site (three years ago September since nobody noticed) has a book deal in the works. Every other blogger besides me.

Whatevs, I say. I am happy with my little audience, the community I have built in my computer. I have sent and received real! Live! Mail! with them so that proves they exist and they really do like me. So there.

Yes! I am happy with this little gang of readers! I write for you and for me and it is enough.

But! I have something going on that I can't talk about just yet. I don't even know if that's true. I'm probably supposed to talk about it - a lot - but I don't know the rules yet.

It's not a book deal or a boob job but it could be really cool and cause me to stay up even later at night with my butt in this chair to write things that will appear elsewhere on this wonderful internet. Would you follow me? Will you?

Can You Say "Cumulonimbus?"

This is a picture of me reading "Oh Say, Can You Say, What's the Weather Today?" starring the Cat in the Hat to Kyle and his Friend Daniel (that is what he calls him, "Friend Daniel") who is the son of my great college friend Matt and his wife, my Friend Michelle. The three of them, along with their daughter Kyra, stayed at our house for three nights. It was madness, but oh so much fun. Kyle learned about 40 thousand new words from Daniel, and none of them were naughty. Plus, Daniel left a couple of books behind, so we've been reading them while I keep trying to get my butt to the post office to send them back to their rightful owner.

'Til Tuesday, Act One

It's no secret that when I was pregnant with Brady, I was terrified of being home alone with Kyle and the baby after all of my help was gone. How would I fill the day? How would I secure the household and keep Kyle from escaping while I nursed the baby? What would I do if they were both crying at the same time? How would my house ever be clean and tidy? How would bills get paid? Would I ever sleep again?

Those were all very real and challenging questions, not merely the fears of a hormonal mother. Don't ever be fooled by the fears of a hormonal mother, by the way. People have chalked my crazy outbursts up to the fact that I was "not myself." I myself have apologized for my behavior when I "must have been PMS-ing." But actually, I think I am offended by the blatant dismissal of women just because of their hormones. Hormones can make anything seem worse, but so can fatigue or sickness or stress. Show me one person who is not affected by any of those things. If we blew off what people said every time they were tired or sick or stressed out, nobody could take anybody seriously, ever.

Those first days alone with Kyle and Brady were few and far between. I did manage to plan playdates and attend play groups at least once on each of those days for several weeks. And in truth, a whole day with both kids is absolutely exhausting. Once I accepted that I would get nothing done that didn't have anything to do with chasing, wiping, feeding, or playing, I was in a much better state.

Plus, there's always Tuesday to look forward to. On Tuesday, Kyle goes back to daycare for three full days. Tuesday is like my Saturday. If anything has to be done, I can't get to it until Tuesday. If a mess is made, I'll clean it up Tuesday. Don't look at me for dinner on Monday night. No food, unless you count Rice-a-Roni as food. I go shopping (or I sit at the computer and order groceries online) on Tuesday.

This week, the contrast between Monday and Tuesday should have been a little YouTube video documentary of How I Survive With Two Children.

Scene 1, Monday

INT: Prince living room. Day. MOM sits on the couch, holding BRADY in her lap, arm around KYLE, who has just woken up from his nap.

BRADY and KYLE: Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

MOM: Calgon, take me away!

Scene 2, Tuesday

INT: Prince kitchen. Evening, after daycare. MOM feeds BRADY in his high chair, while KYLE draws and plays with magnets at the kitchen table.

BRADY: Glarg!

KYLE: (points to his chest) This is my heart!

MOM: That's right, Kyle.

KYLE: (points to Mom's chest) Dat's your heart!

MOM: Right!

KYLE: Dat's da love in dere! Can I have a hug? (spreads arms open wide)

MOM: Aww, of course. I love you Kyle! (hugs Kyle)

BRADY: GlaaaAAAARGH!!!!

Old Cow, New Cow

I have been seeing a chiropractor regularly all year. I started going to him when I was pregnant with Kyle. By now, I have financed his third child's college education. The other day, I received a notice in the mail, and before Kyle could shred it (who needs a shredder when you have a toddler who has memorized the Letter Song from Blue's Clues?) I learned that my insurance coverage for chiropractic visits maxed out long ago, leaving me with a hefty balance. Indignantly I called the office to cancel my next visit. I had been planning on breaking it off with the chiropractor for weeks, and this gave me an excuse. "It's not you, it's my insurance," I told the secretary.

Four days later, I threw my back out. See, people? This is the kind of thing that happens to me every day. Bad irony, karma, and payback. I can't imagine what kind of crap I was pulling in my former life.

I was only totally hobbled on Saturday, while Notre Dame laid the green carpet out for Boston College and said "please beat us, we beg of you, and we would love for the referees to aid you in your quest." It all seemed like a bad dream by Sunday, which also seemed like a bad dream, and come to think of it, today seems like a bad dream too. See, I haven't actually slept since Friday night. My children have renewed their conspiracy against me, and take shifts screaming and crying and wetting the bed in the middle of the night. (Yes, I have heard of overnight-strength diapers.)

In a fog, I tried to play with Kyle this morning as I rocked Brady in his bouncy seat and sucked down a second cup of coffee. I found the cow from the Fisher Price Little People farm set...from when I was growing up. For some reason, it has made it into the moving boxes of every move I have undertaken since I left home for college. I have proudly incorporated it into Kyle's toy library, where it languishes, un-played-with.

"Hey Kyle," I said. "Look at this toy! This was Mommy's when Mommy was a little girl."

He didn't give it a sideways glance.

"No, Mommy," he said. "That's old cow."

Fine. I needed a muse anyway.

The Pet Psychic Told Me Where to Find Them

I remember the advent of Mommy Brain when I was pregnant with Kyle. Two kids later, and I marvel at what I went through back then. That was nothing! The fatigue and the emotion have built up to such a frenzy that I don't even notice it anymore. It's a constant buzzing in the back of my head that blurs images and fogs my memory. Just yesterday I brought a bag of poopy diapers out to the garbage on my way to the car. I opened the can, threw my load in, and turned to look at something in the yard. I went to the car but the keys were not in my hand. I looked at the garbage can. Right there on the top was the bag of poopy diapers. So what's in the can? Yep, you guessed it. My keys. At the bottom of the disgusting shit pail. I'll spare you the details of how I got the keys back out. Let's just say there was much hand washing involved.

Look Who's Growing!

Brady's progress often gets lost among the many tales of Kyle and his antics. But make no mistake, this little one, my peanut, is forming a personality all his own. I can hardly believe he will be six months old next week. At least once a day I take a moment to look at him, really look at him, to see who he is becoming. If I don't do this, he doesn't even seem real to me. With the demands of a toddler whose only settings are Asleep and Full-Speed, the baby becomes a chore, an after-thought, only tended to when he cries. I know it's sad, but it's the inevitable fate of a subsequent child in a household that doesn't have full-time help.

Overall, Brady is a happy, friendly baby. When people talk to him, he breaks into a joyful smile that takes over his whole face and then spreads to his body, until he shudders with pleasure and coyly dips his head. He chatters away to himself and others and he loves to chew on things.

It seemed like overnight he went from baby who just sits there to grabby little boy. I was sitting with him on my lap at a friend's house. Next thing I knew I was wearing half a plate of pasta and meat sauce after Brady grabbed my fork and flipped it with a quick swipe of his hand. He is not yet sitting up or crawling but that doesn't mean he's immobile. When I put him on a blanket on the floor, he rolls over or wiggles and winds up in a place far from where I left him. No more unsupervised playing on my bed!

We have continued feeding Brady his solids. People think that I'm so earthy crunchy for making my own baby food, but it's really not that hard. Plus, buying pre-made baby food requires a trip to the store, and I'm at the point where any errand is weighed by necessity. Time to feed the baby? What do we already have? A quick glance around the kitchen reveals so many options - bananas, check. Sweet potatoes, check. We still have an avocado that's not black on the inside, maybe that will work. Frozen tamales? Hmm...that's for later. Brady actually loves what I've given him so far. On the rare occasion that I miss his solid meal (still only once a day), he will let me know.

Luckily, and I almost don't want to type this because I am afraid I will jinx it, he has become a good sleeper. He naps best in his crib, and he sleeps through the night with the exception of one feeding, usually 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning. Stewart brings him to me in bed and I nurse him lying on my side. We often fall asleep together after that. I don't mind. After all, it will only be another six months or so and then I will have to put his nursing infant days behind us.

So. Who is he becoming? Looking at his brother, it's amazing to see how much life is contained in a little 2-year-old body. How much knowledge, feeling, speech, empathy, and frustration. I never would have been able to imagine that when Kyle was 6 months old. Now that I know, looking at Brady, I am filled with appreciation for who he is now, and edge-of-my-seat anticipation of every day to come.

If Only the Season Had Ended After That

We're actually in the game and still happy!

The view from our awesome seats, courtesy of our houseguests from Seattle.

I think this was the first time this season that Notre Dame was in the lead.

OMG! We won!!!

A Video Is Worth a Million Words

Desperate Househusband

Many of you will have already heard this story but I think it's a good one for the blog so here I go repeating myself.

I have been humbled. When I read about Zoe's poop party, I thought "sucks to be you, S@L!" and I was thankful that my kid doesn't do such things. Well, karma can be a bitch.

Last Saturday I headed out to Trader Joe's to get supplies for my little book club birthday party. Both kids were in their cribs. Kyle was not exactly asleep, since I had totally pushed the naptime envelope and he had fallen asleep in the car on the way home from visiting a friend. He doesn't transfer well (must be a Y-chromosomal trait because Brady doesn't either) so he woke up and never really settled down again. He was happily chattering away to himself in his room, though, so I thought it was a good time to escape.

I poked my head into the garage where Stewart was working and told him I was leaving, and since DSW isn't on the way I was going to stop there, too. He said that was fine and told me to have fun.

Which I did, as you can see from my shoes in the photo below. At Trader Joe's, Disney was running a big Desperate Housewives publicity event, which both awed and insulted me - what, you're saying only desperate housewives shop at Trader Joe's? It didn't help that at that moment in time that is exactly what I was. Nevertheless, I accepted their gift of magnetized shopping list pads and went on my merry way.

I was gone for about two hours, but all it took was 15 minutes.

That's how long Stewart enjoyed relative peace until all hell broke loose at the House of Poop.

When I got home, I walked in the door and found this: Brady screaming his head off, Stewart shouting into the phone, and Kyle writing on himself with a pen. I immediately shut the door and went back to the car to "get the groceries," or perhaps drive to Vegas.

Once we all settled down, Stewart told me the story. About 15 minutes after I left, both kids started crying in their rooms. He got Brady up and put him in the bouncy seat. Then he went into Kyle's room.

And found that Kyle had taken this opportunity to experiment with poop as his newest medium. It was all over him, his hands, his face, and the wall. To make matters worse, he had also peeled some of the fish appliques off the wall, the ones that I had lovingly applied last year.

Stewart was, of course, horrified and did his best to clean everything up before I got home, God love him. It was my birthday weekend, after all. By the time I arrived all of the poop evidence was gone but Stewart was still working on cleaning up the fish and he even thought he would try to replace them (we have a lot left over) but there wasn't time for that.

I have to say that I was disappointed that Kyle had tried this experiment, but I was not surprised. We had a little talk with him and he learned "no poop on the fingers," adding to the list of places where poop should not go, including the water and the sidewalk. Clearly he is not exhibiting any sort of consistency in pooping in the toilet (or "tow-let" as he calls it) and I am still not yet ready or energetic enough to commit to making this happen, which I know is probably scarring him for life or something, but you can see we have our hands full (literally!) in this house so again, I give up. For now.

Oh, Look. I'm Older.

My back reminds me that I'm not getting any younger. However, I had a fabulous time last night with my book club. Someone even brought a cousin who automatically scooped up the 2 babies that were there leaving the moms to just have a nice time. I made chili, cornbread, and salad and there was a death by chocolate cake that was so very good. Add that to the cake my friend had for me the day before and now I have a lot of very chocolate cake left over. Look out, play group friends!


I also looked fabulous:



At first I wasn't going to post this picture but then I figured this is as hot as it's gonna get for a while, so why not? Please feast your eyes on my shoes: I have a weakness, and her name is Mary Jane. Remember that episode of Sex and the City in which SJP freaks out over a sighting of Manolo Blahnik Mary Janes? I am that way about them. Even though I never dress up or wear pretty shoes, it's nice to have them, and say hello to them when you see them in the closet. I haven't owned Mary Janes for several years, and I had forgotten. But when I went into DSW on Saturday these snappy red ones greeted me right away. I played hard to get, and shopped the whole store (of course...I mean, how often do I ever get to go to DSW alone?) to find that every other pair of shoe is a button-closure Mary Jane. I never say I'm trendy but this time...cutting edge.


Oh yeah, and we did talk about the book, which was The World Without Us by Alan Weisman. It's depressing and terrifying and it makes me a lot more concerned about reusing plastic bags.


My WOO, or window of opportunity, has just closed. Brady is about to army crawl his way into a head-on collision with the coffee table.