To Sisters

Well, both my sisters are funny. I had no idea my little sister Teresa had a blog - I was reading one of her old blogs and happened across her new blog. I was reading a post there that was making me smile at how very Teresa-esque it was - and by that I mean complex, thoughtful, well-written and irreverent and funny - and I had to stop to blog about it because Teresa is funny, and Teresa is witty, and I love Teresa very much. She can make me laugh like very few people can. And she and her new husband just bought a pink Vespa. So she is funny, witty, and drives a pink Vespa. The woman has everything!

And I love you, too, Jen. Who else would come over and play Guitar Hero for three hours just to unlock the four bonus songs? That is love. Oh, and you are smart and witty and funny and irreverent, too.

Here's to sisters:

If your sister is in a tearing hurry to go out and cannot catch your eye, she's wearing your best sweater. ~Pam Brown

In the cookies of life, sisters are the chocolate chips. ~Author Unknown

To the outside world we all grow old. But not to brothers and sisters. We know each other as we always were. We know each other's hearts. We share private family jokes. We remember family feuds and secrets, family griefs and joys. We live outside the touch of time. ~Clara Ortega

Our siblings push buttons that cast us in roles we felt sure we had let go of long ago - the baby, the peacekeeper, the caretaker, the avoider.... It doesn't seem to matter how much time has elapsed or how far we've traveled. ~Jane Mersky Leder

Sisters annoy, interfere, criticize. Indulge in monumental sulks, in huffs, in snide remarks. Borrow. Break. Monopolize the bathroom. Are always underfoot. But if catastrophe should strike, sisters are there. Defending you against all comers. ~Pam Brown

Sisters don't need words. They have perfected a language of snarls and smiles and frowns and winks - expressions of shocked surprise and incredulity and disbelief. Sniffs and snorts and gasps and sighs - that can undermine any tale you're telling. ~Pam Brown

It's hard to be responsible, adult and sensible all the time. How good it is to have a sister whose heart is as young as your own. ~Pam Brown

She is your mirror, shining back at you with a world of possibilities. She is your witness, who sees you at your worst and best, and loves you anyway. She is your partner in crime, your midnight companion, someone who knows when you are smiling, even in the dark. She is your teacher, your defense attorney, your personal press agent, even your shrink. Some days, she's the reason you wish you were an only child. ~Barbara Alpert

Of Modesty and Men (and some cute onesies)

I'm all for dressing a child like a child. I'm no prude, understand, but I try to keep Bella out of clothes that make her look like some 22-year old club-hopper that shops at Wet Seal. Living in Florida (where the temperature at 9AM today was already 90) a backless halter dress can be more comfortable, so I will admit that Bella wears some things that are slightly more revealing, but temperature notwithstanding, I like Bella dressing like a little girl, not like a little girl dressing like a ...well, like a Wet Seal-shopping 22-year old club-hopper. Nothing against 22-year old club hoppers or anyone who shops at Wet Seal, understand - I just don't think that's appropriate for my six-year old. To each his own, and whatnot. However, enjoying the whole rock/punk/metal culture combined with my appreciation for the cliche and pop culture reference, I found the following articles of clothing to be really cute and stuff that I would buy, were it not ridicously overpriced:

Inspired by my guitar hero fetish, a little something for Bubba:





















Now something special for Bella:





Heck yeah! Word to me!






And now, from the "I-would-buy-this-if-it-wasn't-$45" department - what better look for a Bubba than baby coveralls? The mohawk totally makes this look, I think.
























This shirt says, "For those about to read we salute you". Phenomenal - I'll take two. If they weren't $32 each. Gosh, it's expensive to be hip. Or at least, to have hip kids.




















This post has made me think about how I think about Bella and the way she dresses but have not thought once about the way Bubba dresses. Well, except one day when I told Brian that the outfit Bubba had on made him look a little "thuggish" (it was a Nike basketball outfit that was waaaay too big with these huge, galooty matching Nike sneakers) but that was more of an observation than a concern. Do you worry about boys and the way they dress the way you worry about girls? Is it because he is still young? I mean, modesty isn't really a issue for men as far as clothing goes, is it? Am I sexist without knowing it or meaning to be?

When I think about what I want for Bella, in the modesty department....well, I want Bella to wear what she wants to wear, to wear what she is comfortable in and what she thinks looks good, while having the confidence in herself to know that she doesn't have to show off her goods in order to attract attention. I want the same thing for Bubba - confidence, and comfort, not just in dressing but also in himself. And I hope that he doesn't wear pants so low that he has to change his walking stride in order to keep them from falling down, because that's annoying. But really, what I want them both to know is that the clothes don't make the man - or woman! You are more than the contents of your closet. As a questionable dresser myself, I think that is the approach to take.

Wow, what started out as a 'hey-look-at-the-cute-onesie' post ended up delving into modesty and mothering. Who knew I had that in me on a Saturday afternoon? That is most assuredly enough of me, I'm off to get some work done before going home to be sick and snotty some more.
Later!

Spitty birds and crawling babies

I am sick - some sort of sinus thing. I spent yesterday sprawled on the sofa with tissue shoved in my nose. I did venture out once to get milk, toilet paper and gummy bears, but other than that I moved from my sofa perch only when I had to. Bella enjoyed it - she spent a lot of time hiding out in her room and being that suspicious kind of quiet, the kind of quiet that means something bad is going down. However, when asked what she was doing, I got some lengthy explanation about birds, and spit, and the removal of skin, and when she came into the living room to explain it to me she had gardening gloves on. When I asked what the gloves were for she said, "The bird spit, mom! Aren't you listening?". Oh, geez, my bad. What a great imagination she has.

Bubba took full advantage of it, too, and put his new rolling/dragging/crawling skills to good use. Especially this morning. I was sitting right there - right there! - and he was into everything. Apparently there is something about Bella's shoes that make them far more preferable to chew on than either mine or Brian's. Maybe it's their smaller size. But this morning he got into the shoes no less than three times, and each time I had to remove one of Bella's shoes from his mouth. Once he finally got that the shoes were a no-no he headed over to the tv stand, where, after much fiddling and scritching and scratching around, he opened one of the cabinets there and started pulling out DVDs. His DVD removal plans thusly thwarted, he scooted over to the rocking chair and pinched his fingers in the rocking ottoman (what idiot came up with that idea, by the way?). That was the final straw for tummy time - once I comforted him, I gave him his binky and plopped him into the bouncer. I guess it's time to childproof.

I am going to spend my day after work perched on the sofa again, trying to get better. And maybe playing some Guitar Hero. Because I rock! Have a great weekend, all!

I need a hug....

....or a cocktail. Or both. Some random thoughts:

I went to the funeral yesterday, and it was very sad. I went home afterwards and hugged my kids until they were thoroughly disgusted with all the hugging. The graveside service was right by where my mother is buried, so after that was over I stopped by her grave, and was thinking about my mother and my children, this grieving mother and her children, and it was all too much and I had a decently-contained cry for a few minutes (you know, I tried to avoid chest-hitching sobs and all that, and managed to, for the most part). Add to this the fact that I am on my period (these horrible, seemingly vengeful periods I have been experiencing since the arrival of Bubba, the kind of period where you wonder if your body is mad at you and trying to get back at you for something - they are horrible, the worst periods I have ever had, sorry if that's too much information but it's true) and yesterday goes down in the books as a bad day.

At the end of the evening yesterday, I had gone home and was trying to rock Bubba to sleep and was suffering from a headache that was absolutely killing me. I couldn't get up to take anything because Bubba was being difficult, and there was no one else home at the time to get anything for me. I wallowed in self-pity for a little while before crying a little bit more and then just getting up and getting myself some tylenol. Then I watched 'The Office' for a while and between that and the Tylenol, felt better.

My sister-in-law and her husband just found out that they will be stationed in Viginia Beach, which is exciting for me because that is only about an eight hour drive to my family in and around State College, PA. So I can visit my SIL, visit my family in Pennsylvania, see colonial Williamsburg again (yes, I am a huge nerd), and hit up Busch Gardens, all in one visit. Hooray! Roller coasters, family, and colonial history. I'll say it again: hooray!

Maybe next time I blog I won't be so grumpy. Sorry!

It's Over

They took Miley off the ventilator last night. Her parents (her dad is not in Iraq as I had thought - he is here but scheduled to be deployed) had to make the decision and they are utterly tormented because of it - and who could blame them? They exhausted every avenue to make as absolutely certain as they could that she was brain dead, and poor Leigh spoke with half a dozen priests in order to make certain they were not going against the Church's teachings (the priests all assured the family that not only was it not against the teachings of the Church, it was probably the best thing for the baby). Her funeral will be Tuesday the 22nd, which is also when they lost their first child to SIDS. Please pray for the family, if you pray.

I am going to do what any good southerner does in a time like this - I am going to make casseroles and sweet tea.

Update

The little girl is still in bad shape - she has blood clots in her leg, and swelling in her brain that prevents the administering of a blood thinner, so her leg will have to be amputated above the clots. However, the swelling in her brain has damaged some pretty important areas, so they are waiting to do the amputation until they know more about the extent of the brain damage. The doctors apparently told the family they have some very tough "quality of life" decisions to make.
The family is still asking for prayers, if you think about it.

Prayers, Please (please please)

A friend of mine called me - her 2 year-old nephew accidentally dropped his 9-month old sister into a tub of water (with the intention of helping his mommy). The baby is in PICU and is not doing very well. Please, if you pray, pray for her. She was face down in the water for five minutes. She has been having seizures and they have had to increase her ventilator from a 40% to a 70%. The prognosis is rather dire, but her family refuses to give up hope.

Please, if you pray, pray for this baby and her family. If you don't pray, light a candle or do whatever it is you do, because they need all the help they can get. The family that is able to be with her and the rest of their family and friends who cannot be there with them are praying the memorare together at noon. These poor people have already suffered through the tragedy of losing a baby to SIDS. The mother has recently had an emergency hysterectomy and the father is in Iraq. Please pray!

Completely Random: Bulleted Thoughts

• My sister-in-law is about nine weeks pregnant. After years of trying, she and her husband have finally conceived, and I am thrilled for them. I generally try to avoid dispensing advice to first -timers in the wonderful world of pregnancy, because I understand how utterly saturated you can become with the lovely stand-by tidbits like, "Well, sleep now, because you'll never sleep again" and so on. I don't ogle bellies or back ends in an attempt to discern the sex of the baby, because frankly, hearing "Oh, look at the size of your behind, that is a girl you are carrying" once is more than enough. I try to listen, sympathize, and just be there for someone. I also try and make a point of making them feel special, because you can't get enough of that when you're pregnant. There are a few things I wish I had known, though. Or at least, had listened to when someone told me, because someone probably told me. Example: It isn't true that you will never sleep again. You will sleep, you just won't sleep as much or as well. So you should enjoy the manner and duration of your current sleep. My sister-in-law keeps saying, "Well, I know what it's like to have a baby because I baby-sit yours". I find fault with that logic, because 1.) she did not start watching him until he was six weeks old, and those first six weeks can be the roughest, and 2.) once I get off work, I show up and take my baby home. So after a few hours her baby obligation is over, and she can nap, or take a shower, or paint her toenails, or clean out the closets, or whatever, for as long as she wants, whenever the mood strikes her. When the baby is your baby, no one shows up to pick it up and take it home and suddenly, you find napping and showering and toenail painting and closet cleaning something that has to be condensed into the nap of a newborn, however long that may be - maybe twenty minutes, maybe two minutes, maybe an hour or more. Who knows? And at least for me, the toenail painting quickly falls by the wayside in favor of the showering. My feet might not be pretty but at least they're clean. But I don't say any of that, because she wouldn't listen, anyway, and I think it's just something you have to find out for yourself.

• A guilty mother's confession: I was absolutely thrilled to drop my kids off this morning. I'm exhausted and grumpy and not good company for anyone, and that's not even mentioning having to spend my work day serving the general public, of whom my opinion is low even on a good day. Bubba had a horrible night and I ended up getting a grand total of 4 broken hours of sleep, and then Bella was in rare form this morning: "Mom, did you eat my tic-tacs? Mom, why did you eat my tic-tacs? Mom, are you going to get me more tic-tacs since you ate all these?" (By the way, I did not eat the tic-tacs, her father did, but he had already left for work and was not there to catch the blame) "Mom, where's my Sierra mist? Mom, did you drink my sierra mist? Mom, I want more sierra mist. Mom, dad said he would take me to auntie's house but he left for work. Mom, why would you let dad leave when you knew he said he would take me? Mom, are you just going to let Bubba cry? Mom, Bubba is looking at you and you aren't even paying attention to him. Mom, when can you get more tic-tacs?" and so on and on and on. I took them to my sister-in-law, dropped them off, and practically skipped to the car. Hooray! Off to work!

• I remember when Bella started eating solid foods I insisted on making all of her food myself, from fresh, organic produce. My mother-in-law would buy jarred baby food at the grocery store, and I remember feeling as though this were some sort of slight against me, or she was disregarding my wishes (I'm not proud. But I'm honest!). I never said anything to her, because I knew she was just being nice and trying to make sure Bella had food at her house, but I was slightly offended by it nonetheless. Fast forward to today, with baby number two: the other day on the phone she told me, "I haven't bought any baby food, because I know how you like to make it yourself". Oh, um, yeah. Crap. Now I wish she would buy it, so I can stretch the homemade stuff and not have to transport it around. Things really do change with the second baby. With Bella, if anyone fed her something off the table I would be upset and absolutely certain that she was going to be a miserable and gassy mess. Bubba has tried all sorts of table food, the most recent being the chicken and green bean casserole I made for dinner the other night (he didn't like it). I couldn't have imagined doing anything but co-sleeping with Bella. Now Bubba and I co-sleep and I can't wait to get him settled into his own bed - that cannot happen fast enough. I love the little guy, but neither of us sleep well when we sleep together.

• That's about it for now. I'm going to zombie my way through the day and count the hours until I can collapse somewhere and sleep, even if for just a little while.

Tagged: My A-B-C's

Aimee tagged me for this meme:

A. Attached or Single? Attached to Brian, my husband of six or so years.

B. Best Friend? My sister-in-law Michelle, for a myriad of reasons, not the least of which is the fact that she is my babysitter.

C. Cake or pie? Cake, I think, although it is hard to beat a piece of apple pie with some melted sharp cheddar on top. It's delicious and it grosses out a certain six-year old, who is positive that it is disgusting and I am weird. My thoughts on that: more pie and cheese for me. Sucker!

D. Day of choice? Sunday. Duh.

E. Essential item? As the parent of a baby who spits up constantly and manages to get his food everywhere, I would say laundry stain removers - any brand.

F. Favorite color? Green.

G. Gummy bears or worms? Gummy worms. Although the bears are good, too, and when faced with the choice I generally select bears. So maybe bears, then. Although the worms are good in dirt cake. Both, then. I made that way harder than it needed to be.

H. Home town? Pensacola, FL, born, raised, and live currently.

I. Favorite indulgence? Flavor-Ice popsicles.

J. January or July? January, because July is so very stinking hot here.

K. Kids? Two, and most likely to stay at two. Although I would, down the road, like to maybe do some fostering. And I would be open to adoption.

L. Life isn’t complete without? Family. And friends who love you like family (meaning they know that you are crazy and hang out with you anyway)

M. Marriage date? 11/25/2001

N. Number of brothers and sisters? Two sisters. I am the middle child, and behave accordingly.

O. Oranges or Apples? Apples. I love apples.

P. Phobias? How much time do you have? Let's see....Lightning. Left turns. Public speaking. Solo performance in public (or really, playing anywhere anyone can hear me, unusual for a trumpet player, I know, but true for me). I'm sure there's more, but that's enough for now.

Q. Quotes? Oh, a few. Let's see....

"You know that our Lord does not look at the greatness or difficulty of our action, but at the love with which you do it." -St. Therese
"Our Lord never asks of us any sacrifice above our strength." -St. Therese
"Have patience with all things, But, first of all with yourself." -St. Francis De Sales
These are just a couple of my favorites. Both saints are near and dear to me, and both have pages and pages of wonderful quotes. The above all have special meaning for me.

R. Reasons to smile? Lots. My kids, my family, my health, I could go on.

S. Season of choice? Fall. Not that there really is a fall here - there are no subtleties to our seasons - it is hot, or it is not hot.

T. Tag 5 people: AU Jen, my sister Jen and my sister Teresa (wherever they might be blogging these days, and it's sad that I don't know - maybe you girls could send me a link?), maybe Mike (if he will come out of his writing retirement) and Nicole

U. Unknown fact about me? I know how to polka. I went to a goofy progressive magnet middle school and, one year, got stuck in a polka class. Nine weeks of polka. I know your basic polka step and variations thereof. However, I try to keep my mad polka skillz to myself, because 1.) It's really not anything anyone needs to see, and 2.) shockingly enough, there are few forums in which to display said skillz. Oom-pah music is out, I suppose. Imagine that.

V. Vegetable? Collard greens. Black-eyed peas (does that count as a veggie?). Spinach. Eggplant. Lots of veggies, really - most veggies. Not okra, though, I can't stand okra. Too slimy. Blech.

W. Worst habit? Complaining. And being extremely sarcastic at inappropriate moments.

X. Xray or Ultrasound? Although I have had plenty of both over time, the ultrasounds have it, in my book.

Y. Your favorite food? Pulled pork. Anything featuring sausage, or sausage on its' own. Tomato sauces. Tomato-cream sauces. Pesto. A steak from McGuire's. I could go on and on and on, because I'm hungry, so I will stop now. Garlic bread. Ok, really done this time.

Z. Zodiac sign? Aquarius.

Baptism/Behaviour myth: busted

One day, while watching me try and wrangle my squalling son, my father-in-law voiced the opinion that the reason Bubba was so bad is because he had not been baptized yet. Bubba had since proven that to be blatantly false. I am amazed that his personality is shining through so soon, and scared that he is such a diva. Last night I didn't give him his dinner in what he considered to be a timely manner, so he started screaming and waving his arms around, snatching at whatever he could get his hands on - it was high drama in the high chair. He threw his sippy cup across the kitchen, he knocked his bowl of food off the tray. He screamed and squealed and was just generally unpleasant. I was astonished - hell hath no fury like my son when I don't shovel rice cereal into his mouth fast enough. He wasn't starving - he had a bottle probably an hour or so before he ate, and he wasn't tired - he had just awakened from a nice nap right before he had that bottle, so I don't know what his problem was. Yikes.

The baptism went off without a hitch. The priest that was supposed to perform the baptism wasn't at mass, which really scared me because I have had some less-than-stellar experiences with him in the past, so all I could picture was him no-showing and...well, that would have been bad. He eventually showed, about ten minutes late but there nonetheless, and we got the show on the road. Whew. Bubba was somewhat well-behaved, the deed was done, and everyone is happy now. My mother-in-law is ecstatic because she can take him to Alabama to go shopping and eat dinner (she is of the old school that thinks you should not take the baby out before it is baptized - not that it stopped her from taking him all over town, so apparently she revised her views to allow in-town escapades, but anything crossing state lines puts his soul in jeopardy).

The party afterwards was threatened by a nasty squall that moved through - terrible wind, rain, lightning and thunder for a good forty-five minutes. It eventually cleared up, though, and everyone feasted on the pig (which, while not necessarily pleasant to behold, was not full-on nasty like I thought it would be) and other yummy treats. Clean up was exhausting, and we were not done until almost 6:30. Tired, dirty, wet and hot. But over! Hooray! My son is a clean slate. For now.

Mustard on my mouse and other mindless blather

I was eating a wrap from Subway earlier and unknowingly got mustard all over my mouse. I was mystified all afternoon at how I kept getting mustard on my thumb, and had no clue where it was coming from. At one point I thought to myself that it was like I was bleeding mustard, which was pretty amusing. Good news, though - I am not bleeding any condiments, I am just a sloppy eater. I'm sure everyone has breathed an immense sigh of relief.

I was looking through the updated website for Bella's school the other day and was watching the picture slideshows on each page. I was determined to find Bella's picture - as I told a co-worker, she is too cute not to have her picture there (I will confess to being somewhat biased in that determination). And guess what - her picture is on the website! Cool! I would show it, and am in fact dying to show it, but the creepy factor on that is way high - "Hey, here's a picture of my kid located immediately above the name and address of where she goes to school". No thank you.

I have had a couple of posts floating around in my mind, but no real time to work them out from mind to machine. I've been thinking a lot about Bubba's baptism tomorrow, and how absolutely insane preparations have become. I also wanted to post an open letter to the girlfriend of the guy who lives in the apartment upstairs - they recently had an enormous, drunken, expletive-spewing argument on the sidewalk right outside our patio, their third since we moved in. The name calling, especially the things he said to her, was vicious and not fit for the ears of anyone, much less my six year old daughter. Thanks entirely to this couple and their arguments, I have had to seriously discuss the following topics:

• Respect for other peoples' property (as a result of the girlfriend hitting guy upstair's truck with a big tree limb)
• Hands are for helping, not for hurting (as a result of guy upstairs shoving the girlfriend to make her stop hitting his truck)
• Name calling (as a result of the many expletives they used, many of them the various synonyms not used in or by polite society to describe a woman's private parts)
• Tolerance and diversity (for whatever reason, there is always liberal use of the dreaded N-word in their arguments)
• Alcoholism (a few days after one fight, Bella came to me and asked me "What's a drunk whore, mommy?")
• Respect for yourself (this is self explanatory, I think - no one - man or woman - should ever let someone speak to them the way these two people speak to each other)

Two of the fights have taken place in the parking lot, and those we just tried to ignore. The last one, right outside the house, is when we got involved - we heard the scrabbling noise of someone falling down, all the plants on our patio got knocked around, and someone screamed. Brian went out and asked if everything was OK. The guy responded with more expletives, and said it was none of Brian's business, to which Brian responded that, when the action is happening on our patio, it becomes our business, and for them to take it somewhere else. They moved further into the parking lot - very helpful. I have learned to just take Bella into her room when this happens and we read, or play a game, or anything that will distract her, but the whole situation seems pretty ridiculous. I remember being young and angst-ridden and in what I thought was love, and even getting in some pretty heated arguments, but never anything so volatile. I mean, we are talking about two people in their twenties drunkenly screaming and pushing and throwing things at each other in a parking lot. It's sad.

This morning, my boss informed me that, if I provide him with a head shot and a two-to-four paragraph bio, he will post it on the company website. Wha? I don't have a head shot, and I certainly don't have a bio. I will confess to not having made the best decisions over the course of my life, and while I am not mired down in regret, I don't think my bio would make for good reading. Or at least, not pertinent reading, as I have very little experience and education that pertains to the field I work in (I know, I am constantly astonished that I have this job, as well). So then I wondered what my bio would look like, and immediately had to write it, albeit in a sarcastic, self-deprecating way. Then I realized it was terribly bitter and that I am very, very hard on myself and deleted it. You would have thought it was written by someone that didn't like me very much. Hmmm... you don't need Freud to figure that one out, do you?

I had no clue what I wanted to do with my life, and the one term of college I attended (I use that term loosely - 'attended' suggests my actual presence, which wasn't always the case) just felt like a waste of time and money. I worked full time, at various positions at a beach resort in Alabama, and then briefly for Frederick's of Hollywood (where I became, I kid you not, a certified boobologist - I know, right?), and then at a condominium office for a few years. I was kind of coasting along, just hanging out. I came to a point where I was rather unhappy and turned to prayer, asking for guidance, for some idea of what to do with my life. And then I got pregnant. And I had my Bella, my beautiful, charming firstborn. I was a stay-at-home mom for a few years, then went back to work part-time, then went back to work full-time, and once again found myself facing uncertainty. I wasn't sure what to do - it seemed as though there weren't any more children in my future, so I was pondering: should I go to college? How can I go to college and work full-time and be a parent? And then I got pregnant again, and along came Bubba. So the recurring theme of my life is - every time I wondered about my purpose, about my path, I ended up pregnant.

I love being a mother. I love getting out of the house part-time, too, and (keep this on the hush, if people found out they might not let me complain) I think my job is very interesting. Not what I would want to do for the rest of forever, but it's great for what it is. I think, since I am fortunate enough to be able to have the choice (and I am very fortunate to have the choice, I know), I will focus on motherhood for now. My kids are small, and for the most part, appreciate me being around a lot. When they are older, maybe I can go to school part-time and start working towards a degree in something (yeah, I still don't know what I want to do). Who knows? You can go to college at any age. It's certainly not getting any less expensive, but that's how things roll.

Two years ago, when I first told a dear and much-loved cousin that I had enrolled Bella in catholic school, she said something that I haven't been able to forget: she said that she thought the money I was paying for catholic school would be better spent on educating myself. I want to be the best role model I can be for my daughter, believe me, I do. I don't think that Bella will not go to college because I didn't go to college (or I haven't yet, anyway). I think that, by us paying for her to go to a good school, she will realize that we consider education to be a high priority. I hope that she will look back on her life as a child and and know that 1.) I tried my best to be the best mother I could be, despite my many imperfections, and 2.) I encouraged her to follow her dreams, and that I have loved and will continue to love her wholeheartedly no matter what career path she chooses to follow - whether she is a doctor, or a housewife. Do I want her to go to college? Sure, I would love that. I would be probably be disappointed if she didn't. But that is her choice to make.

Well, I declare that to be enough deep thought for a rainy Saturday afternoon. There is much to be done before the beloved son and heir is baptized tomorrow, and frankly I have done less at work today than I will be doing at home tonight and tomorrow. The lechon (whole roasted pig) is going to be so icky and weird for me - this is my first celebration featuring the dish, and I'm feeling a little squeamish about the whole thing. If you are chiding me, take a look at this photo and then tell me you're ready to pick meat directly off a pig. All I have to say is, if there are leftovers, they are NOT coming to my house. I'm not mocking the the tradition, or the culture, mind you - I'm just saying that, as a picky eater who enjoys sausage but doesn't want to watch it being made, I'm lucky - spoiled rotten, even, by the fact that my pork comes neatly packaged in chop or rib or roast form, with nary a thing to remind me that I'm eating a chunk of a living thing. And that is how I like it.

Good weekend to all!

Chubba-Bubba

In the car the other day Bella handed me a CD and asked me what it was. I looked at it and saw that it was my 'Best of Lynard Skynard' disc. She asked if it was good music, so I popped it into the CD player. The first track was 'Sweet Home Alabama' and I actually said, "Oh, you'll need to know this song". As though it is required knowledge for getting through life. Maybe it isn't, but it sure helps when you're listening to a bad cover band or in close proximity to a jukebox. Plus, we live so close to Alabama that it's almost an anthem. I have seen grown men tear up at the sound of this song. Granted, they were intoxicated grown men, but nonetheless: it's a good song to know. Nothing like some good old southern rock. I'm proud of my southern roots - my family has lived in the south, in the same area I live in now, literally for generations. My children are rich in culture, heritiage and tradition: my husband's father is Filipino, and his mother is Cajun. They are lucky, my children. They will eat collards, and gumbo, and sinigang. When my daughter speaks she uses the southern stand-by 'y'all' and 'yes ma'am'. She loves to imitate her great Paw-Paw's thick french-cajun accent, and her everyday language is sprinkled liberally with tagalog words: ate (aunt), kili-kili (armpit) and others. I am proud of their diverse heritage, and I hope they will be, too.

Bubba had his four month check-up yesterday. He weights in just under fifteen pounds, so he gained roughly five pounds in a two month period. The white spot on his gums is actually a tooth - I had thought it might be, but it seemed too soon and not in the center, but the doctor said it is a tooth. He is healthy and strong, running smack average on all his statistics - height, weight, all that. So he's a healthy kid. Hooray! She said he can have solids if he is ready, and to keep on with what we're doing and bring him back in a couple of months. Alright!

Bubba Grump

Bubba is officially weaned. I felt bad for a while, and still feel a little guilty, but I gave it my best try, and he just didn't want to do it. Or couldn't do it - since he's been on a bottle I have noticed what he does to the nipples and I'm pretty certain his tongue-tie is worse than everyone thought. I'll check with his doctor Tuesday, but I think that was the problem.

We have finally scheduled Bubba's baptism. We had to wait on my Father-in-law to get back from the Philippines and my sister-in-law's husband to get out of boot camp, but now that everyone is present and accounted for we can move forward. The same priest that baptized me when I entered the church will be performing the baptism, which is kind of neat. I was absolutely amazed at the difference in the rules from when Bella was baptized to now. When Bella was baptized I wasn't catholic, so my perspective was very different, as well, but:

• Bella: had seven Godparents (another Filipino tradition, for some), none of whom were actually confirmed practicing catholics. A couple of them were baptized catholic, and one had made it as far as first communion, but that was it.


• Bubba: only permitted two Godparents, at least one of whom has to be a confirmed, practicing catholic and can provide a letter from their parish priest to verify that.


• Bella: we registered at the parish the day we called the parish office to set up Bella's baptism.


• Bubba: you are required to be registered at the parish for three months prior to arranging a baptism.


• Bella: The state of our marriage was never brought up.


• Bubba: When I called to set up a meeting with the priest I was asked about our marriage, and the first things Father did in the meeting was schedule a convalidation.


• Bella: We took a brief class with a deacon and then he performed the baptism after a mass. There was not a priest involved at all.


• Bubba: We met with the parish priest for roughly an hour where he discussed baptism with us, and he will be performing the baptism himself after mass.

I'm certain all the changes are for the better, but it was quite interesting.


On a lighter note, let me just tell you: nobody celebrates a sacrament better than Filipinos. Oh, yes, friends and neighbors, immediately following Bubba's baptism there will be a lunch to beat all lunches on the shores of beautiful Perdido Bay, and as per tradition, there will be lechon (I will be having chicken - I like pork, but pulling it straight off a pig is a bit unsettling for me), and pansit, and lumpia, among other things. It is Filipino tradition to have a huge, blowout party following the reception of a sacrament. My in-laws were stationed back in the Philippines when my sister-in-law was baptized, and it was huge - like, close down the block and invite the entire community huge. We are not taking it that far, but it's apparently going to be pretty big. My in-laws are planning most of it - I'm just around to help roll lumpia and carry things, I think. I'm not going to stress over it, though - I'm just going to keep in mind that my baby will be baptized and that is what matters most, that is the highlight of the day. Yikes!


Bubba is slowly becoming more and more picky, and he makes me laugh on a regular basis. He loves to be out and about - he is the most portable child in the world. You can take him anywhere, and as long as he can see what is going on around him, he is a happy camper. But take him home? Forget it. Homebound Bubba is an unhappy Bubba. When I tell people this, they say, "Well, just take him out!". It's not that easy, though. I take him out whenever possible, but I cannot drop everything else I have to do - housework, taking care of my other child, sleep, things like that, just to keep him entertained and happy. I would love to spend every moment of my day being entertained, as well, but that isn't exactly how life works. Bubba is going to have to learn that lesson early.


People don't believe me, but he is slowly starting to reveal himself. My sister took both kids to the zoo last week, and he was good as gold while they were at the zoo, but once they got back to her house? He screamed his little head off. My mother-in-law and sister-in-law took him out shopping with them the other day, and he was almost angelic. But once he was home? He was fussy. Tuesday we went to lunch, two museums, then a long walk that ended up at a downtown pier with one of those interactive water fountains. A long, long (hot!) day during which he only cried briefly when he was getting sleepy. And then once again, upon our return home? Grumpy, fussy and whiny. I'll never understand it. But I guess it is a good thing that he is good somewhere. I'll take what I can get.


He is also starting to show a preference for certain people and a slight aversion to some (but not all) strangers. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to it, though - he will spend all of Bella's swimming lesson in the arms of a stranger, just some woman who walked by and wanted to hold him, and he will be perfectly OK. But then when Jacelyn's swim teacher holds him, he sticks his bottom lip out as far as it will go and cries even though he has known her almost since birth. We ran into a friend of ours at Wal-Mart, and when she leaned over him to talk to him he started crying. But, when I went to the uniform exchange at Bella's school, one of her friend's dads held him the whole time and he never protested - he even cooed and gurgled and made little cute spitty noises and had everyone in the room fooled...I mean, charmed.


He seems to like men - he will behave like an angel for his daddy, or one of his uncles, or any man that he knows (and some he doesn't). At night, it takes me about twenty minutes of rocking and cajoling and singing and patting to get him to sleep, and throughout all of it he screams his head off like I am hurting him until he finally gives in and sleeps. He does the same thing for my sister-in-law, who watches him while I work. But he will sit in his daddy's lap and slowly drift off, never protesting, just sitting still and quiet and falling peacefully off to sleep.


Bella got her report card and she had a wonderful year in kindergarten. And on top of her good 'grades' and behavior, she missed only one day and was tardy only once for the entire year. Hooray! She is spending her summer so far playing Wii and catching up on her cartoons. Swimming is going well - she is enjoying it, and we are signed up and paid for lessons through mid-July, so she is excited about that. I think, however, that after that we are going to take a break and not do anything for a while. Swimming has been every Monday, Wednesday and Friday since April, and while she had enjoyed it and learned a lot, it will be nice to just have nothing to do for a while, until school and Girl Scouts get started again.

I will close with this little tidbit: my apartment is apparently where roly-poly bugs come to die. I have noticed sugar ants lately, and an increase in the amount of spiders, but every time I sweep (which is generally daily) I am finding deceased roly-polys. I'm sure they are looking for moisture, and it is hot as all blazes outside (the temperature last Saturday with the heat index was 108) so that has to be why they are coming in, but I don't understand why they have to die. The ants and spiders are surviving, why not the harmless little roly-polys? Poor things. They hold a special place in Bella's heart as they are the only insect she will touch. We do have a picture of her holding a butterfly she raised from a caterpillar, but in the picture she is looking warily at the butterfly and holding her sleeve closed, so it doesn't really count. If Bella finds them she puts them outside, regardless of whether they are dead or alive. I didn't stay on top of sweeping them off the patio and she noticed that they weren't moving and got a little upset. When I explained the whole moisture thing (it was the best I could come up with) she decided that, from now on, we should keep a bowl of water outside for the roly-polys. So, if you were to look at my patio, you would see a bunch of dead plants in colorfully painted pots, one live plant that needs transplanting, and a little bowl of water for roly-polys. Six is a magical age.

A Mother's Confession

Side note: I have decided to finally give my daughter an internet pseudonym, so from now on she will be referred to as Bella (I like the Latin root and the Italian translation). So I have a Bella and a Bubba. What a pair!

Down to the confession: Bubba is a grumpy baby. He is saved from being completely unpleasant for others to be around by the fact that he is very cute, but his disposition is less than sunny. I certainly don't love him any less, in fact now that I've lived with it for a while it can be funny, but it has been a long, loud road.

My husband can't abide it, and will stand on his head sideways to entertain him. I don't always have that luxury. My mother-in-law even bought us the bouncy seat, the high chair, and the jumperoo from the Rainforest Collection to help us try and entertain his majesty, but on the rare occasion that Bubba will relent and sit in one of them he never stays long. I keep a basket in the living room full of baby toys, and a lovely big blanket for him to scooch around on, but that doesn't last long, either. I can carry him around while I do things around the house, and he will yell and squeal and complain in a generally unpleasant way. There is no pleasing him, sometimes.

That is why, from time to time, he can be found in his Mercedes of high chairs (it has a cool toy that fits into the tray that plays music and lights up and spins), squalling his ever-loving little head off while I make dinner or clean up the kitchen. My husband is horrified by this, and if he calls while I am letting the prince cry he cannot/will not stay on the line and talk.

I can't call it colic - it isn't colic. It just seems to be high-maintenance, sensitive baby. He can wake up from a nice nap, be fed and diapered in a timely manner and seem to have no discernible reason at all to be unhappy, but he will be. And it isn't a "there-is-something-wrong-with-me- that-needs-immediate-attention" cry. It's mostly an "I-am-undecipherably-unhappy-and-or-possibly-bored-and-want-to-make-sure-you-and-the-neighbors-know-it" kind of cry. I call him a diva, which my husband also hates, but it is too true. My mother-in-law didn't believe me, until one day that she was watching him for me and he did the same for her. When I came to pick him up she was waiting for me at the door, baby in hand, car seat at the ready. Most days she encourages us to stay, possibly even for dinner, but that day she was done. All she would say was, "He is so bad!" as she shoved us out the door.

He hates his car seat, and screams the instant he is put into it. He hates to be hot, so boy do we have a rough summer approaching - temperatures are already in the nineties, so August promises to be hot and loud. He cries every time I sneeze (just me, for some reason).

I could go on and on. But I won't. Instead I will also note that:

--I am guaranteed a smile if, while he's eating, I tell him to go to sleep. Only under those particular circumstances, with those words, but if I follow the rules it works every time.

--I am astonished and impressed by his ability to pee through his diaper once daily. We have tried different diapers, different positions for his business end, you name it and I have attempted it, but still he manages to pee through his diaper and all over his clothes once a day, every day. What moxy!

--Occassionally he will take a break from complaining and switch to a more pleasant yelling noise. It's filled with enthusiasm and makes me laugh every time.

--Sometimes, just looking at him makes me tear up with a fierce sense of joy and love at having him in my life.

--He loves his sister. You can tell by the way he looks at her, by the way he smiles at her, and by the way she can get him to cackle. Twice now he has immediately stopped his yowling when she got into the car with us in carpool. Just at the sight of her. How cool is that!

He might be grumpy, but he's mine, and I love him. And I have heard that a grumpy baby can turn in to a well-behaved and pleasant toddler, so here's hoping that's true. I just try and remember how fleeting these days are, and how one day I will look back and long for him to be a little grumpy baby again.

Victory and Defeat

I managed to remember to have flowers for Jacelyn to bring to school for Mary's crowning. I forgot last year, and she left the car in tears saying, "But mommy, they are flowers for Mary!" (Talk about guilt!). I couldn't even run to the store to get some and bring them back to her because they went straight into mass from morning prayer. I felt horrible all year and made a point of remembering this year. And I did! Hooray!


The last few days have been full of ups and downs, highs and lows, pretty much across all lines.
For example: Jacelyn, on her third week of swim lessons, did the backstroke for the entire length of the pool yesterday, entirely on her own. However, while I was watching her do so, her brother took the opportunity to spit up (possibly everthing he had eaten over the course of the day) all over my right arm and shoulder. His face was also covered in this bizarre, mucus-y spit-up. When I attemped to wipe his face with a blanket it wouldn't wipe off, it just sort of smeared. This occurred fairly early on in the swim lesson, allowing ample time for us to sit in the sun and for the spit-up and its' lovely smell to bake into my clothes and skin.

Bubba has gotten into the habit of waking up sometime between 12am and 2am to eat and then stays up for an hour or so. He will eventually fall back asleep and then wake up every two hours after that to eat. This leads to exhaustion on my part, because my sleep cycle is so broken. I feel like some sort of zombie, daily. This is causing me all sorts of problems. I can't manage to stay awake until my husband gets home from work (at anywhere between 9pm and 11pm). Last night I couldn't even stay up to get Jacelyn in bed - I fell asleep on the sofa with Bubba, and Jacelyn climbed up with us and fell asleep, too. I find myself frazzled by the slightest difficulty, and quick to get angry or overwhelmingly sad. I am frustrated with myself, most of all, and what seems to be a lack of ability to get anything done in a timely manner, or well, or at all. I am worried: is post-partum depression? Or just lack of sleep? Or is this regular old depression? Add to that some conflicts with my husband over household stuff and I am just stressed out.

I need to pick myself up, dust myself off, and do what I have to do, and eventually I'll feel better. But keep me in your thoughts and prayers - I'm having a tough time right now. Thanks!

I knew it

Well, my predictions were accurate - bad latch, bad supply. Mix that in with a tongue-tie (although not an extremely severe one) and we have every reason in the world to have problems. The solution? Patience. I was afraid of that - the one thing (ok, one of many) that I am in short supply of, and that's the one thing I need to solve this problem. I just have to wait it out, not show stress when he won't nurse, don't push the issue, etc. Latch 15 times until we get a good one, and then patiently go through the process again when he breaks the latch himself. It will be a long road, but I have renewed hope. That and I had to buy more formula last night, and what I paid for it made me wince. So I have renewed hope and a resolve to not buy many more $25 cans of formula. I don't understand the whole brand thing when it comes to formulas - is one brand better than another? Are store-brand generics just as good as the brand names? This is all new to me. Me and my friend Mr. Google will have to spend some time together to figure all this out.

Thanks to those that wished me well, and thanks to those who endured my breast-related rambling. Hopefully I will be done with all that now, with the exception of noting how well everything is going. Hopefully.

Hey, get a load of these....

I find myself eagerly anticipating an appointment during which I will expose my breasts to a complete stranger for comments and questions. Sigh. I mentioned to a male friend that it seems like breasts are all I think about, and he said "Me, too". Although I'm thinking about them in a baby feeding, life sustaining way, and he's thinking about them in a different manner altogether.

I made an appointment with a local lactation office. The woman I spoke with on the phone was so stymied by my description of what Bubba does during our attempts at nursing that she asked me to come in today. So here's hoping we get things figured out, because we have reached a critical point in this process where we work it out or we stop completely.

Here's my prediction:

• My supply is low and must be restored and increased
• Our latch and positioning is completely off and must be corrected

I know what our problems are, but I don't know how to correct them. So off I go to undress for a stranger. It's all worth it, though. And it's a heck of a lot cheaper than formula.

Hey Mama

Aimee over at The Mother Load just posted, in her hilariously funny way, her 10 Things I Didn't Know Before I Became a Mom, and I thought I would follow suit, even though I'm not as funny nor as good of a writer. So here it is:

Ten Things I Didn't Know Before I Became A Mom:

10. I did not know how specific you have to be as a mother. Example:

• "Blow your nose with a tissue", because otherwise she will just shoot snot out of her nose and onto the nearest person or object, as she did here.
• "Wash your hands in the sink" because otherwise she will wash them in the toilet. I cannot refer back to a blog post about it because it happened pre-blog, but it happened.

9. Like Aimee, I did not realize that every trip to the bathroom would be not only with an audience but also dramatically and loudly narrated by said audience, and that the audience would also expect a brief question and answer period as a follow up to what had transpired.

8. That letting my daughter her make her own mistakes and be her own person is good for her, but agonizing for me (when it goes poorly, that is).

7. That little baby boys really do pee on you when you let your guard down during diaper changes, almost every time.

6. That just the sight of either of my children can sometimes bring me to tears of joy.

5. That something as simple as just getting out of the car with two children, one of whom is an infant, can take ten minutes, three trips between the car and the house, and occasionally results in two out of the three of us crying.

4. That I would spend so much time fixated on what is coming out of my children, from where, and with what frequency and quantity: Did he poo today? How many times did he poo? Did she poo? Is that pee on his onesie? Was that throw-up or spit? In the same disgusting vein, I did not know that I would willingly pick someone else's nose, or that I would be so interested in the color and consistency of what emerged.

3. I did not know that my parents were telling the truth when they said the old "this will hurt me more than it hurts you" line. It can be agonizing. Sometimes it isn't, but most of the time is it. And I am referring to punishment in general, not spanking, although I'm certain it holds true for both.

2. That I wouldn't be able to refrain from laughing when she did something like loudly and forcefully pass gas in a quiet church cafeteria meeting. I wrongly assumed that with motherhood came the ability to not be amused by by things like that, but that didn't happen to me. I frequently laugh at things I shouldn't.

1. That I could feel a sense of pride and overwhelming love but also a little sadness and regret every time she does something that shows me she is growing up. She is becoming a strong, independent, beautiful and creative little girl, and I am thrilled for her while also acutely aware that every step leads her further away from me. But that is how it is supposed to be. But that doesn't mean I have to like it.

So there you go. Happy Mother's Day to all!

I dream of weaning....

Breastfeeding, as you could probably tell from the title, is not going well.

Anyone will tell you (I know this because I have been told this, repeatedly, over and over again, from a myriad of different people, from other mothers to doctors to lactation consultants) that breastfeeding is a natural thing. It is how we were intended to feed our babies. Well, it doesn't come naturally to me.

It was difficult with my daughter - I had terrible supply problems that culminated in me drinking mother's milk tea three times a day and taking six tables of Fenugreek daily (which if you didn't know makes you REEK of maple syrup - you smell like pancakes all day - your sweat, your urine, you name it) and pumping after feedings and drinking water until I thought I would float away and just working, very, very hard, at maintaining supply. I was thrilled to wean her, I'm ashamed to admit, because nursing had became a chore, almost a job.

Well, now, Bubba (our deliciously southern nickname for the new son, BTW - also known as 'Hubba Bubba' or 'Bubba Chunk' or 'Bubba Love', depending on my mood and his disposition) is giving me problems. I'm supplementing with formula while I'm at work - usually he takes 1/2 breastmilk and 1/2 formula, but when I'm at home, he won't nurse. He latches on and then pushes the breast away with his hand while pulling away with his mouth, breaking the latch himself in an exquisitely painful manner. He will only stay latched on for two or three seconds at a time, then pulls off and fusses, then roots around for the breast again, then I help him latch on again, and then he starts the process all over again. He will only stay latched on for maybe a minute or two at a time - and he'll even start swallowing, so I know he's getting milk, but then he will pull off again and fuss.

I know what is happening. Number one: general laziness and nipple confusion. Ever since his introduction to the bottle he has become increasingly frustrated at the breast. Why work so hard for milk direct from mom when it comes so much faster (and probably in greater quantity) from a bottle? And two would have to be latch problems. I can't pinpoint when they developed, I think around the same time as when he started taking a bottle regularly, but they might have existed before then and I wasn't aware enough of it. While knowing what is happening is good, I have no idea how to fix it.

I called a lactation consultant, who suggested breast shields, and if those didn't work to come in to the office. I tried the breast shields and they did not help at all. See, Bubba is a diva. Nursing with him is like a space shuttle launch - conditions have to be absolutely perfect in order for it to occur. He has to be on the Boppy - he will begrudgingly accept a pillow, but he isn't happy about it. He has to be in a certain position. The temperature has to be comfortable. He has to be in a house - he hates nursing in the car or somewhere in public. So throwing those silly little silicone shields into the mix only made him mad. When I first tried to get him to latch on to the shield he made a funny little disgusted face, immediately spit out the nipple and cried. He then refused to latch on with the shield on. As soon as I took the shield off, he latched on, but again, only for a second before pulling himself off again. I tried the shield a few more times but got the same response each time, so I gave up.

I will now have to actually seek out the presence and advice of a lactation consultant. I could go into a local hospital office and see them for free, but I am checking first to see how expensive it is to have a consultant come out to the house. I think that would be so much easier than trying to get an appointment after work, and tow Jacelyn along, and then Mr. I-Won't-Nurse-In-Public will be all fussy about nursing somewhere outside his comfort zones (meaning my house or one of my in-law's homes). So I have left a message and am waiting for a call back about having someone come out to the house. I'm trying to decide how much I'm willing to pay for the convenience, and bracing myself for it to be fairly expensive.

I am keeping my options open. I might end up being an exclusive pumper, or things might work out and Bubba and I could turn out to be nursing pros. Or, things might not work out and I might wean him, and while that is my last resort, I can't keep going on like this, and neither can he. It's unpleasant, uncomfortable and stressful for both of us, and if newborn baby and his momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. Or at least, ain't nobody sleeping.

Since this is a hot button issue I feel the need to say that nursing vs. formula is a personal choice that is entirely up to the individual and what is right for them and their baby. I judge no one for choosing either way. Nursing? Good for you. Using formula? Great. Whatever. To each his own, and good on you for loving and taking care of your baby.

Here's hoping things work out. And that the in-home consultant is cheap. Or, at least not too expensive.

A Quick Update

I have been absent from the internet since the birth of my little guy...to all three people who read this blog, I apologize. Little Guy joined us at 10:50AM on February 4th. I was having contractions Sunday (the 3rd) but not regularly enough to warrant anything. I went into the hospital at midnight for the induction. They put some pill on my cervix and I immediately started having more regular and intense contractions, and Brian promptly fell asleep.

Around 3am the nurse noticed that if I laid in any position other than on my left side, the baby's heartbeat weakened considerably. So I laid on my left side, and I was in agony. The contractions were very different from my labor with Jacelyn. I had them more often but they didn't last as long, and they didn't hurt as bad. They gave me a bag of IV fluids and made me wear an oxygen mask, which freaked me out. The baby's heartbeat was fluctuating, and my blood pressure was low.

I got my epidural around5am, and there were a couple of panicky moments throughout the morning, but after 10 minutes and about 8 pushes, Manning was born with his umbilical cord wrapped twice around his neck. There's obviously a lot more to be said about that, but those are the basics. We're both doing well, and I'll blog again when I can. Congrats to Aimee and her little guy - you've both been in my prayers!